#upper playground

[manhattanstepbystep]

Streets of Manhattan Valley: 105th Street between Amsterdam Ave and Columbus Ave in upper Manhattan

Bloomingdale Playgound

[inspector-fox]

I think adults should be given playgrounds, with a track for runners, and drinking fountains and monkey bars that can support a tall adult person. I'm so serious because we talk about how there is a crisis of health in America, that, to an extent, could be mitigated through exercise, but access to space is difficult for some folks to find and I think we put too much pressure on the "go to the gym" version of exercise over the "Please just move your body sometimes like in any way that feels good!! Just get up and move and play for like 20 minutes!" Version of health- which arguably is more accessible and less overwhelming to consider (that "stay flexy" guy, Movement by David, is big on just improving mobility and I think he and creators like him are changing the zeitgeist of how we talk about and view exercise.) And, like, adult playgrounds in this form do already exist- they've got pull up bars and weird metal benches, they're designed for anyone to pull up and use for working out (my town has them at least.)- but I'm talking about PLAYgrounds a place to solely encourage play (and give access to other equipment) that would just be a space for adults to like, have fun and remember what it was like to just be given time and space to run around.

[usarinnpa]

Had to trudge through the Izmi main tag for a moment (I couldn't remember where the numbers were in kai's url i keep thinking it's mo3-ru) and briefly experiencd the mental strain that Kai Moeru goes throiugh every day. Woew

[inkperch]

There should be adult-scale playplaces

[vinnyvamppp]

To Be Desired

⭐: No Goggles Mark, Mohawk Mark, #17 Mark/Sinister Mark, Mentions of Invincible (requested!).

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Squirting, Rough Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,239 (PART TWO HERE)

“You won’t believe what just happened, oh man!” Mark exclaimed with glee; an unfamiliar look of pride swam within his irises. It was the night he received his powers; a deep crater buried itself into your driveway from his failed landing. “What?” you questioned, prying your front door open as he entered. There were scuff marks littered across his naked upper body, battered and bruised from his knightly adventure. “It was incredible. I—I flew,” he explained, his hand gesturing excitedly. This was a dream of his; he would craft makeshift suits and detail desired escapades to save the world. However, for it to come true was another story.

“No way! This… this is a funny joke,” you sputtered. One doesn’t usually acquire powers at random, but in this dimension, who knows? “No, really. I took a huge leap off my roof, not really expecting anything,” he interrupted to soften the already ridiculous landing of his story. “You know, and I just took off.” The topic was so exhilarating; the thought of questioning him hadn’t dawned upon you. He leaned against the back of your couch, crossing his arms as you two reminisced.

“Wait—why were you jumping from the roof anyway? What if nothing happened and you fell?” you questioned with a raised brow. “I know, I know, it’s stupid. But I was curious and decided to give it a try,” he rationalized quietly, fingers nervously scratching his nape. “Aw… I want powers now,” you feigned sadness as you sulked. It was your attempt at being amusing, but truthfully, you felt left behind. Was it envy? Was it the need to feel important? Was it the fear of him leaving you behind to begin his journey as a hero? You didn’t know at the time. His expression became tinged slightly with guilt. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get powers soon,” he reassured you, but it was too humorous to be sincere.

“Yeah… soon. Real funny, wasn’t it?” you said to yourself as your body perched against a rooftop. It was the second day of the Mark variants ravaging Earth like their playground. The once-majestic towers now stand as skeletal frames, their glass windows shattered. Debris litters the streets, a tragic mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal, and the air hangs heavy with the scent of smoke and ash. Heroes formed makeshift shelters and sifted through rubble for survivors.

The Mark you once knew was head over heels for Atom Eve. It was no secret; he was a lost puppy whose ears would perk at the sound of his name on her tongue. Utterly devoted. Sickeningly in love. You were the very last to discern his truth. The two were written in stone, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth that you had long since gotten over. Until now. You were late to the news of the world's destruction. A strangely familiar face appeared on the news, a version of Mark that made your chest tighten. Within your family, a strange ability was acquired—a power bred through evolution to ensure survival in a world full of the unknown. Once in a lifetime, through a series of visions, you would discover a pivotal moment in time to peer through. That moment was now. Eighteen variants were loose internationally, each with their own tragic story and love interests. Six had dated or lost their Atom Eve, five had slain their worlds' Amber, and six had been devoted to you.

Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them—and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

Mohawk Mark

“Oh, shit… I know you,” he rasped, his expression twisted into a cocky grin. His stature and pose were that of confidence—and a man who caused insurmountable damage to those he met. “You look just like her,” he continued, his feet finding purchase on the ground as his stride increased. “Sorry, you've got the wrong one—try finding her—” Just as you spoke, static buzzed in your skull—a low crackling hum that drowned out the edges of the memory before it fully formed. It was there—just beyond reach—shrouded in white noise.

The harder you focused, the more the static swelled, but for a moment, the interference cleared. A voice—the ghost of a feeling—and just as quickly, it was swallowed again. You understood the gist; he was indeed one you would find yourself tangled with. “Looks like you’ve been through some tough shit—mind if I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he lunged forward, grappling you in a powerful embrace. His intent wasn't one of danger but instead of safekeeping despite his demeanor. Reflexes took over as you slammed against his cranium with the strength you could muster, effectively knocking him back.

"Fuck, you're a feisty one," Mohawk Mark growled, his breath hot against your ear. "I like that shit. Let's see how you handle this." His chuckle was condescending—yet a thrill shot through you. “‘Won't be handling shit,” you quipped before biting into his neck—just rigid enough to draw blood. He groaned, his flight knocking you two back into an alleyway.

Similarly to your Mark, he seemed attracted to strength, his veins pumping with lust rather than adrenaline. Holding a firm grasp of your jaw, his lips collided with yours in a searing and blood-stained kiss. The muscle of his tongue forcefully parted your lips as he sought to taste you against his own. Finding yourself against the wall, your legs wrapped around the width of his waist, your ass snugly hovering over his pelvis.

He pulled away every few seconds to watch your expression succumb to your selfish wants. Sex with the enemy was enticing and you weren’t letting him escape any time soon. “You planned this?” you murmured between the saliva-ridden kisses. “That would be telling. You know enough if you’re agreeing to this.” His voice grew to tease as he licked his lips—mirroring his satisfaction before peppering kisses down your exposed neck.

His version of sex was rough, with small increments of romance—only reserved for the best prize. With muffled groans, his teeth harshly nipped their way lower, his fingers tearing through the fabric of your suit. As he continued down your now-exposed cleavage, his tongue ran along the scantily clad lace of your bra. Staring up at you, he let out a mischievous snicker before his teeth snagged the cup and tore it from your chest—leaving it discarded on the ground.

“Shit… was fucking not enough? Had to ruin my clothes too,” you complained as your hips bucked against his pointedly. This earned a guttural grunt from the flesh of your breasts, as he heaved out a response. “You’ll forget about them anyway,” he dismissed as he continued until your panties were the last to be removed. The cool air dusted your wet cunt—its arousal seeping through your folds like honey. Its chill made you shiver and like bees to nectar, his tongue feasted before his eyes.

Hoisting you up, your thighs rested against his shoulders as he knelt, the angle allowing his tongue to slip inside your already spasming pussy. An unusual pink hue dusted his cheek as he stared up at you in utter bliss. Your fingers dug into his forearms, your puffy folds pressed against his lips as he devoured you. With your head resting against the wall, your hips ground themselves relentlessly against his tongue.

"Mmm, shit, already soaking wet for me," he taunted, pumping his tongue in and out of your tight cunt. His tongue—rough and textured—lashed out to lap at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. His groans sent mild vibrations through you as his fingers reached up to paw at your tits, nipples stiffened in the cold air. You couldn't help but moan as he ate you out with relentless intensity, his tongue plunging deep into your folds. His calloused hands roamed your exposed flesh, pinching and kneading your breasts, twisting your sensitive nipples until they grew numb.

His hands couldn't stop their exploration—they explored what he had lost many years ago. Sparks flew as his tongue circled against your clit, flickering the bundle of nerves with a speed inexperienced before. Every time you neared the precipice of your orgasm, his tongue would flatten as he sucked your clit—ruining the rhythm. You tugged his hair with a frustrated groan, and his eyes rolled into his skull with an amused moan.

Finally pulling away, he stood to his feet. His lips parted to speak when suddenly, “Hurry the fuck up,” you said curtly with exasperated gasps. With lidded eyes, a Cheshire grin settled across his features. “Yes, ma’am.” Prying his suit off, he palmed his dampening erection. For once he fell silent as anticipation ate away at you both. As he freed his cock from the confinement of his boxers, it slapped against his lower abdomen.

It stood with a veiny girth—the tip kissed a rosy red like his many mistresses' lipsticks. With a pleased hiss, he stroked himself briefly—eyes just barely losing focus from the buildup before he plunged himself into you. Your pussy hugged him with a familiarity that felt like home, the painful stretch soon becoming one of bliss. His hips began to quicken, wanting to see your fucked-out expression like never before.

However, his greed overwhelmed him as the stimulation grew difficult to ignore. His usual grunts and growls diluted into groans and profanities. The alleyway echoed with the cacophony of moans that mingled in the air—inharmonious, yet emotion-filled as a flame flickered within your core. “I’ve waited so fucking long for this,” he grunted, a grin etched into his lips. “N-None of them—no ssslut compares to this. Only pussy I need—only woman I want.” A groan interrupted his sentence as your cunt contracted around him—swallowing him at the base.

That’s right—every harem formed and woman fucked was so he could ruin the image of you that plagued his mind in its grief. The vulnerability of it all made your toes curl, even if it wasn't much.

The fingers pawing at your breasts began kneading them like stress balls, until they were red. Truthfully, he missed every inch of you—not that he would admit that, especially since you weren’t exactly his. A high-pitched moan ripped from your throat as he continued to bounce you on his dick. Pre-cum coated your insides as the sounds of arousal grew louder, his balls tightening. With every thrust, he could see the air physically leave you, the scuff marks from brick marking your skin.

He could barely tell where to focus his eyes—on your tits or face? Both were gorgeous but fuck, he should just kidnap you and take you home with him, right? “Fuuuuck, Mark… I’m g-go—” you groaned as your fingernails indented into his skin, a pain and pleasure-filled gasp crawling from his throat. “Fuck, yeah…” he said, his raspy voice cracking with the slightest whine. “Take it… s-shit, take it…!” It was a growl as his eyes fluttered shut to hide his eyes practically rolling around his skull. With a clenched jaw, his dick began to milk itself. The pleasure mounted as your impending orgasm washed your body in a sweat-breaking heat. Just as he came, your cunt spasmed, once he pulled out, something within snapped as an aroused gush squirted from you.

His groin was now coated in your scent, taste, and the result of your rough fucking. The pleasure racked your brain as tears threatened to spill over. Noticing this—and pleased with his efforts—he let out a short chortle, a hand coming up to swipe your folds and have a final taste. His expression turned into a feigned sob as he silently teased—his tip running a line between your folds and ass, resisting the temptation to fill your asshole with his seed. Once you two were settled from your high, he spoke up. “Had fun, babe.” Your eyebrow lifted at the newly coined pet name.

Suddenly, a muffled voice in his ear caught his attention. “Shit…” he muttered with an annoyed grimace at Angstrom ruining his amusement. “Go on,” you beckoned. “Not yours anyway—so no need to stick around.” It was a light jab—one he received with a satisfied smirk before taking flight. “Doesn’t matter—I’ll be back,” he replied curtly before disappearing into the horizon.

You stood there—naked—processing what just happened. "Shit, I need a new suit from my apartment.”

Variant #17 Mark (I wouldn't even keep you as a slave in my Empire!) Or Sinister Mark (personalities are similar in the comics, so imagine what you will.)

"You thought you could hide from me?" he said, peering down at you with a friendly grin for someone so domineering. Staring down at the man’s shadow, his cape billowed in the wind. Unlike the other Marks you’d caught a glimpse of, this one barely had a bruise on him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he finished before he landed softly on the ground. As he approached, you remained still, eyebrows creasing into a frown. “I’m not—” You were abruptly cut off by a low voice as his head tilted to stare into your eyes. “Don’t play stupid. My version of you had the same power—but she resisted our cause.” His voice was tinged with pity as he frowned; he decided to take another route in his approach.

“I’ll tell you what—I’ll leave if you come with me,” he offered with an outstretched palm. You vehemently shook your head in disagreement. “I’m not going—it'll disrupt the timeline.”

“Why does that matter?” he asked.

“What makes you think I won't resist either…?” you retorted, causing his eyebrows to raise slightly in thought. “I’ll change your mind—and give you what you missed out on in my world.” It was such a matter-of-fact opinion—one rooted in a determination to outclass any obstacle that might deter him. Curiosity bested you the moment you turned to face the chaos erupting in the streets as a strong gust of wind obscured the debris. He was behind you. His fingers draped over your waist as he took flight—and to… your apartment? “I’ve been watching you for a while now… I know all about your preferences. Let’s have some fun, shall we?” His lips just barely grazed your ear.

Amongst the hands that roamed your body, a sense of longing lingered in every squeeze and grope. While being one of the strongest—and surely the most vile—his personality could be charming like your dimension’s Mark. Even if feigned for manipulation. He spun you around to face him, that polite smile etched into his face again as his body betrayed innocence. The erection forming within his costume became difficult to ignore—but he found a distraction. A touch, a handhold, and finally—a kiss.

“Let me show you what it's truly like to be satisfied.” His words were reassuring, yet they felt more directed toward his version of you rather than now. His tongue swept into your mouth, tangling itself in a wet heat as he sucked the air from your lungs. The warmth of his fingers spread across your cheek as his tongue attempted to delve impossibly deep. The taste was better than you imagined—not that you expected any less. If anything, finding him in a forgiving mood proved to be favorable.

His fingers shifted from your face to the back of your costume—in his attempt to be gentle, he tore the cloth from your body like tissue paper. In an instant, his costume was discarded in the corner, leaving him in snug boxers that hugged his dick. Before you knew it, you were pinned against the bed—a hand flush against your throat as he shrugged slightly. “Didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, an amused huff exiting his nose as you exchanged knowing glances.

The remaining hand gently pried the panties from around your hips and down the length of your legs. His eyes fell upon the wet patch that seeped through the thin fabric—as the semblance of a pleased grin stretched across his lips. Focusing his attention once more, his fingers slowly parted your folds, watching as your velvety walls peeked through the slit. Its warm flesh was inviting—something he had yet to try since you retaliated so often against him at home. Just why couldn’t you be this welcoming? So willing to be corrupted? So… morally gray at the least.

Pressing two digits inside your warmth, he watched it conform to the size of his fingers. An obvious shiver ran through him with each moan that vibrated from your throat—as he imagined you hugging him and wrapped around his cock in plea. The sensations set your skin alight with gooseflesh—and each time you attempted to scurry away from his gift, the hold around your neck tightened ever so slightly. He was such a brat.

