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multifandomsmutstash · 1 day ago

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seven days a week

synopsis: gojo just can't keep his hands off of you, needing you every single day of the week, and going until neither of you can take any more. aka gojo ovulating.

cw (minors please dni): switch!gojo, pure filth, feral gojo, a lil teasing gojo, morning sex, fingering, premature orgasm, a LOT of creampies, use of dildos, mirror sex, shower sex, face-sitting, cunnilingus, brief male masturbation, riding, choking, dacryphilia, slight breeding kink, overstimulation, multiple rounds, bath stuff, a lil pampering but he can't help himself again. (photos don't belong to me; found on pinterest and gojo art by @/3-aem)

word count: 6.4k (with no plot LMFAO)

a/n: please appreciate my terrible puns for each day of the week LMAO dualday was a stretch but like in my head: tue => two => duo

fem!reader x gojo satoru, au up to interpretation, nsfw

Moanday

it was a peaceful morning, the scent of dew floating through the air, the sun's warm beams filtering through the cracks of the blinds, the birds welcoming every awakening soul.

emphasis on “was” a peaceful morning. because now, one of satoru's hands roam over your hips and thighs and the other massages your tits through the t-shirt you borrowed from him. so painfully obvious what he needs, especially with what was poking your ass as he spoons you from behind.

his words are a needy rasp tickling the back of your ear, fingers getting bolder each time they skim the edge of your sleep shorts. “baby,” he whines, grinding against you once, then twice, “please. need you so bad. my dream, fuck, my dream... made me so horny.”

“you have to do all the work,” you murmur sleepily, cheek pressed comfortably against the pillow.

“of course, baby, of course. thank you... jus’ need you. you don't-- fuck...” he curses under his breath, cutting himself off when he tugs your sleep shorts down and his finger easily slips through your folds thanks to your arousal. “you were holdin’ back on me, dirty girl.” and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

a second finger joins the first, both dancing through your honeyed petals, becoming coated in the sweetest arousal. the tips of his fingers tease your hole, dipping in and feeling them swallow him in. he groans, sounding wrecked without even touching his own dick.

his lithe fingers begin to stroke your quivering walls which weep with juices, twisting his wrist and--

“there it is,” he whispers huskily, voice strained with restraint as he feels your pussy waterfall down his fingers once he abuses your sweet spot. “so fucking wet for me, baby. need you so bad.”

“ngh put it in, then,” you huff, fingers twitching against the sheets as you capture them within your grasp, tightening as he steadily works his fingers in and out.

“don't have to tell me twice,” he titters, chest rumbling gently against your back.

he retracts his fingers from you, your body already aching from the empty feeling of nothing inside. but he's quick to tug his sweats down, just enough for access for what he needs. he moans the second his length glides through your folds, grinding back and forth, coating it in your slick. his head is already thrown back, brows drawn together and pretty lips parted as he breathes out shakily.

“hurry up,” you mutter, tone teetering on the edge of a whine but you bite it back.

“yeah, yeah, i will, i will,” he prattles, “you feel like heaven-- o-oh fuck, wait, wait, wait.”

as soon as he plunges his tip past your tight ring and your soft, warm, wet walls hug him, alarms blare in his hazy mind. he has a hand pushing your leg up towards your chest, his grip suddenly bruising.

“‘toruuu...” you attempt to shimmy your hips down on his cock and he pins you down, preventing you from moving.

he pants, chest heaving, jaw clenched. “baby, i love you but i need you stop talking and moving before i cum. ‘m too sensitive, fuck, i knew this pussy was evil. wants me to embarrass myself.”

you pluck his fingers off your body and gyrate your hips down on him, taking what you want and finishing what he started. “just ngh fuck me,” you mutter, biting down on your lip as his girth stretches you so deliciously.

your eyes roll back briefly as your walls massage his twitching cock, pulsing around him once he's buried to the hilt. and shortly, milky strings are painting those walls white and there's a loud moan reverberating right in your ear.