Your hips ground into his hand, clit colliding with his palm in gentle waves. As his fingers slowly retracted, his cock shyly peeked from the pocket of his boxers. His patience was running thin as he adjusted himself at your entrance—and slowly pushed through. A loud sigh escaped his lips as he bottomed out, his head falling backward as he quietly cursed under his breath. Mirroring his restlessness, your foot hooked around his lower back and pressed him deeper. A drawn-out moan echoed from your throat; he was barely holding on as he gnawed at his lip to contain himself. Reflexively, his hips stuttered before setting a relentless pace—pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes that hit all the right spots.

“Already so wet for me… pathetic. Fucking slut.” His words struck a nerve within—as you repulsively tightened around him, earning a whine. Your moans echoed through the room, mingling with the slap of skin against skin and Mark's grunts of pleasure. He hammered into you like a man possessed—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he drove you toward climax.

The long thrusts stimulated every inch of his dick—the veins kissed with every grip of your cunt. “Did your version of me not do it for you?” you teased before taking a sharp breath at his relentless pace. “Y-You really don’t know when to be quiet,” he gritted. “But n-no… not like this. You're much better. I would take you to be a part of my empire.” He replied, his jaw tightening as his hips drilled into you with renewed conviction at the thought. A second you—not the one he’s attempting to keep as a slave for disobeying—but one he could trust to blindly follow his power. His grin grew wolfish as his other hand overlapped your throat—his gaze shifting between your bouncing tits and pleasured face.

The slight closure of your windpipe didn’t allow for much noise—but no matter, Mark began to sing like you’d never imagine. It was strange—the sound was much louder due to your silence as you clawed at his skin. His voice began to crack as his tightened jaw began to slack. "F—fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "I knew… you'd be worth every s-second of c-...chasing you down," he sputtered as his length began to twitch inside you.

Seeing someone as strong as him unravel before you was a greater sense of accomplishment than becoming a hero itself. With a closed-lip groan, he began overstimulating himself with the effort to get you off. “Haaa… I’m c-close. Ugh…!” you muttered through strangled gasps—as the deprivation of air made you lightheaded and sensitive. Every nerve ending inside your cunt doubled as you went taut beneath him. “C’mon, fucking cum for me,” he heaved.

His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside without warning—doubling over as a consequence. An unfamiliar sensation painted your insides. You both saw stars as silence pierced the room—the slick produced coated his cock in a glaze. Through bated breaths, his fingers finally released their grip around you as you coughed out a response. “I have to admit… you’re hard to deny,” you said, momentarily spent as you lay before him. “Swee—” He was cut off by a voice in his ear.

It was Angstrom demanding his presence over the city. “What a nuisance,” were the final words you caught as he muttered under his breath. Every version of Angstrom was a hindrance to this Mark—nonetheless, he suited up to leave. “I’ll return—and you will join me,” he said confidently, as if there was no argument to be made. You nodded absentmindedly and sighed. Just what had you done?

No Goggles Mark

“Dude…! You’re so cool—what is that? I’ve never seen any powers like that in my world,” he said with an amused expression as he snickered at your agony. You stared up at him, your heartbeat suddenly quickening when meeting his gaze. A look of recognition flickered within his eyes. “Hey, I know you,” he said, his feet touching base on the ground as he approached you with a widening grin. “I’m not sure you know me exactly…” you replied, backing away as your eyes searched for a route to escape—his friendliness had truly taken you aback.

“Who do you work for?” he asked, words flying from his mouth without a care as he approached closer. “You're way stronger than the Guardians of the Globe dudes I fought.” He fought who?! A sense of dread filled you as a new series of questions plagued your mind. If this one could ruin the team to filth—then just how strong was he, and what exactly did he want? “I don't want to fight you, man,” you somewhat pleaded; he frowned with disapproval. “Fight? No, man… but it seems like you’re in trouble, dude.” The topic switched again—his gaze now behind you—as a flurry of aliens attempting their takeover waltzed through a portal. You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was a failed crusade before it began.

Taking a stride forward, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around your waist as you two were propelled to a lone-standing structure where steel beams and concrete floors remained. “Put me down,” you bruised him as you backhanded him into the metal beam. While he had a smile on his face, momentary irritation settled across his features. The painful sting ran to his cock. “Aw, what's the matter?” he asked, standing to his feet as you both came face to face once more.

“It would be hot, but I don't want to fight, dude. I’ve missed you. I promise I’ll be gentle… at first.” The delivery was more seductive—dropping an octave—as he approached you, hands outstretched and finding purchase against your hips. One thing other variants wouldn’t admit—was the supple touch of the right woman could caress their soul.

“I’m not the me you want,” you replied. “You can just be the one I have anyway,” he said. He was indeed serious—and while less terrifying than the other Marks you’d encountered, his strength was menacing nonetheless. “Then let’s see what other talents you’ve got.” Your response made his expression brighten with a new goal in mind. At that, the grin on his face widened as he leaned down and captured your lips in a fierce, dominant kiss.

His tongue forced its way into your mouth, battling yours for dominance as he ground his hips against yours. You two stumbled around the enclosure—footsteps echoing in the empty building. Mark’s hands cupped your ass, squeezing roughly as he whispered crude compliments into your ear. "Nice ass," he growled appreciatively, his fingers caressing the soft flesh. He couldn’t articulate it well—but you were truly beautiful in every universe—and he couldn’t wait to have his share.

Your fingers traveled up his muscled back as body heat pooled across your fingertips. Eagerness unlike any other began to rise as you longed to touch every inch of him. Hero costumes were peeled from one another, and you found his groping becoming progressively obsessive. His hardened cock stood awaiting stimulation as he bit back his urges—sacrificing the time to feel you once more.

Guiding him to the floor, you seated yourself against his lap—your legs hooked over his forearms. He was always too quick to finish battles, and that even applied to sex. Just the tip. That's what you two agreed upon. Sinking onto his cock—its girth filled you deliciously. The wet sound of arousal followed by his restrained groans filled you with delight; it was amusing to see a Viltrumite struggle to contain himself.

1… 2… 3… 4… 5… and 6! On every sixth shallow thrust, you would contract your muscles—gripping his dick like a vice as every vein received a kiss from the gods inside your cunt. It had him crazed—wanting more of your warmth than you were willing to give. “F—fuck, babe, you’re killin’ me,” he hissed with an unforeseen weariness shaking his voice. “Can I?” he started. “No.” His expression hardened at your words. “You’re ruining the—” Before he could finish, he inhaled sharply as his head fell back. “Am I…?” you asked with feigned curiosity. It was undulating in a rhythm that drove him wild. He groaned beneath you—his hands digging into his palms as he fought his urges to misbehave.

The sound of your ass slapping against his pelvis filled the air—mingling with your moans and cries of pleasure. Anything would be worth trading; he could watch his dick disappear within your cunt nonstop. His impending release redoubled his efforts—pounding into you with a ferocity that sent you hurtling over the edge.

The excitement overwhelmed him as he sheathed half his cock inside—the spreading warmth and moisture making his thighs quiver beneath you. His balls tightened, painfully so—that alone ripped a pornographic moan from him. If he could fuck you as desired, he wouldn’t be nearly as needy. Your combined moans echoed through the infrastructure—and you were certain that with the windows gone, someone could hear—but the thought was out of sight and out of mind. Pre-cum beaded down his length as it was smeared each time he entered your warmth. “M-Mark…” you muttered; he nodded fervently behind you as his jaw locked.

“Y-You ready for it, babe?" he asked with a faltering grin as sweat tickled his brows. Leaning your full body weight against him—you felt your orgasm building quickly. The pleasure reached new heights as you both milked each other dry for the sake of proving a point. Your body instinctively began to lurch forward as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. The tip of his cock was bedecked with a foam ring of cum. Mark would’ve begun convulsing had it not been for him carrying you—instead, his body stiffened as he let out a tight-lipped groan. You could’ve sworn you saw his toes curl too—but who knows? His pale skin was flushed a hue of red as his body thrummed with an aftershock.

Once you’d come down from your high, a satisfied grin beamed at you. "Dude, that was incredible," he murmured, a satisfied grin on his face. "We should do this again sometime," he said—as if this was some casual fling, not that you would mind.

Before you could respond, a message in his ear interrupted the conversation. “Ugh… this always happens; I have fun, and then—dude…” he sounded exasperated as he hurriedly redressed—reluctantly wishing you a botched farewell. “I like you. You’re coming with me.”

Feel free to request more lmao

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when the pint-sized copy of gojo satoru fails the quiz his dad helped him review?

the door slams.

not shuts. not closes. slams—with the full, righteous fury only a small, betrayed child can muster. a tiny, furious body with too much emotion and too little upper-body strength, using every ounce of indignation to make an entrance.

a backpack ricochets off the hallway wall, landing with a sad, almost pitiful plop. you pause mid-slice, knife hovering above half a strawberry on the cutting board, sugar-dusted fingertips twitching.

from the living room, satoru blinks behind a pair of wire-framed reading glasses—askew on the bridge of his nose, balancing in the space where his usual sunglasses would sit. he’s sprawled lazily on the floor, legs kicked up onto the coffee table, wearing a pair of navy blue pajamas patterned with tiny mochi cats. an open manga flutters against his chest.

he doesn���t sit up. not yet. just slowly turns his head toward you, peering over the edge of the couch with the exact caution of prey sensing a distant predator.

“...was that the wind?” he asks, voice very hopeful.

you lift a brow, flicking your eyes toward the front hallway.

“baby,” you deadpan, “we don’t get wind indoors.”

and then—like a summoned curse echoing from the depths of a broken heart—a sound shatters the air.

a wail.

high-pitched. raw. as if the whole world had crumbled under a pair of light-up velcro sneakers. you barely have time to process it before—

“mamaaaaaa!! daddyyyyyyyy!!”

satoru flinches like he’s taken physical damage. the manga slips off his chest and hits the floor with a soft thup. both your heads snap toward the hall just in time to witness the grand, devastating arrival of your son.

he’s tiny. flushed pink from the cold or from his tears, it’s hard to tell. his white hair is a mop of fluffy chaos—tufts sticking up where little fingers must’ve raked through it on the playground, a single rebellious cowlick curled toward the sky like a question mark. cheeks blotchy. nose red. lower lip trembling so hard it casts its own shadow.

and he’s crying.

not sniffles. not whimpers.

crying. open-mouthed, sob-shattered wails that rattle the windows and tug at your heart. arms flailing, body stumbling forward like a tragic protagonist in a historical drama. his sleeves are too long—he must’ve tugged at them all day—and now they flap as he wipes his eyes with the cuffs, trailing streaks of moisture across the fabric.

your knife is already down. you round the kitchen island in record time and crouch, arms open.

“baby, what’s wrong?!”

he doesn’t just run into your arms—he launches himself, full body-weight, like a little cannonball of despair. his backpack thumps against your hip as he buries his face in your chest.

“i didn’t get ice creeeeeeam—!!”

you blink.

“...oh,” satoru says from behind you, having finally peeled himself off the floor. he crouches beside you, pajama pants riding up a little around the ankle. his hair’s a fluffy mess, eyes wide behind his reading glasses, mouth open like he’s still buffering. “you didn’t get what?”

“ice cream,” your son sobs, voice thick and hiccuping. “everybody got some ‘cause they passed the quiz and i didn’t—even though we studied!! even though we did the ming dynasty thing and daddy wore the stupid kimono!!!”

“it wasn’t stupid,” satoru frowns, indignant. “it was authentic.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “sweetheart, slow down. what quiz?”

“the history one,” your son says, sniffling miserably. “with the ming dyna—hic—sty and emperor yongle and daddy said if i remembered the porce… porcelain stuff i’d get full marks…”

you and satoru lock eyes.

oh.

that quiz.

the living room flashes back in your mind—satoru in a patterned bathrobe tied with your silk scarf, chopsticks in his hair, declaring himself emperor of all snacks. your son clutched his stomach from laughing so hard he rolled off the couch. satoru called it “immersive education.”

apparently... it wasn’t effective.

your son’s lower lip quivers again. he pulls back slightly to sniff, his little brows furrowed, his voice small and wounded. “it’s not fair… daddy said he was the best at history and he lied and now everyone got to go to the cafeteria for ice cream and i had to stay and read with ms. matsuda and it was boring and i don’t even like maps—”

satoru visibly stiffens. his head tilts.

“...oh no,” he mutters. “it was geography?”

you stare at him.

“wait,” you say slowly, turning back to your son, “you did the ming dynasty for geography?”

he pauses.

his eyes widen. he turns to satoru. horror dawns.

“...what?”

satoru clears his throat. tugs at the collar of his mochi cat pajama top.

“...oops?”

“daddy!!!” your son bellows, fists flying. he punches satoru’s arm with all the fury in his tiny frame. it’s like being attacked by a particularly angry cloud. satoru lets himself be dramatically thrown back onto the floor, flopping like a fish.

“argh!! fatal blow! betrayal by my own bloodline!!”

your son sniffles, shoulders rising and falling, too tired to be mad but too heartbroken to forgive. he plops back onto the floor with a heavy sigh, pulling his sleeves over his hands like a soggy little dumpling of grief.

“...so i don’t get any ice cream.”

from the floor, satoru grins.

“nope. you’re getting a whole bucket.”

you whirl on him. “satoru—!”

“what? he suffered, he deserves it.” satoru pushes his glasses up and cracks his knuckles. cursed energy begins to shimmer faintly around him, blurring the air like heat off pavement. “i’ll be back in fifteen. or maybe two. actually—let’s make it one.”

you gape. “you’re using your limitless to get him ice cream—?”

“and this is why you married me,” he says with a wink, and then—

pop.

he’s gone. air displaced in a puff of cool wind and sparkles.

you sigh. your son leans into you, cheek pressed to your shoulder. you wrap your arms around him gently, brushing your fingers through his hair. still soft from this morning’s brushing. a few crumbs from lunch clinging to the ends.

he tugs your shirt, voice muffled.

“...mama,” he says, “if i cry again, can i eat more scoops?”

you pause.

squint down at him. “that depends. are the tears real?”

he considers. long pause. then, with the gravitas of a stage actor, he pinches his nose and starts fake crying—loud, wobbly sobs that rock his whole body.

and then—pop.

satoru’s back. disheveled, pajama sleeves windblown, glasses askew, and arms cradling an absurdly massive neon plastic tub that smells like every ice cream flavor ever invented. it’s glowing. it might actually be radioactive.

your son stops fake-crying mid-sob.

“…score.”

satoru beams. “for my little emperor of the ming dynasty!”

you all end up piled on the couch, one tangled mass of pajama legs and sticky fingers. strawberry slices forgotten on the counter. your son curled between you both, spoon held like a royal scepter, dribbling rainbow cream down his chin as he proclaims flavor rankings with the gravitas of a judge.

“your majesty,” satoru intones, spoon raised high, “may i present the cookie dough scrolls of diplomacy.”

you roll your eyes fondly, head resting on satoru’s shoulder. “you’re such an idiot.”

he kisses your cheek, smiling.

“uh huh. but i’m your idiot.”

your son silently shoves a spoon in both your mouths.

he’s still sulking. a little. but the betrayal has been soothed by frozen sugar, warmth, and the fact that tomorrow, daddy promised to stage the tang dynasty.

correct subject pending.

a/n : i need to have his babies so bad nobody understands 😔🥀 yes you can't convince me he wouldn't teleport just to get his kids ice cream even if he's wearing ridiculous pajamas <3

[funthingsfortoddlers]

Tallowwood Park in  Highland Reserve in Upper Coomera has a fully fenced playground surrounded by a large green open parkland with winding walking paths and a large lake with Ducks and Turtles.

Find out all about it: www.funthingsfortoddlers.com/parks/tallowwood-park-upper-coomera/

[nyandreasphotography]

Life on the Upper West Side (Summertime) - New York City by Andreas Komodromos

[momentomorix]

The Wrong Bag

Summary: In the end, picking up his nephew from daycare had its perks. Starting with her.

Warnings:  Contains explicit sex and vulgar sexual language

Writers notes: English is not my native language; please excuse me if there are any mistakes or poor translations. Recreation center in France might differ depending on the country. Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

It all started with a delay. A damn delay.

It wasn’t a delay due to a pregnancy announcement, but one caused by parents who had to pick up their child from daycare and had called the uncle to come get the little boy. Rafe Cameron arrived at the recreation center, noticeably annoyed after an already tough day. He tried not to wince as he saw all those children yelling, running in every direction without ever apologizing, chocolate still smeared around their mouths.

Of course, he loved his nephew, but navigating through all those kids irritated him.

“I’m here to pick up Teddy Routledge,” he said to a young woman standing at the front desk. Obviously, just as he was eager to leave that place, he ran into an intern. She went to get a supervisor, and the latter arrived, holding a paint pot in her hand. “Hello,” you smiled upon seeing this man you’d never met before. “You’re here to pick up Teddy?”

Rafe Cameron didn’t answer right away, disturbed by an unfamiliar feeling that had just arisen within him. His blue eyes met yours, where a growing confusion was clearly visible in response to his silence. You kept smiling so as not to seem rude, but you wondered what his problem could be. Rafe himself wished he knew. He didn’t understand why he was fixated on the paintbrush tucked in your black hair holding it in a loose bun, the blue paint mark right on your dimple, the beauty mark above your upper lip…

It was as if everything lit up just by seeing you. “Sir?” you finally said. “Rafe Cameron,” he replied, extending his hand after composing himself. “I’m Teddy’s uncle.”

You shook his hand, surprised by this formal introduction, while most parents were content with a verbal hello, sometimes accompanied by a smile.

“Do you have an ID? Since it’s your first time here, I need to verify that you’re on the list of authorized people to pick him up.”

He didn’t argue and handed over his papers. He was able to leave with Teddy, who jumped on him as soon as he saw him. The little boy greeted you by shouting your name, and Rafe Cameron only whispered it… as he masturbated that night.

.

It went on, but not as much as Rafe would have liked. Sarah was surprised when he offered to pick up Teddy more regularly, but she gladly accepted, happy that her brother was so involved.

Little bastard.

One of your colleagues — who had become a friend by now — often teased you about the increasingly frequent visits from that uncle. The way he stood up straight whenever you appeared in his line of sight, how he pronounced your name like it was sacred, or how he took more time than usual to pick up his nephew.

It made you laugh, sometimes blush, but you didn’t believe it.

Rafe Cameron was a man in his thirties, your complete opposite. He was always presentable, dressed in suits that probably cost three times your miserable salary, wore that sandalwood-scented cologne you had come to notice every time he passed by, and above all… you weren’t from the same social class. What you didn’t know was that he sometimes waited until the latest possible hour to pick up his nephew, just to have a few minutes to talk with you about anything and everything. Sometimes, he waited farther away in his tinted-window car, watching you move around the playground. You often played with the kids, had an easy smile, and were always the first to tend to the smallest scrape.

Once, he was disappointed not to be able to talk to you, as you were caught up in a conversation with a colleague about organizing the summer schedules. It wasn’t that he was obsessed with you, but he hated seeing that colleague brush your arm too often whenever you laughed with him. Fuck.

Out of ego, he didn’t come for a whole week, thinking you would notice his absence. And strangely enough, you did.

You had gotten into the habit of checking yourself in the bathroom mirror as his arrival time approached, touching up your lips with a soft pink, making sure your mascara hadn’t run.

You still had a paintbrush for a hairstyle and sometimes ink decorated your skin. The first two days without Rafe Cameron were a bit long, but you kept your good mood. Then the disappointment came—stupidly. Rafe hadn’t expected the second week to go the same way, his visit delayed by a business trip. He missed you — a little, a lot

When he came back, things got complicated. A little. That day, you had taken advantage of your break to go to the mall to find a gift for your sister’s upcoming birthday.

You also did a bit of shopping since summer was coming, and you wanted to find some nice things. Passing by a lingerie shop, you fell in love with a black lace set. No one would see it but you, but you could still treat yourself. In the evening, all the kids had cardboard bags to carry their clay creations, and you snagged one to hide your lingerie bag, since you had come by bike, placing it high up so no one would take it. That’s when things got complicated.

Rafe Cameron arrived in all his natural elegance, which he flaunted whenever you were around, hands in his pockets and a slight arrogance in his demeanor. It was subtle, but he saw your eyes darken the moment you spotted him. You held your breath, gave him a smile as if it didn’t affect you, and kept walking. It was stupid — he had a life, and the idea that you could attract him was absurd — yet you couldn’t help avoiding him. Just to make him pay for his absence.

Of course, Rafe didn’t like that one bit.

Weeks he had been trying to make his way into your life through little moments stolen from your work, and you were giving him the cold shoulder?

He had been patient, calm, always polite despite the irritation he sometimes felt. Subtle, he had made you understand that he liked you.

But maybe he’d been too subtle?

“Here,” another staff member took over to greet him, “Teddy made a clay sculpture.”

She handed the kraft paper bag to Rafe, who took it without checking the contents and left without a glance in your direction.

Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to what your colleague had done, and when it was time to leave, you couldn’t find your bag.

You had put it up high to be sure no one would take it, but now it was nowhere to be found.

“Damn it, it was right there!” you groaned in despair.

“Where did you put it?”

“On top of the medicine cabinet, on purpose so that... shit,” you cursed when you saw your colleague’s flushed face. “You took it.”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Teddy was looking for his bag and I thought it had been placed there by mistake.”

Fuck. Shit. Damn.

As if things weren’t shitty enough, it had to be Teddy who had that bag. While you tried to calm the stress rising inside you, Rafe Cameron was smoking his second cigarette. Sitting on his couch, he carefully examined what he’d pulled out of the kraft paper bag. Teddy was no longer there, and Rafe had “forgotten” to give him his sculpture when his parents came to pick him up. Talk about a sculpture. A black lace lingerie set sat in front of him.

He had taken it out of the bag only to drop it immediately, surprised to find that set. He knew it was yours — he had no proof — but he’d felt it in the tightening of his chest. Who had you bought that shit for? Who had taken advantage of his absence to make you wear that? He smoked his cigarette down to the butt, gently crushing it in the ashtray next to the bra. Slumping back into his couch, Rafe ran his arm over his eyes as if trying to wipe away the forbidden images flooding his mind.

It wasn’t the first time he had imagined fucking you, but now he could perfectly trace your silhouette, that lingerie boldly taunting him. He sensed your shyness hidden behind the smiles you gave to everyone, and he would take great pleasure in stripping it away. He would press on your thighs to make you spread them a little more, your face flushed with both embarrassment and pleasure. A first finger to check how wet you already were in those black panties, your juices making it easier for the second finger to slide in. The slow in-and-out movements—he wanted to take his time to dirty you and make you pay for how easily you had forgotten him. His left hand pressed harder on your thigh, pinning it to the mattress, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you while continuing to finger you. The position wasn’t ideal, his movements even slower, restricted by your two bodies pressed together, but he loved seeing that impatience written all over your eager face. “Just for me,” he whispered, feeling your abundant wetness. He let out a mocking chuckle when you jerked, your walls tightening around his fingers as the tension grew in your belly.

Electric shocks surged when he curled his fingers inside your burning pussy, reaching a spot no one had discovered in you before. “Fuck,” you whispered as he started again. Seeing his slick fingers slide out of you made him grow even harder, and he straightened up on his knees to speed up his movements. You were wild, your hair tousled around your flushed face, your lips shiny from licking them, and Rafe ran his thumb over them, forcing you to suck it. You took it eagerly, and he closed his eyes at the sight, trying to hold back from coming before penetrating you. “Suck harder.” You bit it gently, your tongue sliding softly over the pad of his finger. His other hand took care of your clit while he kept fingering you, and suddenly you squeezed your thighs tightly around him as the orgasm hit. Brutal, overwhelming. You hadn’t even caught your breath when he pulled you up to kiss you fiercely, his tongue desperately playing with yours in a messy waltz. His hand gripped your throat as he held your face, ravaging you all the more, his cock growing even harder between you. Rafe was completely naked against you while you were still wearing your black lace bra, driving him absolutely crazy. You were so beautiful that it hurt him to think you might have worn that for someone else. “Fuck,” he groaned when your hand wrapped around his cock to stroke him. Rafe guessed you hadn’t shared many beds before him, and he clasped your hand in his to show you the rhythm he wanted. He still held you with his other hand, unable to pull away from the mouth he had imagined so many times around his cock. He shuddered once, then chose to pull away from your embrace and pin you back onto the mattress. When he thrust into you abruptly, you both groaned. He was big, but you were so wet that it made it easier. He started rough thrusts, his hips slapping against yours, so soft. You were loud, and Rafe loved hearing your moans ringing in his ears with every stroke. He admired your generous breasts bouncing each time he slipped inside you and finally lowered your bra, admiring your breasts tangled in the fabric. The sight almost made him come, and he slowed down, staying inside you while grinding his pelvis against your clit. “Rafe,” you growled, irritated by the slowdown. “Yeah?” You lifted your hips to signal that you wanted him to pick up the pace, but he slowed down even more. “Is it too slow for you?” You ran your hand over your face, embarrassed, frowning. “Don’t hide from me.” Rafe froze, his cock deep inside you so you could still feel him, and forced you to look at him by gripping your chin.

“You’re such a mess.” And he admired the sight you offered—your breasts exposed, that pouty expression, and your hands clenched into fists trying to hold yourself together. He lay down fully on top of you, his weight pressing gently against your stomach, making your embrace more intimate than sexual. His hand tightened softly around your throat, the other exploring the curve of your hip with a slow, deliberate, almost reverent touch. “You’re shaking so much,” he whispered, feeling the tension in your body. He claimed your lips again, gently, distracting you before resuming his rough movements. His body slammed harder against yours and you curled up beneath the blows, gasping. Rafe was never the gentle type; for him, sex was a way to unload, and he liked it rough. The game had changed once he fell for you; he tried to be less crude, less rough. Tension started to build in his hips, his cock throbbing in time with how your pussy tightened around him. Your orgasm took you far away, stars flashing behind your eyelids, carrying you elsewhere as you came down. Rafe spilled inside you moments later, his cum mixing with your slick that flowed with each thrust. “Slowly,” you whispered when he tried to pull out. A kiss on your cheek to show he’d heard you, and he withdrew gently. You shuddered at the empty sensation, quickly filled again by Rafe’s fingers returning. Gently, he rested his face near your pelvis, using his fingers to bring his cum back inside you, marking you. “Fuck.” Ejaculating into his hand, Rafe Cameron curled up on his couch, breathless from the orgasm he’d just had. He’d always had a vivid imagination, now heightened by your presence in every one of his fantasies. His phone rang, an unknown number flashing on the screen. He rejected the call, ready to get up and clean himself, but the phone rang again from the same number. It was almost seven in the evening — who could be bothering him now?

“What?” he said sharply, answering with a steady hand. “Mr. Cameron? Sorry to bother you, it’s y/n.” Oh. Oh. Rafe sat back down, his eyes fixed once again on the lingerie. “Y/n,” he repeated. “Yes, uh... Teddy’s Recreation leader,” you said. He gave an amused smirk, as if he needed you to clarify who you were. “What can I do for you, Y/n?” “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but you were given the wrong bag when you picked up Teddy.” “The wrong bag?” He played the fool, lightly touching the lingerie with his free, albeit dirty, hand. “Yes, the one you have contains my things... you didn’t open it?” Oh god, you prayed with everything you had that he hadn’t. “No... Teddy must have left it in the car.” “Alright,” you sighed with relief. “Could you bring it back tomorrow?” “Of course, Y/n, my pleasure.” He had that special way of saying your name, and when you hung up, you couldn’t help but wonder why his voice sounded so husky. He, on the other hand, kept his secret well hidden — that of a troubling dream where you were the only protagonist. A dream he would try to make come true. Soon.

Tag list : @rafessbaby @drewssgirl @lanaslushworld

Another with Rafe : 1 2 Or with JJ : 1 2 3 4 5

[memezs-corner-of-the-osc]

Memez theory analysis ramble #2:

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF TPOT 17.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I’m dedicating a entire post to just the scenes with One and Doughnut because it tells us so much about One as a person:

Her demeanour throughout the altercation is something I’d like to bring light to.

One as a character is a manipulator who weaponises gaslighting by learning the characters psychologies to put them under pressure using her facade to sign as we’re all…..very aware by now.

What we learned here is are her downfalls: Temper and ego.

This is the face of someone who’s overly confident in everything she does, here she was not anticipating any failure in her plans.

I mean how could she possibly fail right, after all she’s tricked so many contestants-

And then reality hits.

Her egos down, she didn’t rehearse for this.

Now: let’s observe who one actually is under her act.

She resorts to violence to start with, trying to get a fear response from Doughnut.

Success: Ego back up tenfold.

She feels safe, like she has the upper hand.

So she starts her downfall: She starts giving Doughnut more information than he should know.

After all he’s going to take the deal, they all take the deal.

He can’t possibly escape and tell everyone after he just signs that little contract.

And so like the hawk she is she swoops back in to claim her prize, here she thinks she’s won in crushing the tough nut.

……unfortunately for her Doughnut is smarter then that and questions her, she hates being questioned as it ruins her whole shtick.

“Ughhh don’t worry about that Doughnut, after all is it so crazy to believe I’m just trying to help you?”

Mocking, condescending, setting up her “finishing blow”.

“Those friends of yours all agreed to it and look at all the fun they’re having!”

She can’t help herself and besides he’ll never get the chance to tell anyone so why not take the chance to unconsciously gloat to someone about it?

But it doesn’t work, he keeps questioning, second guessing and not trusting her act.

So she snaps and goes nuclear and goes to what she thinks everyone is can’t resist, themselves:

She tries acting like his friend one final little time, going with her plan B she set up.

She lays it all out, everything she knows about him and all the things in his life she rigged to happen in one last desperate attempt to regain control.

“Everyone gets to be a little selfish, it’s only fair.”

This is the line I’m going to go on a tangent on, it shows why One can do this guilt free.

She’s self justifying it constantly in her mind with a positive feedback loop, through her own delusions she sees fact.

It makes you wonder why she’s doing this and supports what I said last time, I still theorise she’s not here for the power, she’s here to make sure Two is powerless for her own pettiness.