“f-fuuuuuck... nngh it's not fair how good y-you... hah... feel,” he whines, burying his face into the back of his neck as his body shudders against you. you can feel the hot puffs of his pants against your neck as he recoups and calms himself down again.

“i didn't think you were being serious,” you snort.

you expect him to laugh, or even pout. what you didn't expect was for him to suddenly pull out and turn you onto your back. you're met with cerulean blue, darkened by lust, as he towers over your figure. his hands clamp onto your thighs again, throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

and the sudden switch in his demeanour makes your head feel fuzzy and your stomach all fluttery. your cunt clenches around nothing.

“since you didn't listen to me, you're gonna listen now and take it.”

Dualday

sure, satoru is willing to share you sometimes, only with his best friend. but keyword: sometimes. because most of the time, he wants you to himself. only wants his hands caressing you, only his eyes subject to the most divine sight of you writhing on his bed, only his lips etching kisses into your skin.

so instead of having a third party join, he made good use of your dildo.

that's how you found yourself on all fours, facing your own reflection - tears pricking at your eyes, cheeks stained with a darker hue and some previous tears, and of course, pretty mouth stuffed with your dildo that was suctioned to the mirror. and behind you, satoru snaps his hips into yours, forcing you to thrust forward and deepthroat the dildo.

his hues, lustful and debauched, lock onto your face in the reflection. his fingers tighten on your hip simply at the sight, grounding himself with some level of control.

“fuck, how do you manage to look so sexy? look at you, both holes stuffed, squeezin’ me so tight. you love this, huh? being used, stuffed full-- hngh takin’ me so deep.”

backshots were already satoru's favourite, he always gets absolutely filthy when he has you face down, ass up, settling a firm hand on the curve of your spine to make sure it remains in a perfect arch for him. his other hand squeezes your hip as he gives you deep, nasty strokes at a steady pace.

but with you like this, drooling from both holes and lips stretched around his cock and your toy, he somehow gets filthier.

“yeahhh, fuck, just like that, pretty girl. fuck yourself back on me with that sweet pussy,” he groans, a feral grin painted on his lips as he watches the sway of your hips and the tremble of your legs as you push yourself on and off of his slick length. he can see the swell of your pussy lips stretching around his thickness, dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. “fuck, she's so loud.”

tears begin to stream down your cheeks again as he meets your hips with his own, forcing you to take the silicone further down your throat. he pulls back until only his tip is teasing your winking, crying hole and you follow, allowing you to take a breath once your mouth is eased off.

drool dribbles down the corners of your mouth, to your chin. he swipes his thumb over your saliva and brings it to his mouth, smiling around his own thumb when he sucks it off with a hum rumbling deep in his chest.

“‘toruuuu...” you mewl, fingertips digging into the floor beneath you.

“uh-uh, wasn't hah talking to you, pretty girl. was talking to this pretty girl,” he drawls, dragging a thumb over your bulging lips and down to your neglected bud. his other hand tangles in your hair and guides your mouth back to the dildo, encouraging you to take it back into your warm mouth. at the same time, he delivers a mean thrust to your ass.

you whine and your body shudders just as his thumb brushes over your clit, almost ruining the perfect arch he had you in before he uses his other hand to position you again.

“c’mon, you can do better than that.” whack! his hand falls onto the flesh of your ass. “oh... you liked that, did you? filthy girl.”

you can't even deny the way your cunt pulsed around him the second his hand made impact with your skin, juices dripping onto the floor. your lack of response causes his feral grin to morph into a feral smirk.

you choke on a moan, feeling overwhelmed, dizzy, and so gorged that you were the embodiment of the sin, greed.

satoru's orbs of indulgence and depravity, blue flickering with silver, flit downwards to where his slick length disappears inside you. he angles his hips down, targeting your sweet spot and he hisses a curse under his breath when he feels your snivelling walls tense around him even more as he circulates your clit with his thumb at a similar pace to your hips moving.

his eyes drift back up to the mirror, taking in every inch and twitch of your body as they travel along it. “look at me, baby. let me see those pretty eyes of yours properly.”

when your glassy, dazed eyes meet his, he groans. guttural and shattered. his dick twitches against your walls just at the sight. well, it definitely wasn't a mundane sight. no. for satoru, it was the most heavenly sight that he almost believed he had died and was now amongst the angels.

“f-fuck, baby... you're gonna make me cum,” he moans, his head suddenly tossing back, soft locks of snow sticking to his dampened forehead, and he bites down hard on his lower lip. and you see his eyes roll back in the reflection. “shit, shit, shit... need you to cum for me. wanna feel you fucking milk me.”

the push and pull of his hips become frantic and his thumb on your twitching clit becomes messy and lazy, not as calculated as before. he's being driven insane.

your pussy sings a sinful melody of plap, plap, plap with each thrust of his slutty hips and it only serves to push him further to his peak. his hand flies back to your hip, grasping at it like his lifeline, his muscles flexing tantalisingly with each movement.

he briefly stops teasing your clit to intertwine his fingers with your hair and pull you off the dildo, a whine escaping your mouth as you struggle to keep the perfect arch he has you in.

“wanna hear your pretty voice when you cum f’me.”

“‘t-toru... ah, f-fuck!” you gasp out moans, your eyes rolling back when his thumb goes back to rubbing your clit side to side, up and down, in circles, determined to make you lose it. “g-gonna--”

“there she is,” he smirks, satisfied with your immediate, desperate cries. “that's what i wanted to hear.”

as your body begins to undulate under him, he leans down and lathers open-mouthed kisses down the trail of your spine. you can feel his searing breath against your back and the vibrations of his rasps.

“why don't you make a pretty mess for me, hm?” he murmurs against the sweaty flesh of your back. he's dancing on the frays of his own control; he doesn't want to let go before you do.

as if that was all you needed, you soak his cock on cue, finally letting the arch waver and your body collapses, cheek against the floor as he continues to fuck you, chasing his own orgasm. your body shakes almost violently, crying out his name as fresh tears stain your cheeks.

“o-ooh, fuck wait-- hngh you really are milking me, shit...” his groans tiptoe on the brink of a whimper.

it's not long before he's releasing ropes and ropes of ivory, brimming your cunt with his cum with each tight throb. his teeth sink into your shoulder harshly, bound to leave a mark, brows knitted together as his chest drapes over your back, losing himself in the euphoria. his own body trembles above yours, both of you quivering and panting.

his twitchy fingers smooth over your skin, everywhere and anywhere. his touch is both soothing and appreciative.

“did so good for me. so hot, so beautiful. thank you,” he breathes against the back of your neck.

Wetsday

“just to help you wash your back, of course,” was what your husband always said to you with a grin when you were going into the shower. he'd grab a towel and follow after you, his intentions fully on helping you wash your back.

but even after years of being together, neither of you learn that despite his intentions being innocent, his actions are the opposite once you're naked and wet in front of him.

“satoru...” you say warningly over your shoulder, when his hand somehow slid down from your back to your ass which lingered for far too long before his fingers teased your oblivious folds. “that's not my back.”

his movements pause and he grins again, almost sheepishly, as if he just realised what he was doing. “oops.” you notice his gaze drift downwards, not to you but to himself. and your gaze pursues his curiously until you see what it is - he's hard. “guess i really can't help myself around you.”

yeah, no shit.

within minutes, he has you pushed against the tiled wall, your thighs squished in his large hands as he holds you up with your legs locked around him. his lips are everywhere he can reach, everywhere he wants to etch his mark into your skin, everywhere that he yearns to memorise with his lips.

and the onslaught of his hips has already begun. unhurried but forceful. every ridge of his abs rolling against your stomach with each shallow thrust.