One is a heavily Toxic abuser type person, she has warped morals that she bends to justify their own behaviour to herself subconsciously to get her own goals satisfied.

She has a ego or (at least acts like she has one to further her agenda) and will stop at nothing to the point of almost ending the universe to satisfy her needs.

And if she was friends with Two it would make sense if she used these manipulative tendencies on them and the other algibralians.

The scene with Six I will now circle back to basically confirms what I’ve been theorising with one quote: “She was supposed to be gone.”.

We have half her motive, this seemingly confirms One was exiled from the playground.

For what is yet to be seen.

Now let’s talk about the ending of the scene: What happens when someone defies her.

Let’s watch shall we:

She’s failed to make this man stoop to her level proving her psychology is wrong so she snaps, she’s never encountered this before.

She wants to feel like she’s won so she turns to a power trip, in a moment of rage she rips Doughnuts legs off and kicks him off to affirm to herself that she got the last laugh here and that letting him go is no issue.

I mean what can one man do without limbs-

And this right here is where I theorise Ones downfall begins, she got greedy adding Doughnut: a person who she knew could be a problem into the plan.

And where did it leave her?

With a wild card with context clues about what she was planning and with information about what’s behind her act on the loose, in her own greed I theorise she set in motion her demise.

And the kicker is even at the end she’s still affirming to herself that she didn’t really fail here by flying head first into the sun and that Doughnut was “just for good luck.“.

So I end off this essay of a post with a question: If this is how she treats her victims how did she treat her “friends”?

Thank you viewer for reading, the follow up to this will contain an analysis on Pencil (probably my favourite contestant by now) along with a few other misc things I want to talk about as this is already pushing it for this ted talk of a post.

[tteokdoroki]

✩ — ANGELS SHOULD NEVER FALL THIS FAR FROM HEAVEN ⁀➷ everyone believes satoru gojo to be an angel. your mother considers her new son to be a blessing, even if he’s bratty and spoiled. but never once did think teasing him would make your step-brother to act on such ungodly desires. (3.2K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, pwp, college!au, religious imagery, step-cest, groping, fingering, ‘just the tip’, exhibitionism, clothed sex, male masturbation, slight degradation, bratty behaviour, use of oneesan, unprotected sex, ruined orgasms, cumplay, fem!reader, step-bro!gojo.

things to note. lol sorry it’s been a while !! trying a new layout also posting this into the void while i work on kinktober eee !! idk i’ve had a rough time trying to write a one shot so im glad i could make this !! special thanks to @kishibye for beta reading. i hope you enjoy this bestie boos ily <3

“what are you doing?” there’s a sharp edge to the tone of satoru’s voice, splayed across his tongue that holds back a stream of curses. his eyes speak fury in their piping hot flames of wild cerulean as he watches you enter the kitchen and shoot straight for the snack cupboard.

you can feel the weight of his gaze as it crosses the slopes of your body, from the back of your head, twirling around your curves before ultimately falling to your behind.

playing innocent, you stand on your tip toes and grasp at the bag of chips you’re after. the ones on the top shelf. “whaddya mean ‘what am i doing’?”

“what do you mean what do i mean?” your step brother retorts childishly, as if you’re two kids fighting on a playground at recess.

you click your tongue and pay him no mind. “don’t be such a baby, satoru,” you wave a hand in his face in a haughty manner. “use your big boy words.”

gojo suppresses a whine when your shirt rides up and reveals your skin to gorgeous eyes. he lets it gargle around in his throat like the sting of cool mouthwash, before striding over to you — grabbing the chips and slamming the cupboard shut so hard it makes you jump.

“you can’t just walk around dressed like that.”

he gestures to your get up — the clothes you wear when nobody’s home. your sapphire silly and scallop-edged panties, your old and ratty band t-shirt haphazardly thrown on.

“why?” you turn around to come face to face with your younger (step)brother, noting the way his stare hones in on the plush meat of your thighs as you squish them together — leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“my friends are coming over.”

“so, what’s the big deal?” there’s something about pissing gojo off that entertains you. he’s a brat by all means, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and daddy’s dollars tucked into his pockets. whenever there’s a problem, all it takes is a classic ‘toru temper tantrum and your parents are on the scene to fix things for him. he’ll never know the hardships of being raised by a single mother, always having a little less than most. he walks around in his own little bubble of riches - and you can’t help but want to pop it. “shoko thinks i’m cool and geto will probably jack off to me later. it’s whatever.”

“but it’s not whatever,” you can practically see satoru fight the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child — even going as far to have the audacity to pout down at you. “you’ll just embarrass me. so do us both a favour and put some clothes on, nobody wants to see all that ‘round the house.”

“do you own this house?”

“no but i-“

“but your daddy does. and daddy isn’t here! so shut up, satoru!” jabbing a finger into his chest, you smile up at your not-so-little little step-brother, evilly. “i make the rules.”

“oh fuck you. all you do is mooch off of my dad, princess. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your mom whoring it out for him.” he sneers in response, upper lip curling into a distasteful snarl like a dog with a stranger on its territory. his words, though cruel and foul, are far from the truth and you know that he doesn’t mean it. satoru is a brat that throws acid laced words at anyone who gets in his way — yourself included.

even though you agree that your parents tied the knot all too fast — barely giving the two of you a chance to get to know each other as siblings. they were in love and far too happy for the rivalry between their children to get in the way. you know that the fact pissed gojo off to no end, he hated how your mother doted on him and how he’d always needed to fight for his father’s attention. now it certainly wasn’t ever going to be on him. but the two women in his house instead.

your poor, spoiled, baby brother.

however, you won’t let his words and how he projects onto you, hurt you. “whoops! looks like i dropped my will to give a fuck!” whilst pretending to drop your snack, you bend over in front of him to reveal inches of beauty marked and blemished flesh, drawing hungry seafoam eyes to the bounce of showing your ass — testing your little step brother. “i don’t care satoru, i’m older.”

satoru’s mouth snaps shut after moments of wordlessly opening and closing. he stands frozen on the spot, as if he can’t seem to process the very idea that his older step-sister had just flashed him to prove a point.

but just when you think you’ve won, the silver-haired brat is pressed right up behind you, forcing your body to bend over the cold marble counter that instantly has your nipples hardening against the icy surface. heat rushes to your face, blossoming just under the barrier of your skin as his hard on nestles it’s way between your ass cheeks — a symphony of your surprised squeaks echoing through the modern kitchen.

“hey! what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

instead of responding, he pushes your head down against the counter — circling his increasingly wet erection against your behind, manhandling the globes of flesh back onto his dick. “not so fun, is it.” he coos down at you, voice chilly and full of condescending highs and lows. “yanno…you’re awfully mean to me.”

saliva pools on your tongue, weighing it down in your mouth like a paperweight as satoru’s girth slips downwards, seedy tip brushing over panty clad and your swollen clit. “aren’t oneesan’s s’pposed to take care of their baby brothers?” his breath is hot and ragged against your ear as gojo haunches over you, caging you in like a wild animal as you thrash and writhe under his touch.

you can’t even bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame when gojo’s left hand dances between your tangled limbs and slips past the frilly band of your underwear — ghosting over the throbbing pearl laying between your sticky pussy lips. “step…step brother!” you whinge at the tingle of pleasure that blooms in your lower tummy and spreads like angel wings throughout the rest of your body. 

satoru takes turns playing with you, alternating between his nimble, skilled fingers and his seedy girth that smears precum all over your inner thighs and panties. “like that even fuckin’ matters.” he laughs, twisted and proud. “could you get off like this? yeah i think you could…. you’re already so wet. just from grinding on your little brother’s cock.”

your legs grow shaky at his ministrations, beads of your juices oozing from your empty entrance to stain the man’s sweats, slicking him up as if it’s a signature of your claim. “‘toru!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into the depth of your skull. “m-more.”

“look at how fast you fold for me…” he pushes up your shirt so that the fabric pools around your waist — pawing at the fat there, massaging your hips softly as if he isn’t violently, cruelly rubbing one out on your achey pussy. “i don’t think you’re in a position to ask me for more, big sis.” satoru taunts, a heavy hand coming down on the bare skin of your ass, leaving a raw handprint in its place. “such a nasty slut, i bet you’d let me fuck you like this too. out in the open, where anyone could catch us.”

you yelp in surprise at the feeling of gojo’s messy, cream coated cockhead nudge at your entrance from over your panties — a slender finger pulling the soaked material to the side so he can fuck you with his tip. “oh, i bet you’d like that, huh baby?” he continues to purr, jutting his hips forward ever so slightly — feeding your greedy cunt a few more inches of him. satoru’s barely sheathed inside of you, but you’re already stretching deliciously around what he’s given you. he’s fat, girthy just as he is long and his mushroom tip drags along sensitive spots in your walls you didn’t even know you had.

 he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet.

you sob, wail and writhe on your little step brother’s cock, nails clawing at the marble counter while your breath escapes you. “satoru, please fuck me. ‘m sorry… sorry—!”

“shh big sis, you’re being too loud,” he cups a hand over your mouth. gojo eases two digits past your plump lips to pacify your cries as he shallowly pumps his wet cock into the heat of your sex — gritting his teeth to hide his own moans. “we…fuck, you’re tight as shit… we wouldn’t want my friends to know that you dress like a slut for my cock, would we?”

you shake your head with a muffled moan, suckling the taste of yourself from gojo’s fingers and breathing heavily through your nose. “no, we wouldn’t. that’s right. good girl, oh shit.”

satoru laughs, a little cocky and a little drawn out in a long, whiny whimper over the wet slap of the backs of your thighs in the front of his own. but he trembles from behind you, like his legs are about to give out every time your creamy cunt sucks a little more of him in. it’s a miracle he’s managed to hold you both up.

guilt wracks your body intertwining with the red blood cells coursing through your veins and carrying limited oxygen to your brain — your head practically empty at how your little brother ruins you on half of his fat cock. this isn’t right, this is completely wrong and yet you feel yourself coming undone — weak in the knees and shaky in your lips, the dam in your lower tummy threatening to burst at any second and flood the room in an erotic river of your arousal. 

pushing your head off of the counter, you lean into satoru, throwing your ass back onto him in rhythm with the harshness of his thrusts. everything is hotter, heavier and you can’t even think about how much of a bad step-sister you are when he’s dominating your body like this. the silky locks of satoru’s silvering hair press against your shoulder and he wraps a fist in the fabric of your shirt to pull you further back onto his cock. 

“‘m gonna c-cum, oh god!” you squeal, flinching as your juices crudely slap against the kitchen floor. “i’m so close!”

he pants into your ear like a desperate dog, fully wrapping himself around you and trapping you against the counter so that you have nowhere to go except towards your high. “yeah?” gojo breathes heatedly, temperate breath cascading over the back of your neck and only adding fuel to your fire of desire. “i can tell, you get like this. all needy ‘n cute when you’re about to cum.” 

his words have you clenching around his bulbous tip every time it pushes up against the pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had — your arousal catching in the pretty blue veins that spiral around the length of gojo’s shaft. “you don’t think i can’t hear you, big sis? late at night when you think everyone’s sleepin’….” his whistle tone moans are quickly replaced by deep growls and grunts that only just manage to escape from between the gritted rows of your step brother’s pearly whites. “when you stuff those tiny fingers into that tight little hole and—“

he reaches down between your mess of slick soaked limbs to land a harsh smack against your quivering pussy, sending the foamy ring of white where your bodies join flying about the place. “—and make yourself cum to the thought of me?” he continues, breathing ragged and laughing at you again when you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

“s-satoru!”

he soothes you with quick circles over your swollen clit and kisses to your shoulder — being careful not to leave marks. “oh did that hurt, baby? am i  the mean one now?” licking a stripe up the side of your face and tasting the sweat on your glistening skin, satoru rambles on — filling you up with praises and copious amounts of precum. “you know i—fuck— you know i love you. my precious big sister, so fucking good to me. let’s make you cum, yeah?” 

you’re allowed to rut back on him for a little longer, since he loves the sound of his name whirling around messily on your tongue, all high-pitched and sugar coated for him. if only you knew how badly he’d wanted you, how pissed he was when his father went on to marry your mother. gojo has wanted you since the very first night you met — his every waking thought has been carefully carved to lust after you, think of your eyes, your smile, your lips. fuck, everything about you has satoru under some kind of spell. 

“r-right there. right there, t-there!” you chant the words like they’re the a prayer, as if they’re the only ones you know, allowing satoru to throw you through the loop of pleasure until you’re too far gone to stay on the ride. 

angling his slender hips upwards, his cockhead bares down on the gummy centre of your g-spot just has he buries himself inside of you — right up to the hilt. “h-here? this where you want me, big sis?” gojo’s amused gasp turns into a coo when you let out a meek hum of agreement, babling wild nonsense and drooling into the counter you’re pressed against. “mmhm, got you creamin’ around me already. so cute, so good when you listen. when you’re a good t’me, oneesan.” 

the honorific alone has your mouth running dry as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. though the syrupy pap, pap, pap of your sex says otherwise. it tells the truth of your sin.

and the thing that you don’t know about satoru is that he loves to give, feeding pieces of himself to you as he fucks you wild in the middle of your family kitchen. he wants you to have all of him, every corner and inch of his body just like he dreamed about. he knows it’s forbidden and that it’s wrong, but he can’t help but relish in the feeling of your pretty pussy sucking him in so selfishly, greedily clamping down on his thick base. 

he would give you anything. anything you wanted and asked for if you’d let him. his hands slip from your waist to intertwine with yours splayed out on the cool marble surface, using his last spurts of energy to drag you towards your orgasm and the deep depths of sinner’s paradise. 

“fuck me, fuck me, baby.” he growls possessively against the shell of your ear. “let go for me. lemme see how much you love your little brother—“

the crescendo of your pleasure is at an all time high, about to come crashing down on you like a tonne of heavy bricks. 

that is until the door bell rings, accompanied by the sound of geto’s voice from the outside of the house. “yoo, satoru! open up!” 

you’d think that you’d have been good enough for your little step-brother to keep going — to push onwards and let you cream all over him before he went to attend to his silly little friends. but he flips the script, pulling out of you just as you teeter over the edge to ruin your orgasm.