“how could anyone expect me to resist you?” he mumbles in between kisses. “crazy people, that's who expect me not to have you any moment i get.”

he seems to be the only one going crazy right now.

each thrust sends your body sliding up the shower wall. your fingers clutch his back for leverage, nails etching crescents into his skin. he moans when your nails scratch down his back, a pleasantly painful sensation that only spurs him on, knowing that he's hitting it just right.

“here, baby? you like it here? heh, of course i know you do,” he giggles. he'd ace any exam about you or your body, and he has full confidence in that.

he drags his cock in and out, in and out, in and out, his prominent vein throbbing and caressing the plush of your eager walls. the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin echoes in the shower, amidst the splattering of water pouring down on both of you.

“r-right there, satoru--! fuck, don't stop, please,” you mewl, head tipping back to lean against the wall, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open.

he gives you a sharp thrust, cock plunging into your wetness that was more drenched than the shower itself. it's a mean snap of his hips, but slow, his sole goal to drag the crest of his tip against your sweet spot and gradually unravel you.

“i know, silly. weren't you listening to me?” he teases, amusement evident in his tone. he knows he's fucking you mindless, rendering your senses useless. “it just feels sooo good, huh?” he croons.

“yesyesyesyes, mm, fuck.”

if you were coherent, you would've been able to feel the smug upturn of his lips against the side of your neck as his lips brush against it, then his teeth scrape against the skin.

he notices your legs slide down around him, becoming weak despite his hands gripping your thighs. he fastens his hold on them, keeping you where he needs you and maintaining the perfect angle to drive you up, up, and up to cloud nine. his thrusts turn into gyrations of his hips, stirring up your insides, his pelvis grazing against your clit teasingly. it's not enough to make you cum, but sufficient to make you just a bit more incoherent.

you twitch intensely from that single motion, provoking him to continue. he manages to bump into spots that you didn't even know existed but force such lewd noises from your mouth and sloshes from your cunt. his own puffs of breath become heavier, shakier, morphing into groans that slip past the droplets of water raining down.

the constant pulsing and tightening of your pillowy, saccharine walls hint at the orgasm creeping up on you. his stomach constricts with each indulgent clench of your inner muscles and he breathes out your name shakily, like a prayer for only you to hear. his goddess.

“hmm, you're so hah close, aren't you?” he whispers, tugging at your earlobe. “your sweet little pussy is clingin’ to me like she doesn't wanna let me go.”

you can barely formulate a response, nodding your head vigorously and moaning so drunkenly, intoxicated solely by his cock. “mhmhmm...”

“wanna cum for me?”

“p-pleaseeee,” you somewhat manage to babble out.

he chuckles deeply, pulling back to let his eyes travel over your face contorted in such blissful pleasure. “such a good girl.”

the grinding of his pelvic muscles against your clit becomes more purposeful and he circles his hips with each calculated thrust. your nails dig deeper into his back and he hisses lowly, enjoying the sensation.

once the dam breaks and your orgasm floods over you disastrously, his movements stutter slightly and a broken groan is wrenched out from his throat as you contract around him, sucking him in like a vice.

he curses under his breath, eyes heavy-lidded as he continues to watch your face before drifting his gaze down your quaking body. you almost scream his name, the combination of his veiny length pushing and withdrawing, and the delicious friction on your clit overwhelming you past your limits.

he doesn't stop, and you're twitching like a body possessed, jabbering out ramblings of overstimulation.

“shh... you can take a little more, can't you? gotta cum for my beautiful wife.” his voice is like velvet; thick, gentle, desirous.

“... uh-huh... want your cum inside,” you drawl, mind hazy and thoughts barely legible. your entire body feels like it's on fire, overstimulated but trying to hold up for him. it makes him smile, almost proudly, watching the way you try your best for him. just to help him find his own release.

“that's my girl.”

showering with satoru never saves time or water. and it's never innocent, either. a lesson never learnt.