“no, no, please!” you sniffle, teary eyed with dissatisfaction sitting in your lower belly — the need to cum still there but the feeling of emptiness within your dripping walls taking over. “satoru…” you whine.

when you look behind you, he’s too busy finishing himself off — his black shirt between his teeth, sweats hanging low on his waist while gojo palms  his hard and heavy cock as he pleases. 

it’s coated in your arousal, shining under the artificial lighting in the kitchen and you watch with a pout as gojo jacks himself off to the view of your ruined cunt. he thumbs the seedy slit at the centre of his bright red tip, hissing through the sensitivity. he’s a picture perfect vision, appearing as an angel before your very eyes. a mop of halo white hair flop backwards with satoru’s head, rich sapphire eyes locked behind fluttering lashes that glisten with pearls of pleasure filled tears. 

you know not to be mistaken, you know that satoru is more like an incubus than the heavenly being he presents as. the parts of your brain with better judgement see him as the sinner who made you fall from grace, committing such a heinous act. the desperate side of you with a brain full of lust and smoke screens sees your step-brother as a god who controls all of your desires. 

you think you prefer that side of you more. 

meanwhile, a drop of sweat runs a track down the length of satoru’s neck, catching on the curve of his Adam’s apple as he swallows down his euphoric laments. you find yourself jealous that his own fingers are wrapped around his sloppy dick instead of drawing shapes against your aching clit. you envy how good it must feel for satoru when he finally cums. ropes of thick white sling around his knuckles, much paler in contrast to his pearlescent skin tone.

a deep, gravelly moan erupts from his hot mouth like lava, accompanied by curses and the stuttered syllables you recognise to be your name while he finishes himself off. gojo jerks his sensitive cock over your ass to paint you with the last spurts of his release. it’s a claim on you as your step-brother, a way in which he can show you that he always gets his way no matter what.

whilst still recovering, your step-brother drags a slender finger through the puddle of cum he’s left on you, and drags it down to your stretched little hole before pushing it against your overstimulated clit. “hmm, so pretty.” gojo grins, slow and sly, when you twitch and attempt to jolt away from him. then unexpectedly, he lands a hard smack against your bum — revelling in your sweet cry of pleasure, impatience and pain. “go put somethin’ on, will ya, sis? my friends are still waiting outside.” 

“i…i hate you.” you whimper shakily, brain frazzled from the situation. 

satoru might be a spoiled brat, but he’s not mean enough to leave you here a shaky, dripping mess so he helps you to your feet — tenderly fixing the hem of your shirt and panties back into place (failing to wipe his cum off of you beforehand). you’re still pouting from your ruined orgasm once he’s done, and he nudges the underside of your chin with a singular knuckle. 

“don’t worry big sis, i’ll come take care of you later. maybe i’ll even let geto watch since you love prancing around half naked for him too.” he teases, squishing your cheeks as you try to swat at him. “and you don’t hate me, you love me and this cock. clearly.” gojo sings and sends a cheeky wink in your before prancing away to open the door for his friends. 

he pulls his pants up as he goes, not minding the wet patch you’ve left on him. 

whereas, you scurry up to your room before they can greet you and gojo tells them that you’re feeling unwell. 

that day, you learn two valuable lessons: 

one —  never mess with a spoiled brat, it’ll never end well for you and gojo will always get what he wants no matter who pays the bills. 

two — geto really does like to jerk off to you, even more so when he watches his best friend punishes his older step-sister with enough orgasms to make her forget why she was in trouble with satoru in the first place.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[alchemistc]

"Well, that's just undignified," says a familiar voice to the little girl she's been watching run the gamut of making Park Friends for the last three minutes. She runs straight into his legs and raises her arms, and it looks automatic, the way he swings her up and wipes at her face with a wet wipe he just whipped out of a back pocket. "How is anyone gonna recognize you the next time we come to this park?"

(Abby had watched her reach down and streak a solid line of mud down both cheeks a minute and a half ago and just been thankful that she'd missed those years, with Sam's kids.)

He's the same. He's - entirely different.

The smile on his face reaches his eyes in a way she's never seen, and some of the lines around his mouth are deeper. He holds himself differently and she can't pinpoint exactly what it is. He looks settled in his skin.

Of all the parks in all of LA, she thinks to herself, and then she remembers their friend Gertie telling her about the house Tommy had bought that most of them had assumed was a cry for help. A real fixer-upper, she'd said, an ironic lilt to her voice, a wry half smile because she'd gotten Abby in the divorce. As it were.

(Hadn't stopped her from gossiping like a bored housewife about Abby and Buck, eighteen months later, but at least she'd been able to spot Gertie's handiwork when she'd fielded no less than nine concerned texts about her himbo.)

It's a beautiful day. A little breezy, but the sun is warm, the sky is free of clouds.

It feels a little ridiculous that she's here to catch up with one ex only to encounter the one who'd sent her straight into his arms. It had made sense at the time. She'd given herself the time to get over a man who could never have loved her the way either of them wanted to, and then latched on to the first boyishly handsome one she could find. She'd never meant to care for Buck, in the end. It'd happened, because he was easy to love, but -

She'd just never meant to.

Sam's gonna laugh at her so long she's gonna smother him with a hotel pillow.

She sees him first, long legs clambering out of a newer model Jeep, the bronze in his hair catching in a way she doesn't remember. It takes her a second to realize he'd always just kept his hair too short for the curls to be this pronounced.

Abby's a married woman. She loves Sam dearly. She's also well aware that there's no harm in looking, sometimes, and she's certainly looking now. He'd looked more bulky the last time she'd seen him, filling out his shirt in a way that Abby knew he had to be proud of, as insane as his workouts were, as weird as his diet trends always seemed. This is different. More. His shoulders are insane. The long legs actually look almost proportional with his thighs so thick. She can see a newer tattoo peeking out from under the shirt he wears. The style's changed too, she notes empirically - a tee-shirt that's not actually tearing at the seams to contain him, a flannel he's shrugging out of to tie around his waist.

He glances up and catches her eye and the smile that stretches across his face is friendly, unbothered. Still beautiful enough to turn a few heads in her direction when he holds up a hand to wave.

"Daddy!" screams the girl, now sans mud, and Abby watches in confusion as she books it across the cork path of the playground, beelining it towards Buck.

Buck holds a hand out at groin height and grunts when all her weight catches him at the knees.

The rest of the picture pieces together slowly, while Abby attempts to keep her jaw from falling open. Tommy ambles after the girl, casual, smiling, and when he gets there he dips a hand into the riot of curls atop her head, ruffling. He slides a hand to Buck's waist, casual, comfortable, the same way Sam taps at her hip when he wants a kiss. Buck's hand lifts briefly to Tommy's elbow before he bends to greet the girl, and even though they're farther away now it's obvious she's giving him a full rundown of what he's missed.

When Buck can get a word in edgewise, he tips his head towards Abby, and the girl spins on her heel and practically marches over to the bench in the shade Abby has chosen.

Buck and Tommy follow after her as a unit.

"Hi!" She's all Buck. Fat cheeks and gangly limbs and sky blue eyes, enthusiasm leaking out of every pore. "I'm Mary!"

Tommy's grandmothers name. She'd never had a full picture why she was the only member of his family Tommy spoke of fondly - not til the end, anyway.

She's desperate to know why the hell Buck hadn't said something to her about this in advance, but - no, it's too crazy to just take on faith. She'd have needed to see it.

They have matching rings on their left hands.

Abby is suddenly sorry she deactivated her Facebook years ago.

She hasn't spoken to Gertie in three years. She's absolutely going to eat this up.

Abby reaches out to shake Mary's already extended hand. It's a firm shake - up, down, squeeze and drop, something she remembers from the time Tommy had helped her prep for job interviews and become exasperated by her limp noodle arms.

Buck and Tommy loom over her. They don't mean to. Both of them have a good way of putting people at ease about their size pretty quickly, and it happens now, again, as Tommy shifts his weight and Buck leans down and in to drop a hand to his daughter's shoulder. Tommy and Buck, she thinks to herself. Buck and Tommy.

It's not hard to square, if she really takes a moment. They were both desperately lonely people, when she knew them, but so so full of love. Too full, even when one of them hadn't even been attracted to her. It's leaking out of them even now, as Tommy gives her a wry smile and Buck rubs a hand behind his neck.

It takes Abby a second to clock it as a Tommy gesture. "Hi," she says in greeting, and then dissolves into laughter a second later.

Mary joins in even though there's no way she understands why.

"The ambush was Evan's idea," Tommy intones, the smile still warm and uncareful around the edges of his eyes, when Abby finally gets herself under control. Mary has already returned to treating Tommy like a jungle gym. Abby quirks a brow at the name, shoots a look at Buck. He smiles back bashfully, blissfully unaware of the way he blooms under Tommy's gaze

"I didn't think you'd believe me."

Mary's knee knocks uncomfortably close to Tommy's groin as he swings her back and forth on one massive arm, and he barely blinks, though he does shift his weight again to limit the possibility of another limb taking him out. Abby stands. Hands out hugs. Despite how rambunctious she is with Tommy, Mary is careful to keep herself in check while Abby is in the direct path of her limbs.

"It's easier to believe than you might think," she tells Buck, and wonders if Gertie would be more or less inclined to forgive Tommy knowing that he and Abby have essentially the same type.

"You wanna grab a drink?" Buck asks after a moment, hand reaching casually for Tommy's hip. "There's a spot around the corner that makes a mean oolong. That's your drink, right?"

God. He really hasn't changed a bit. Memory for useless but meaningful detail, an open heart, that overeager tilt to his smile. Tommy's got a yapping kid half hanging off his belt loop and he still has the fortitude to send a glance at Buck like he's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

If she's gonna reach out to Gertie, she'll need to be prepared for the Spanish Inquisition. This is a full interrogation piece of gossip.

"I'd love that," she says, and Buck's grin splits at the seams while Mary and Tommy have a friendly if heated back and forth about what sort of drink Mary is allowed.

[jayrisingx]

MORE PLATONIC WARRIOR CAT DOODLES RAHHHHH rant under the cut as usual

their bond is so important to me it’s the one good thing canon has ever done. but canon is my playground so i’m adding onto it lololol

the head-canon that briarlight has gnarly upper body strength is so real and she for sure just tackles this twiggy little twink like it’s nothing just cause she finds it funny. she annoys the shit out of him every single day but he would literally die without the banter. if i remember right this is already sorta canon but she’s one of the few cats that just lets jay’s repulsive attitude bounce right off of them. she’s so unapologetically affectionate and open about how she feels. jayfeather is not LMFAOO so he’s just stuck with the absolute ray of sunshine that is slowly chipping away at this rough exterior. briar doesn’t want him to change. he’s insufferable and mean but that’s why she loves him so much. he’s honest and real in a way that she wants people to be with her, their attitude balance each other out in a way. while their relationship is platonic to me cause let jayfeather have friends, they argue like an old married couple and it’s SOOO funny. like it’s over the most ridiculous things and it’s so entertaining for the both of them and anyone watching. they’re my little sillies i’m crying

also i don’t wanna sound like i’m ripping on jaybriar shipping cause i’m not i swear. i just love exploring platonic and familial relationships in warriors cause i feel like they’re so neglected most of the time

[lxndonorris]

workout - Carlos Sainz

Y/N x Carlos Sainz Theme: Smut (you've been warned) steamy workout session with Carlos x word count: 3410+ sorry for the poor attempt of being quirky with some words hehe

Carlos is in full pre-season training mode, and his home gym has become his personal playground—a space where he sharpens his body for the grueling F1 season ahead.

He's set up neatly in the corner of his house, with dumbbells, resistance bands, and a sleek bench press. The air smells faintly of rubber mats and his fresh cologne, mixing with the sounds of his steady, controlled breathing.

He's wearing that baby blue, form-fitting shirt that hugs every contour of his toned upper body, paired with dark blue shorts that give just the right amount of freedom for movement. Underneath, these light yellowish green spandex-like pants accentuate his thighs beautifully. His white cap sits snugly backward as he focuses on his form. The stubble on his jaw is growing perfectly, giving him that rugged, effortlessly handsome look.

You're sitting nearby, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, pretending not to care, but your attention keeps slipping. And he knows it.

Carlos would always ask you to accompany him during workouts, like he says, 'to have someone to chat,' but you both know that he's just happy and excited to show off.

He starts with some warm-ups—rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms—glancing your way between movements.

"You sure you don't want to join?" he teases, smirking. His Spanish accent lingers playfully in the air.

You don't look up immediately, playing it cool.

"I'm good here, thanks."

It is a little game you play anytime he's trying to tease you. He loves to play, but he doesn't like following your rules. If he isn't in control, he tries anything to get it back.

Carlos gets in position for two sets of push-ups, his entire body angled perfectly for you to stare at his behind—his broad shoulders, back, and ass. His tight clothes leave barely anything to your imagination.

He doesn't even need to see you; he just knows you're watching, enjoying every second—every push, every soft groan leaving his mouth.

As he gets up, he glances your way again, catching you staring, causing him to lick his lips. Your cheeks are burning slightly, flushing with color.

Carlos chuckles under his breath before moving on to the weights. He picks up a pair of dumbbells, positioning himself in front of the mirror now. His biceps flex as he curls them up, veins subtly appearing, visible through his hairy arms, his muscles tightening under that tight shirt.

"Don't get too distracted," he says, looking at you through the mirror with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, tilting your phone slightly to shield your face.

"Please, I've seen this a million times."

That is true, yet somehow, this display ignites something deep inside you every, single time.

He chuckles, switching to shoulder presses, lifting the weights above his head with slow, controlled movements.

"Mmm-hmm. That's why you're still watching."

You roll your eyes dramatically, your cheeks flushing still. "I've nothing else to look at."

Carlos shakes his head, suppressing a soft chuckle, setting down the dumbbells before moving to the pull-up bar.

With an effortless motion, he grips it and pulls himself up, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal the carved definition of his lower abs. His muscles work in perfect sync—shoulders, biceps, and core—all moving together in flawless rhythm.

"Still nothing to look at, huh?" he breathes out between reps.

You cross your legs, feigning indifference.

"Not particularly."

Carlos drops down with a soft thud and turns to face you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up ever so slightly, fanning himself as if he's working so hard.

"Maybe I should take this off," he muses, his smirk deepening. "It's getting hot."

You roll your eyes again, but your heartbeat stutters.

"Don't be dramatic."

He chuckles, deep and rich, stepping closer, his body radiating warmth.

"Come here," he says smoothly, flexing his arm in front of you. "Feel that?"

You glance at him warily but bite your lip, giving in. Your fingers wrap around his biceps, feeling the hard muscle beneath your touch. It's solid, warm, and completely unyielding.

Carlos watches you, enjoying your reaction.

"Tighter than last season?" he asks, voice low.

You hum, running your fingers up his arm before pressing against his chest. His pecs are firm, his breathing steady beneath your palm.

"I don't know," you say, teasing. "Might need more proof."

His smirk grows, his confidence unwavering.

"Oh? Keep going then."

Your hands trail lower, fingertips ghosting over his abs through the slightly damp fabric of his shirt. Each ridge is defined, taut beneath your touch. His breathing hitches slightly when you let your fingers drift even further down, brushing against his lower stomach.

That's when you notice it—the slight strain in his shorts, the way the fabric has begun to pull just a little tighter.

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow.

Carlos isn't just enjoying the workout. He's enjoying this.

"Something wrong?"

He doesn't shy away. Instead, he steps closer, bringing himself just inches from you. His hands settle on the arms of your chair, effectively caging you in.

You feel the heat radiating from his skin, the faint scent of sweat and cologne filling your senses.

"Not at all," he murmurs, his voice lower, huskier.

You smirk, pressing your palm lightly against his chest again.

"You seem... tense."

Carlos exhales a small chuckle, then leans in, his lips grazing your cheek as he speaks.

"And whose fault is that?"

You barely have time to react before his mouth finds yours. The kiss starts slow, deliberate, his lips warm and firm against yours. He deepens it, one hand sliding up your arm, his fingers teasing over your skin.

You let out a quiet hum, finally dropping your phone, your hands slipping back to his chest, nails grazing lightly over his shirt. His body tenses beneath your touch, but he doesn't pull away—he leans in closer, tilting his head to kiss you deeper, like he's proving a point.

Then, he pulls away just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, a smug grin playing on his lips. His breath is warm against your skin, his dark eyes heavy-lidded with something between amusement and desire.

"You liked that, didn't you?" you murmur, your fingers still resting lightly against his chest.

He hums, a low, contented sound deep in his throat.

"Maybe," he admits, eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "But I think you liked it more."

You scoff, tilting your head.

"Oh? And what makes you think that?"

His smirk deepens, and before you can react, he leans in again, brushing his lips along your jawline, teasingly slow.

"Because," he whispers, the heat in his voice unmistakable, "you haven't stopped touching me."

You roll your eyes but don't move your hand. Instead, you let your fingers drift lower, ghosting over the fabric of his shorts, teasing the strain that's undeniably there. His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn't stop you.

He likes this game. Loves it, even.

"Careful," he warns, his voice thick, playful but edged with something deeper. "If you keep that up, I—"

You press your palm more firmly against him, a teasing squeeze that has him sucking in a sharp breath.

"You were saying?" You challenge, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

Carlos growls in his throat, his jaw clenching slightly as his hands tighten on the arms of your chair.

His control is slipping, and he knows it.

But instead of pulling away, he leans in, his lips brushing just below your ear.

"You really like testing me, don't you?" He murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement and something dangerously exciting.

You grin, dragging your fingers back up his stomach, feeling the way his muscles twitch under your touch.

"And you really like failing the test."

Carlos exhales a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"Oh, cariño," he murmurs, his hands finally sliding down to your waist, gripping just firm enough to send a shiver through you. "You have no idea what you've started."

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers pressing just enough to make you aware of the heat radiating off his body. His smirk is still there, but there's something else in his eyes now—something darker, more intense.

He likes this game, but he also likes to win.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence.

"Started what?"

Carlos huffs a small laugh, his nose brushing against your jaw as he speaks.

"Something you won't be able to handle."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

Before you can react, he moves, his hands slipping down to the backs of your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you up from the chair with ease, his strength on full display as he carries you effortlessly.

You barely have time to gasp before he sets you down onto his workout bench, stepping between your legs, caging you in completely.

His hands settle on either side of your hips, his face hovering inches away from yours.

"You act like you're in control," he breathes, his voice smooth, teasing. "But we both know how this ends."

You exhale slowly, feeling your pulse quicken as he watches you, waiting for your next move.

You don't back down—you never do.

Instead, you trail your hands back up his chest, over his shoulders, fingers teasing along the hem of his shirt.

"Maybe," you admit, slipping your hands under the fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "But I think you like it when I try."

Carlos inhales sharply at the touch, his jaw flexing slightly as you ghost your fingers down his torso again, teasing the hard planes of his stomach. His muscles twitch under your fingertips, but he doesn't move- doesn't stop you.

Instead, he leans in closer, his lips barely grazing your ear.

"I do," he admits, his voice a low, velvety murmur. "But don't think for a second that I won't turn the tables."

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his abdomen, watching as his breath stutters ever so slightly.

"Then do it," you challenge softly.

Carlos pulls back up just enough to look at you, his eyes flickering with something undeniably dangerous and playful.

"Oh, cariño," he whispers, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile.

Then, before you can react, he grips your wrists, pinning them lightly against the bench as he leans down, his mouth finding yours again—this time with no hesitation, no teasing.

Carlos' lips crash against yours, but it's not just a kiss—it's a statement. It's him taking control, proving his point without words. His grip on your wrists is firm but not unkind, just enough to remind you that no matter how much you tease him, he was always the on in charge when he decided to be.

You exhale sharply against his mouth, but you don't fight it. You let him lead, let him deepen the kiss until it's all-consuming, until your fingers twitch beneath his grasp, aching to touch him again.

He notices, of course—Carlos always notices.

Smirking against your lips, he releases your wrists, and you waste no time running your hands through his hair, knocking his cap off in the process. His dark strands are slightly damp from his workout, and when you tug just a little, he groans softly against your mouth.

"You play dirty," he mutters, his hands finding your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

You grin.

"So do you."

Carlos hums in agreement, pulling you closer, eliminating any space between you.

His body is warm, his muscles tense beneath your hands as you drag them down his back, feeling every inch of his strength. His breathing is heavier now, the teasing from earlier fading into something else entirely.

His lips trail down to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You suck in a breath as he murmurs against your skin.

"You started this, cariño. Don't tell me you're backing out now."

You scoff, tilting your head to give him better access.

"You're the one who's been showing off all day."

He chuckles, his hands slipping lower, gripping your thighs as he leans in.

"And you love watching."

You smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

"Maybe."

Carlos studies you for a moment, eyes dark and full of amusement, then suddenly—he lifts you off the bench effortlessly again. A small gasp leaves your lips as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

"Carlos—"

"Shh," he smirks, walking you toward the wall, pressing you gently against it.

His strength is ridiculous—he's barely exerting effort, and it only fuels his ego.

"See," he murmurs, voice laced with smug satisfaction. "This is why I train."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding.

"So you can show off?"

Carlos grins.

"So I can do this."

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours again, deeper this time, more demanding. His fingers dig into your hips, pressing you closer against him. The tension from earlier, the teasing, the buildup—it all snaps into something more urgent, more intense.

His breath is warm against your skin, his lips teasing along your jawline as he holds you effortlessly against the wall. His grip is firm and strong, and there's an undeniable smugness in the way he keeps you there like you weigh nothing.

"You were saying?" He mirrors your tone from earlier, pressing a low, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

You exhale a shaky breath, fingers digging into his shoulders.

"That you show off too much."

Carlos chuckles, his chest vibrating against yours.

"And yet," he says, moving his lips down your throat, "you keep watching."

You smirk even as your pulse races.

"You like that I do."

His hands tighten on your thighs, pressing you impossibly closer.

"I love that you do."

The playful game from earlier hasn't disappeared—it's still there, woven into every touch, every teasing glance—but now, there's something deeper, something more intense.

Carlos isn't just playing to win anymore; he's savoring it, enjoying every reaction he pulls from you.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to your lips.

"You gonna keep teasing?"

You hum, dragging your fingers down his back.

"Wouldn't it be fun if I didn't?"

Carlos grins at that, his hands sliding up to your waist.

"Then I guess I'll have to remind you who's really in control here."

He pushes away from the wall, carrying you easily as he walks you toward the bedroom.

His confidence is maddening, and you should protest—should at least pretend to fight back—but the way he looks at you, like he knows exactly what he's doing, has you melting into him.

Carlos smirks, his grip tightening slightly.

"Only when it means I get to hear you say my name like that again."

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

"Cocky."

His lips brush yours, teasing, playful.

"Only for you, cariño."

He sets you down onto the bed gently and carefully, and you slide further back, watching him pull at the hem of his shirt, dragging it across his chest, before he takes it off.

Licking your lips, you drink in the sight of him—his hairy bare chest, his taut muscles, strong arms, and tousled hair.

You run a hand across your chest, feeling your own heart racing, as he does the same, dragging his fingers across his damp skin, before resting on the ever-growing strain inside his tight shorts.

"All because of you," he muses, more to himself than to anyone else,

"You love that," you suppress a chuckle, watching him take his undergarments off as well.

"I do," he admits, running a hand through his hair before he climbs onto the bed, approaching you slowly, teasingly.

As soon as he's close enough, his lips find yours once more, and you melt into his kiss—deep, longing, demanding even.

You feel his hands everywhere, on your breast, your sides, and thighs, his fingers tugging, pulling, and clawing at the fabric of your clothes.

You stroke his chest when he lets out a low growl, the sound vibrating in his throat.

His fingers trace over your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake as you work together to shed the layers between you. Piece by piece, he removes your clothes, replacing them with longing, burning kisses that leave marks on your skin, and your heart yearns for more.

There is something intoxicating about the way he watches you, his dark eyes flickering with admiration and want. He takes his time, savoring every inch of bare skin revealed to him, his hands mapping you out as if he's memorizing every detail.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his voice softer now, reverent.

You cup his jaw, your thumb grazing the stubble that's grown in enough to roughen his otherwise soft kisses.

"You just like looking."

Carlos chuckles, low and deep.

"You have no idea."

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours, slow at first- like he's giving you the chance to set the pace. But you don't hesitate. You pull him closer, deepening the kiss, feeling the way he responds instantly, his body pressing against yours.

His warmth, his scent, the sheer presence of him—it surrounds you, consumes you. He moves with an effortless control, his hands steady yet gentle as they explore, as if he's savoring the moment as much as you are.

And when he finally slips inside you, it's seamless, like you were always meant to fit this way. A quiet gasp escapes your lips, swallowed instantly by his kiss, as he holds you close, his forehead pressing against yours.

You cling to him, fingers digging into his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath your hands flex with each movement. He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that's almost too tender compared to the intensity of everything else.

"Carlos," you whisper, his name slipping out without a thought.

He groans softly, tightening his grip on your hips.

"Say it again."

You do, and the way he responds—his breath hitching, his hold on you tightening—tells you just how much he loves hearing it this way.

Carlos' breath turns ragged against your skin, his movements growing more urgent, more desperate, as you chase the inevitable together.

His grip tightens yet again, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes locked on yours as if he refuses to let you slip away from this moment.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, voice thick, his lips brushing yours between gasps.

You hold on to him tighter, fingers digging into his back, your body arching into his as the tension builds impossibly high. It's overwhelming—the heat, the closeness, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.

And then, all at once, the world tilts.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as the wave crashes over you, sending shivers down your spine.

Carlos follows right behind you, groaning your name like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. His grip tightens, his entire body tensing before he finally lets go, surrendering to the moment completely.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your breaths mingle, fast and uneven, hearts racing in sync. Carlos rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Then, finally, he exhales a slow, contented sigh and shifts just enough to pull you against him, his arms wrapping securely around you.

"Dios mío," he breathes, pressing a lazy, lingering kiss to your shoulder. "You really do like testing me."

You manage a breathless laugh, your fingers tracing light circles against his back.

"And you really like proving a point."

Carlos chuckles, the sound low and warm, his fingers threading through your hair as he presses another kiss to your temple.

"Only when it comes to you."

You hum in response, already sinking into the comfort of his arms, your body melting against his.

He shifts slightly, pulling the covers over you before tucking you even closer against him. His fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back, his breathing steadying.

"Stay like this," he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost sleepy. "Just for a little while."

You smile against his chest, letting your eyes flutter shut.

"As long as you want."

Carlos tightens his hold on you, pressing one last kiss to your hair before finally letting himself relax completely.

[duskidolsmut]

The Frenzy of the Celestial Dawn

Kazuha boards the luxury cruise ship Aurora Celestial, hoping to cement her fame among Asian industry VIPs. What begins as a glamorous opportunity quickly turns into an erotic nightmare when she is cornered by a group of powerful men led by Kang Dae-ho. Trapped in a mirrored room, Kazuha is subjected to a wild "show" of domination and pleasure, where her nymphomaniac personality emerges, transforming her from victim to active participant.

T: Gangbang, BDSM, Domination, Submission, Nymphomania, anal, urine and more Words: 5.911

It was on a sultry spring day that the LE SSERAFIM agency summoned the girls to an urgent meeting. The manager, a man in an impeccable suit and a calculated smile, announced a “special opportunity”: an invitation to a luxury cruise on the Aurora Celestial, a monumental ship known as the floating playground of the Asian elite. The event promised to bring together VIPs from the entertainment industry - producers, record label CEOs, broadcasters - all eager to meet the stars of the moment. For Kazuha, it was more than a trip: it was a chance to solidify her fame and open doors that would take her beyond K-pop, perhaps even into international cinema or fashion. She imagined sophisticated conversations in crystal halls, exchanging business cards and compliments on her impeccable performance.

The Aurora Celestial was a spectacle in itself. Anchored in the port of Busan, the ship rose like a palace over the water, its ten floors of opulence glistening in the sun. Glass towers reflected the sky and golden lights surrounded each deck, promising glamorous evenings. Kazuha boarded alongside her LE SSERAFIM colleagues, all excited at the prospect of a well-deserved rest after months of intense promotions. Dressed in an elegant ensemble of long skirt and silk blouse, Kazuha walked the catwalk with the poise of a queen, the salty sea wind playing with her hair.

The first night was a dream. The main hall, decorated with crystal chandeliers and marble walls, echoed with laughter and the clink of champagne glasses. Kazuha and LE SSERAFIM gave an incredible performance and the audience of men in suits and women covered in jewels applauded enthusiastically. She exchanged glances with a Japanese producer who promised to introduce her to a famous director and smiled at a Chinese tycoon who praised her “unique aura”. Everything seemed perfect - until the lights went out.

A sudden silence filled the hall, followed by the dry click of doors being locked. The LE SSERAFIM manager who had accompanied them disappeared without explanation. When the lights came back on, dimmer and tinged with red, Kazuha realized that the other girls had been separated from her, taken away by assistants with impassive faces. A tall man in a black suit with eyes as cold as steel approached. He introduced himself as Kang Dae-ho, the owner of a rival record label that had been trying to monopolize the K-pop market for years. With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he held out his hand and said: “Kazuha, you're the highlight of the evening. We have something special planned for you.”

The invitation to a “private meeting” on the upper deck sounded like a promise of power, but Dae-ho's tone carried something viscous, something that made Kazuha's instincts scream. Still, driven by ambition and the belief that she could control the situation, she accepted. She climbed the marble stairs to a secluded suite, the sound of her heels echoing in the empty corridor. As she opened the door, the air changed. It wasn't just Dae-ho waiting for her, but a circle of men - faces she recognized from industry meetings, all with hungry looks and predatory smiles. The door closed behind her with a final slam, and Kazuha realized, too late, that the Aurora Celestial was not a stage for her rise, but a trap for her fall.

The suite at the top of the Aurora Celestial was a world apart, a sanctuary of twisted luxury. Kazuha was led down a narrow corridor into a circular room, its walls covered in mirrors that reflected every angle of her slender body. Golden chains hung from the ceiling like macabre ornaments, tinkling softly in the artificial breeze that circulated in the room. The sound of the ocean waves, which had once been a constant murmur, now seemed muffled, suffocated by low moans echoing from somewhere unseen - perhaps recordings, perhaps other victims. The air carried a sweet, intoxicating perfume, mixed with the metallic smell of the chains and the anticipatory sweat of the men around her.

Kang Dae-ho, the leader of the group, was in the center of the room, reclining in a black leather armchair that looked more like a throne. His eyes devoured her as she entered, the other men - five in all, each a figure of power in the industry - formed a semicircle behind him. Dae-ho was a middle-aged man, but with an imposing presence: gray hair combed back, impeccable suit open at the chest. He held a glass of red wine, swirling the liquid with long, deliberate fingers.

“Welcome, Kazuha,” he began, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You're probably wondering why you're here. I'll be blunt: K-pop is a game of appearances, but the real power lies in the shadows. This cruise is our annual tradition - a place where the kings of the industry choose their muses and shape them as they wish. You, my dear, are tonight's prize.”

He stood up, walking slowly over to her, the sound of his shoes echoing on the marble floor. “Your group, LE SSERAFIM, has potential, but it depends on us to get to the top. That's the price. Today, you're going to entertain us - not with your voice or your dance moves, but with something more... primal. We're going to take off that perfect idol mask and reveal what's underneath. And if you play it right, your career will shine like never before.”

The other men laughed low, a guttural sound that made the hairs on the back of Kazuha's neck stand on end. One of them, a Japanese producer with an angular face, stepped forward, holding a folded cloth. Without ceremony, he opened it, revealing a costume that was a perversion of her LE SSERAFIM stage uniform: a very short skirt made of transparent fabric, a top that barely covered her breasts, adorned with golden chains that jingled with every movement. It was a garment designed to humiliate, to expose, but also to seduce.

“Put that on,” Dae-ho ordered, sitting back down with a satisfied smile. “I want to see you transform yourself into something more... accessible.”

Kazuha was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the costume. Her heart was beating fast, a mixture of fear and anger pulsing through her veins. But then something changed. A dangerous glint appeared in her eyes, and a slow, almost feline smile curved her lips. She took the costume from the producer's hands, her fingers brushing against his deliberately, and began to undress right there, without hesitation. The silk blouse fell to the floor, followed by the long skirt, revealing the black lingerie she wore underneath - a stark contrast to the angelic image she sold to the public.

“Do you think you can mold me?” she said, her voice low and hoarse, as she put on her new outfit. The chains jingled against her skin, and she spun her body with the grace of a ballerina, letting the men watch every curve. “Maybe I'm already more than you realize. Maybe I like it that way.”

Dae-ho raised an eyebrow in surprise as the others exchanged uncertain glances. Kazuha walked to the center of the room, the ceiling chains brushing against her shoulders, and leaned forward slightly, her gaze fixed on the leader. “You want a show? Then tell me how it starts. I'm not just a victim - I know how to play this game better than you think.”

It was partly a bluff, an attempt to take control, but there was truth in it. Kazuha has always had a hidden side, a hunger that ballet and K-pop have never satisfied. Behind the scenes of her idol life, she fantasized about the forbidden, the loss of control, the ecstasy that came from surrendering to chaos. Now, cornered, that nymphomaniac side emerged like a weapon. She took a step forward, her hips undulating subtly, and whispered: “Who's going to be the first to teach me how to be... accessible?”

The room fell silent for a moment, the men caught off guard by the change in tone. Dae-ho laughed, a deep, satisfied sound, clapping his hands slowly. “Well, well, she's got claws... and an appetite. Let's see how far that gets you, Kazuha. The show's yours - for now.”

The air in the mirrored room seemed denser now, charged with an electricity that made Kazuha's hair stand on end. Kang Dae-ho leaned forward in his armchair, his eyes shining with a mixture of surprise and delight as he watched the idol's transformation. The semi-circle of men around him stirred, their heavy breaths echoing in the enclosed space, mingling with the clinking of the golden chains that hung above. The perverted costume Kazuha wore - the transparent top that barely contained her breasts, the short skirt that revealed the curve of her thighs, the chains that caressed her skin with every movement - seemed less an imposition now and more an extension of her own desire. Sweat was already beginning to glisten on her collarbone, and the mirrors captured the way her body subtly trembled, not from fear, but from raw anticipation.

She took a step forward, the sound of her heels against the marble cutting through the silence like a hypnotic drumbeat. “You want a show,” she repeated, her voice low and mellifluous, laden with a provocation that made the men stir uneasily. “Then show me how it starts. I didn't come here to be just a doll - I want to feel.” Her eyes sparkled, and she licked her lips slowly, a gesture that made the Japanese producer swallow dry and the tattooed Korean adjust his pants with a low grunt.

Dae-ho laughed again, but there was a tone of raw excitement in his voice now. “You're a hungry slut, aren't you? All right, we'll fill you up until you beg.” He gestured with his hand, and two of the men stepped forward - the Japanese producer, slim but with quick snake-like fingers, and the burly Korean, whose dragon tattoos ran up his neck and were lost under his ajar shirt. They grabbed her by the arms, not violently, but with a firmness that sent a shiver down her spine. Kazuha didn't resist; instead, she tilted her head back, letting her hair fall like a curtain, exposing her long, pale neck. “Is that all?” she whispered, her lips parted in a defiant smile. “I thought you were real men.”

The Japanese producer snorted, irritated by the provocation, and grabbed one of the golden chains from the ceiling, pulling it tightly around her wrists. He tied her loosely, her arms raised above her head, her body exposed like a living canvas in the mirrors. “You'll swallow those words, you arrogant little bitch,” he growled, his voice laden with a cutting accent as his hands slid under her transparent top, his fingers finding her already hard nipples. He squeezed them hard, twisting them between his thumb and forefinger, and Kazuha let out a loud moan, her hips writhing against the air. “Yes, moan for me,” he said, his eyes shining with sadism. “I want to hear that sound again.”

Meanwhile, the Korean knelt in front of her, his large, calloused hands running up her soft thighs, his thumbs sinking into her flesh until they left red marks. He spread her legs with a rough jerk, her skirt riding up to reveal the soaked black lingerie that barely covered her. “Look at that wet pussy,” he grunted, his deep tone reverberating in the room. ”You're dripping, you slut. I bet you're already imagining all of us fucking you at the same time.” He rubbed his fingers over the fabric, pressing hard enough to make Kazuha arch her back and let out a ragged sigh, the chains clinking above her.

Dae-ho stood up at last, the king on his throne now ready to claim his prize. He walked over to her, stopping a few centimeters away, the warmth of his body mingling with hers. His eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering on her breasts that rose and fell with quickened breathing, on her spread legs, on the way she vibrated under the touch of others. He reached out and took a firm hold of her chin, forcing her to face him. “You like that, don't you? Being wanted like this, being touched by all of us. We're going to push you to the limit, Kazuha - and then beyond.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his hot breath sending a shock down her spine. “I want to hear you scream my name as I tear you in half.”

Kazuha laughed, a low, guttural sound that echoed in the room, her eyes sparking with a desire that wasn't feigned. “Then tear it, Dae-ho,” she retorted, pulling the chains above her head until the metal bit into her wrists, the cold contrasting with the heat burning between her legs. “But it doesn't stop there. I want you all to fuck me until I can't stand it. Let's see who breaks first.” She threw her head back, offering her neck, and Dae-ho couldn't resist - his teeth sank into the soft skin, leaving a red mark as he sucked hard, eliciting another moan from her.

The Japanese producer, still behind her, pulled her top aside, completely exposing her breasts to the mirrors. “These breasts are perfect for squeezing,” he murmured, his hands covering them and squeezing with a pressure that made her shudder. “I bet you want a cock right here in the middle of them, don't you, you bitch?” He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, each touch sending waves of pleasure that made her knees go weak.

The Korean, in turn, tore at her lingerie with a savage yank, the sound of the fabric ripping echoing in the room. “Look at that hungry pussy,” he said, his thick fingers sliding between her soaked lips, unceremoniously opening her up. “It's all wet for us. Do you want me to tongue fuck you first or do you already want to feel my cock stretching you?” He pressed one finger inside her, then two, pumping slowly while Kazuha moaned loudly, her hips thrusting against his hand. “Speak up, you slut, what do you want?”

“I want everything,” she replied, her voice hoarse with arousal, her eyes squinted as she stared at Dae-ho. “His tongue, his fingers, someone's cock - give it all to me at once. I'm not one to settle for little.” She licked her lips again, her teeth biting into the bottom one as the other three men approached, their pants already open, their belts falling to the floor with a metallic clang.

One of them, a Chinese man with a slicked-back hairdo and a crooked smile, grabbed one of the loose chains and wrapped it around her neck like a makeshift necklace, pulling back until she gagged slightly. "You're going to choke on more than this, girl," he said, his voice full of dirty promises as his free hand slid to his already hard cock, rubbing it against her thigh. "Open your mouth for me, let's see how much you can take." 

Another, a dark-skinned Thai man with hungry eyes, stood nearby, his hands exploring her breasts through the chains. "Those little titties are going to be red when I'm done with them," he murmured, tugging on the chains to rub the cool metal against her sensitive nipples. "I'm going to fuck you so deep you'll feel it in your throat." 

Kazuha was at the center of a whirlwind of touches, breaths, and obscene dialogue that set her on fire. Her moans mingled with their grunts, the mirrors reflecting a scene of sensual chaos: legs entwined, hands that squeezed and pulled, mouths that left red marks on her skin. She pulled at the chains, not to free herself, but to feel more, to give in to the frenzy that fueled the fire that had always burned inside her. “Harder,” she demanded, her voice broken by gasps. “Make me come until I can’t remember my own name.”

The first man, the angular-faced Japanese producer, grabbed Kazuha by the hair with one firm hand, his fingers tangling in the damp strands as he unbuttoned his pants with the other. The sound of the zipper echoed like a harbinger, and then his cock sprang out, hard and throbbing, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He wasted no time—he yanked her head forward with a grunt, thrusting deep into her mouth without warning. The salty, bitter taste of him flooded her tongue, mixed with the sweat dripping from his groin, and the thick tip of his cock hit the back of her throat, making her gag violently. 

Kazuha writhed, her arms still bound by the golden chains above, the cold metal biting into her wrists as she fought the urge to vomit. Her eyes watered, but there was a savage glint in them, an arousal that pulsed stronger with each rough thrust of his. “Swallow it all, you little whore,” the Japanese man growled, his hips slamming into her face hard, the wet sound of her throat being invaded filling the room. Drool dripped from her lips, dripping down her chin and onto the marble floor, but she didn’t pull back—instead, she forced her tongue against him, sucking with a voracity that made him groan loudly. 

Suddenly, he twisted her head to the side, ripping her off his cock with a wet pop. Kazuha gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but she didn't have time to recover. The tattooed Korean, with a feral grin, was already ready, his cock thick and heavy in his hand. He grabbed her face with calloused fingers and thrust into her mouth with one wild thrust, the muscles in his abdomen contracting as he began to fuck her throat. "Suck it deeper, you slut," he growled, his voice husky with lust. "I want to feel that tight throat swallowing me whole." The feeling of all the other men's hungry eyes on her naked, exposed, vulnerable body as she gagged and drooled on his cock sent a wave of heat straight to her pussy. She could feel the liquid running down between her thighs, her arousal dripping onto the floor as they took turns passing her from one to the other like a toy. 

The other men gathered around her, a circle of hungry predators, their heavy breathing mingling with the sound of her muffled moans. Sweat beaded on her skin, running down her back and mixing with the drool dripping from her chin and the tears staining her face. Her arousal was palpable, a glistening puddle collecting on the marble beneath her, and the musky scent of her desire filled the air, further arousing the men. “Look at this bitch in heat,” the Chinese man with the combed hair said, laughing as he rubbed his cock against her thigh. “She’s wetting the floor just by sucking.”

Without warning, they ripped her from her chains, her wrists marked red, and threw her on all fours on the cold floor. Multiple hands began to spank and slap, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing like an obscene symphony. The dark-skinned Thai man slapped her ass hard, his palm leaving a red mark that burned deliciously, before he rubbed the hot flesh with his fingers. He slid his hand between her thighs, his fingers dipping into her soaking wet cunt, and laughed out loud. “That pussy is so fucking wet!” he exclaimed, raising his hand to show the others, his fingers glistening with her juices. “That bitch is begging to be fucked.”

Sangwoo, the tattooed Korean, leaned over her, pulling Kazuha’s face toward him as he rubbed his hard cock against her cheek. “Cussy or ass?” he asked, his voice thick. Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he laughed and repeated louder: “Do you want it in your pussy or your ass, you dumb bitch?” He slapped her face lightly, just to reinforce his question. 

Kazuha licked her lips, the taste of saliva and sweat still fresh, and glared at him defiantly, even on her knees. “Just my pussy, for now,” she replied, her voice husky but firm, a crooked smile curving her lips. “I want to feel you tear me up there first.” 

Sangwoo growled, satisfied, and slapped her ass hard, the sound echoing as the flesh trembled beneath his hand. “Good bitch,” he said, his eyes shining with a mixture of cruelty and desire. "I'm going to fuck you so deep you'll feel my cock in your womb." He positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips tightly, his nails digging into her skin as he lined his cock up to her slippery entrance. "Spread those legs wider, you whore," he ordered, giving her another slap before thrusting hard, burying himself deep in a single movement that made Kazuha scream, a sound that was half pain, half ecstasy.

The Japanese man, not wanting to be left out, grabbed her hair again, pulling her head up. "Open that mouth again," he said, rubbing his still-hard cock against her lips. "You're going to suck me while he fucks you. I want to see that slutty face crying into my cock." He forced his way in, his hips slamming against her face as Sangwoo sped up behind her, each thrust making her body rock and the chains on her costume jingle in a frenetic rhythm.

The Chinese man knelt beside her, his hands squeezing her breasts tightly, his thumbs rubbing her nipples until they were red. "Those tits are mine now," he murmured, sucking one of them with a wet suction that left Kazuha moaning around the cock in her mouth. "I'm going to cum on them after I watch you scream." 

The Thai man, still rubbing her ass, stuck two fingers into her tight entrance as Sangwoo fucked her, stretching her even further. "You're enjoying this, huh, you dirty bitch?" he teased, his fingers pumping in a different rhythm. "I bet you want all of us at once, filling every hole until you pass out." 

Kazuha could barely respond, her mouth full, her throat being invaded, her pussy throbbing around Sangwoo as the others touched and marked her. Sweat dripped down her forehead, mixing with her tears and drool, and her arousal dripped onto the floor, a testament to her insatiable desire. She pulled against the hands that held her, not to escape, but to feel more, to lose herself in that chaos of pleasure and pain. "More," she managed to mumble between gasps, her eyes half-closed staring at Dae-ho, who watched everything with a satisfied smile. "Make me cum, you sons of bitches." 

Dae-ho laughed, the deep sound cutting through the air. "You heard the bitch," he told the others, slowly unbuttoning his own pants. "Give her what she wants. Let's see how long this whore can take before she begs for me." 

Suddenly, Kazuha felt a searing pain tear through her ass as Sangwoo forced his thick cock inside her, ignoring her earlier request for "just her pussy." Her tight asshole resisted for a moment before giving in, and she cried out, her voice echoing in the mirrored room, a hoarse sound of pain mixed with a visceral pleasure she couldn’t contain. Before she could recover, Takeshi, the angular-faced Japanese producer, had grabbed her hair tightly and shoved his hard cock into her mouth, thrusting until her nose bumped against his groin, the musky scent of sweat and sex filling her nostrils. She gagged, her throat tightening around him, her eyes watering as he began to fuck her mouth with rough thrusts. “Suck it properly, you slut,” Takeshi growled, pulling her hair harder. “I want to feel that tongue working.”

Sangwoo, behind her, picked up the pace, his cock stretching Kazuha’s asshole painfully as he pounded her ass hard, his large hands leaving red marks on her pale skin. “Fuck, that’s such a tight ass,” he groaned, sweat running down his tattooed chest and dripping onto her back. Each thrust sent her body rocking, her breasts bouncing beneath her torn costume, her chains clanking in an obscene chorus. Takeshi gripped a fistful of her hair, his hips slamming into her face, salty pre-cum dripping onto her tongue as he thrust deeper. Kazuha went wild with pleasure, the heat between her legs growing despite the pain, arousal dripping down her thighs and staining the floor.

His grip on her hair tightened, and with one last savage thrust, Takeshi held her head against the base of his cock, his cock pulsing as he filled her mouth with hot, sticky cum. "Swallow it, you bitch," he ordered, his voice sharp, his eyes shining with satisfaction. Kazuha swallowed it all in one go, the bitter taste going down her throat as she gasped, drool and tears streaming down her chin. Sangwoo, still fucking her ass hard, grabbed her hair as soon as Takeshi released her, pulling her head back and exposing her neck as his hands gripped her waist tightly. She struggled to catch her breath, a scream escaping her lips—but Boonsong, the dark-skinned Thai, was quick, filling her mouth with his thick cock again, silencing her as he began to fuck her throat like it was a pussy. 

“Choke on that cock, you little slut,” Boonsong growled, his fingers digging into her scalp as he thrust hard, the taste of sweat mixed with Takeshi’s cum flooding his tongue. Sangwoo’s thrusts behind her became more erratic, his moans louder, his cock throbbing as he came, the heat of his cum filling her asshole in hot spurts. He held his cock there for a moment, panting heavily, before pulling out with a wet sound. “Fuck, that’s one tight little ass,” Sangwoo said, catching his breath, giving her ass one last slap as his cum slowly began to leak between her cheeks, running down her thighs. 

Boonsong pulled his cock from Kazuha’s mouth and, in one rough motion, rolled her onto her back on the cold marble floor. She was shocked by the sticky sensation of his cum dripping from her, but her eyes were bright with insatiable desire. “Who’s next?” she teased, her voice husky and defiant, her lips swollen and red. “Come on, you sons of bitches, fill me up again.” 

Jin, the Chinese man with the combed hair, laughed loudly and grabbed her from the floor, his hands firmly on her hips as he slammed his hard cock into her pussy in one motion. “Holy shit, this fucking meat is wet!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with lust as he felt her muscles clench around him. A long moan escaped Kazuha’s lips, pleasure exploding through her body as he began to thrust hard. Without thinking, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her heels digging into his back. “Fuck me harder,” she demanded, her eyes half-lidded, sweat dripping down her neck. 

“I’ll take her ass,” Tae said, a man with tanned skin and defined muscles, positioning himself behind her. He thrust his cock into her already cum-filled asshole, sliding in easily thanks to Sangwoo’s warm liquid, and Kazuha moaned loudly, the sound reverberating off the mirrors. “Fuck, it’s slippery in here,” Tae laughed, his hands gripping the flesh of her ass as he began to thrust at a savage pace. Both men fucked her fast, Jin in her pussy and Tae in her ass, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through her, their bodies colliding with hers in a sweaty frenzy. 

Kazuha could feel the sweat of the men she was trapped between, their hot breath against her skin, the weight of being so full pushing her over the edge. Suddenly, an orgasm ripped through her, the muscles of her pussy and ass contracting around the cocks inside her, amplifying each thrust. She tightened her legs around Jin and shuddered, crying out as the waves of pleasure washed over her, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Fuck, that's it!" escaped her lips, her voice cracking with ecstasy. The men, driven mad by her moans, fucked her harder, Tae's fingers digging into her hips as Jin's thrusts became erratic. 

Boonsong, who had been watching with his cock in his hand, moved closer again, but it was Jin who came first, his cock throbbing as he filled her pussy with hot cum. "Oh, shit," Kazuha moaned, losing herself completely in the pleasure, her eyes rolling back as Tae pulled his cock from her ass, cum dripping in a chaotic mix. Jin sped up, thrusting faster as he came, the pulsing of his cock and the sensation of the hot liquid pushing Kazuha into another orgasm. She cried out loud, her muscles contracting again, her body arching against the floor as pleasure overtook her. 

Jin lifted her off his cock and set her down on the floor, cum leaking from her pussy and ass in a sticky puddle. Kazuha panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but before she could regain her composure, Kang Dae-ho, the leader, grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. He prodded her mouth with his hard cock, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. “Open wide, you thirsty slut,” he snapped, his voice thick with authority and lust.

Without thinking, Kazuha opened her mouth, her eyes fixed on his, defiant even after everything. Dae-ho held the tip of his cock between her lower lip and, instead of cumming, he urinated, the warm, salty stream hitting her tongue. The bitter, strong taste filled her mouth, but she kept her lips open, swallowing it all as he watched her with a cruel smile. "Drink it, you filthy whore," he ordered, the stream running down her chin and dripping onto her exposed breasts. Kazuha swallowed, her body shaking with a mixture of humiliation and arousal, her gaze still defiant as Dae-ho laughed, satisfied.

"That's my girl," he said, slapping her lightly across the face.

The air in the mirrored room was heavy, saturated with the smell of sweat, cum, and urine, a visceral mix that enveloped Kazuha like a second skin. Kang Dae-ho, the leader, stepped back after marking her with his hot spurt, his still-hard cock swinging before her as he laughed, his eyes shining with sadistic delight. Kazuha, on her knees, panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body covered in red marks, scratches, and fluids running down her pale skin. Sangwoo, Jin, and Tae's sperm slowly leaked from her ass and pussy, dripping onto the marble floor in a glistening puddle, while the bitter taste of Dae-ho's urine still lingered on her tongue. She trembled, not from weakness, but from an ecstasy that consumed her completely.

"Now, who wants the next round with this insatiable slut?" Dae-ho asked, his sharp voice echoing in the room, an invitation that made the other men stir, their cocks already hardening again despite their fatigue. Takeshi, the Japanese man with the angular face, stepped forward, rubbing his cock with one hand while the other still held a fistful of her black hair. "I want that mouth again," he said, his tone full of cruelty. "Let's see if she can last another round without passing out." Boonsong, the Thai man, chuckled from beside her, already positioning himself behind her. "I'll take that ass again—it's all sticky, perfect for me." 

But before they could move forward, Kazuha looked up, her brown eyes sparkling with a mixture of exhaustion and fire. "Do you think you're done with me?" she whispered, her voice hoarse but firm, a crooked smile curving her swollen lips. "I told you I can take it all—so come on, you sons of bitches. Break me if you can." She opened her mouth provocatively and rocked her hips slightly, the movement making the cum flow faster, an obscene invitation that made the men groan with lust. 

Dae-ho laughed loudly, throwing his head back before grabbing her chin, forcing her to face him. “You’re a perfect whore, Kazuha,” he said, his fingers digging into her skin. “But the show ends when I say it ends.” He turned to the others, his commanding tone cutting through the air. “All at once—let’s fill her until she begs us to stop.” It was the final command, the climax of the night, and the men obeyed like hungry predators.

Takeshi thrust his cock into her mouth again, his hips slamming hard as Boonsong took her ass, sliding easily into her already slippery hole. Jin went back to her pussy, his hands gripping her thighs to spread them even wider, while Tae and Sangwoo took turns rubbing their cocks over her breasts and legs, marking her with more precum and sweat. Kazuha moaned loudly, her sounds muffled by Takeshi's cock, her body rocking between them like a broken doll, but her eyes—those eyes—gleamed with a madness that dared them to go deeper, harder.

The thrusts were an uncoordinated chaos, each man seeking his own pleasure as they used her. Sweat ran down in rivers, mixing with the cum that was already covering the floor, and their moans mingled with her screams, a wild chorus that reverberated in the mirrors. She felt another orgasm approaching, her muscles contracting around Jin and Boonsong, her body shaking as the pleasure tore through her once more. "Fuck, fill me!" she gasped, her words barely intelligible, and the men obeyed. One by one, they came, Takeshi filling her mouth, Boonsong and Jin pulsing inside her, Tae and Sangwoo marking her skin with hot jets that dripped onto her chest and belly.

When the last of them finished, Kazuha collapsed to the floor, her body exhausted, her breathing ragged, the marble floor now a mirror of her destruction—covered in cum, urine, and sweat. Dae-ho came closer, the only one who hadn’t come yet, and knelt beside her. He rubbed his hard cock against her face, smearing her with his pre-cum before standing up and, with one last gesture of dominance, cumming all over her, the hot jets hitting her face and hair. “That’s what you are now,” he said, his voice low and satisfied. “Our perfect toy.”

Kazuha didn’t respond, her eyes closed, her body still except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. The men pulled away, panting, laughing among themselves as they adjusted their clothes, the sound of zippers and belts filling the silence that followed the frenzy. The Celestial Dawn continued its journey through the dark waters, the sound of the waves becoming audible again now that the chaos had ceased.

But then, when Dae-ho turned his back, thinking he had broken her, Kazuha’s eyes opened. A slow, almost imperceptible smile curved her lips. She was exhausted, scarred, used—but not broken. In her mind, a flame burned, a silent promise: she had survived this night, and with every touch, every humiliation, she had learned something about power. They thought they owned her, but she knew she had manipulated them with her desire, weaponizing submission.

The cruise ship would pull into port at dawn, and Kazuha would step off that ship a different person—no longer just an idol, but a force no one could tame. The video they had recorded, hidden in the cameras in the room, would be her insurance, her trump card for the future. They had fucked her to the limit, but she would fuck them back—in the shadows, where the real game began.

[lxvsiick]

GONNA BE A ROCK | PARK SUNGHO X READER

PAIRING: best friends! park sungho x best friends! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Y/n breaks up with Sungho because he keeps stealing her stickers and 10 years later, he's still bitter.

GENRE: best friends, 10 year old breakup, fluff

WORDCOUNT: 1k

A/N: i wrote this while listening to GONNA BE A ROCK by BOYNEXTDOOR -- i was going to make this longer and elaborate more on the sungho being bitter part throughout their friendship but i kinda got lazy ... anyways, enjoy!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

Like a seven-year-old kid who lost their toy

I cry even in front of my parents, I know it ain't right

The sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the playground as Y/n and Sungho sat on the swings, lazily kicking at the dirt beneath them. They had been best friends for what felt like forever, and recently, they had decided—after some playground chatter—that they were "dating." It mostly involved sharing snacks and stickers, except for one problem: Sungho kept stealing Y/n's favorite stickers.

Y/n glanced at him with a mock-serious expression, arms crossed over her chest. “We need to talk.”

Sungho looked over, confused but still smiling. “What’s up?”

She huffed, trying to sound more grown-up than she was. “You keep taking my stickers, and I’m not okay with that.”

He blinked, his feet dragging to a stop on the dirt. “I don’t take that many.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You took my sparkly unicorn yesterday. And the shiny dolphin the day before that!”

He shifted awkwardly on his swing, kicking at a pebble. “I was just borrowing them...”

She sighed dramatically, standing up from the swing. “Well, I’ve made up my mind. I think we should break up.”

Sungho froze, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “Break up?!”

She nodded, hands on her hips like she was making a very important decision. “Yep. I can’t be with someone who steals my stickers.”

He stood up, his heart breaking in the only way a 10-year-old’s could. “But... but I’m your boyfriend! You can’t just break up with me over stickers!”

She shrugged casually. “I just did.”

Sungho felt a wave of childish devastation wash over him. “But I was gonna give you my glow-in-the-dark dinosaur sticker tomorrow!”

She paused for a moment, clearly tempted by the offer. But she shook her head. “Nope, sorry. It’s too late. We’re not dating anymore.”

He groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “This is the worst day ever! You’re breaking up with me over stickers!”

Y/n tried to keep a straight face but ended up giggling. “You’ll be fine. We’re still best friends, just... not boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He stared at her, hands on his hips now, as bitterness started to creep into his voice. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you want to trade stickers again. I’ll just say no!”

She stuck out her tongue playfully. “I don’t need your stickers anymore. I’ll just ask Seeun.”

His eyes widened. “Seeun?! She doesn’t even have cool stickers!”

Y/n shrugged, clearly having the upper hand. “We’ll see about that.”

He huffed, turning around dramatically and stomping off towards the monkey bars. “I don’t care! I don’t even want to date you anymore!”

She giggled again but called after him, “See you tomorrow?”

Sungho paused, then grumbled, “Yeah, whatever,” before running off to vent his frustration on the jungle gym. His heart might have been “broken,” but they both knew that nothing would really change—except, of course, the status of their “relationship.”

As he climbed the monkey bars, he muttered under his breath, “Stupid stickers…”

And so, they stayed best friends, but from that day on, Sungho remained just a little bit bitter about the whole breakup.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

If I could go back to the beginning, I would leave you

Even though it's impossible, I'd dump you first

The soft glow of the TV flickered in the background, but neither Y/n nor Sungho were paying attention. They were sprawled out on the couch, her legs draped over his lap as they scrolled through their phones. The familiar comfort of their shared apartment wrapped around them like a warm blanket, the quiet hum of city life outside barely noticeable.

After a long stretch of silence, Y/n let out a chuckle, her eyes lighting up as she glanced at him. “Remember when I broke up with you when we were 10?”

Sungho paused, his thumb hovering over his phone screen, and shot her a playful glare. “Oh, I remember. You dumped me over stickers.”

She grinned, shifting to sit up a little. “You kept stealing them!”

He raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with mock bitterness. “If I could go back, I’d break up with you first. Save myself the heartbreak.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah right. You were obsessed with me even back then.”

He dramatically sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions, his hand resting on her leg. “Well, I did go home and cry to my parents about it. You tore my heart open, and I swore I’d never like anyone else.”

Y/n giggled, nudging him with her foot. “Oh, please! I didn’t ‘tear your heart open’—I just wanted my sparkly unicorn stickers back.”

He leaned forward, eyes wide in mock outrage. “You don’t understand! It was traumatic! I was ten, in love, and you crushed me with one sentence.”

She was laughing harder now, clutching her stomach. “I’m sorry, okay? But to be fair, you were a terrible boyfriend. You stole my favorite stickers.”

“I wasn’t a terrible boyfriend,” he said, crossing his arms and looking away dramatically. “I was a great boyfriend who just had a thing for shiny stickers.”

“Well,” she teased, reaching over to pinch his arm playfully, “you’ve improved a lot since then.”

He turned back to her, a soft smile replacing his exaggerated bitterness. “Thanks. But seriously, you wrecked me. I couldn’t look at a sticker again without thinking of my first heartbreak.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “And yet here we are.”

“Yeah,” he said, his playful tone giving way to something more genuine. “Here we are.”

For a moment, they sat quietly, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence. Sungho squeezed her leg lightly and gave her a teasing smirk. “But, just so you know, I’m still a little bitter about it.”

She laughed, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “You’ll get over it eventually.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning into the kiss, “but I’m not making any promises.”

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024