Thrustday

the bed creaks under you, rhythmic. in time with his slow, deep thrusts rolling into you. it's gentle, tender, no rush, just pure intimacy. his long, heaving breaths caress your neck, mirroring his deep strokes.

he has you splayed for him with your back against the silken sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, his own body draped over yours like a blanket. a sweat-slicked, heavy blanket. his hands wrinkle the sheets on either side of your head, his face buried in the crook between your neck and shoulder, moaning your name into the space almost poetically.

he's taking his time, basking in your wet heat enveloping him wholly and dribbling down his balls, your syrupy whimpers dripping off your lips, your fingers clutching at his toned biceps.

he hasn't parted from you for a while, surrounding every single one of your senses. he smells like musk and sex. sounds like ecstasy and ruin. feels like sweat and electricity. and looks absolutely ethereal with his sweat-dampened hair mussed sensually from his constant movement and your hands that previously ran through it. his lips are swollen from deep, lingering kisses, so full of passion he practically drowned you in it. his snowy eyelashes shadow over his cheeks, fluttering ever so slightly with every crease of his eyebrows when your walls flap around him so sweetly.

as he continues to rock his body into yours, as if swaying slowly to a romantic melody orchestrated of your shared moans and shaky breaths, he pulls his head back to soak in your features. his eyes are overflowing with love and lust, devotion and desire. he looks at you as if he yearns despite having every inch of your skin melded with his, glued with sweat and slick

he wants more, more, more. to be intertwined with your soul. to have his heart cradle your own.

“don't wanna stop,” he mumbles, sounding intoxicated. drunk on your pussy, the rock of his hips being constant. he kisses you softly, a gentle mingle of lips against lips. “can't stop.” kiss. “your pussy is like a fuckin’ siren, keeps drawing me back in.” kiss. “can't part from it.” kiss. “sooo unreal, fuck...”

“‘s so good,” you babble, eyes slanted as you stare up at him.

he brushes your hair back from your face, so eager, the most rushed his movements have been. eager to see your pleasure-riddled face better. “i know. ‘s fucking amazing. can't believe this pussy is real hngh...”

you giggle, like he just told the funniest joke but the cause of your delirium is his lengthy cock digging up your insides like you have a treasure hidden in there. and he lets out a groan, sounding defeated as if he's given up on trying to keep his composure. his body collapses onto yours completely.

“can't believe you're real,” he says, peppering kisses against the curve of your cheek. “how do you manage to be so damn adorable and hot at the same time?” disbelief is laced in his tone.

the constant, steady pace of his hips draws out more moans from between your lips, a song he's addicted to, could never get tired of, nor get sick of playing those beautiful notes out of you with the purposeful swivel of his hips.

“wanna live right here between your legs forever. squeezin’ me so good. everything feels so... good,” he huffs out a laugh at himself, breathless. “i can't even think of any other words, that's how perfect you are. my perfect girl.”

Cryday

“aw, you cryin'”? he taunts. there's a grin mischeviously spread across his lips, amused and feral. he has you folded like a lawn chair, your legs pushed up to your chest as he drills into you.

a sloppy mess of noises is resonant with each charge of his hips, your creamy arousal mixed with his previous orgasm trickles down your ass and stains the sheets. a beautiful sight that he relishes in, loving how messy he makes you. a frothy ring forms around his cock and your puffy, abused lips are smeared with his cum.

it's already after midnight but there doesn't seem to be an end in sight. his adrenaline seemingly limitless, pumping and pumping through his veins. thrusting and thrusting into you.

it's the nth round, nth position, nth orgasm.

at least he even made it to the bed and didn't pound you into the floor like an animal.

he dips his head to lean in closer and drag his tongue up your cheek, licking off the salty moisture caused by sheer pleasure and overstimulation.

“mm... feels that good, huh?” he teases.

“‘s t-too much!” you babble out, tone laced with ruin, whiney and winded.

“you can take more. you're suchhh a good girl for me, i know you can,” he soothes, voice calming.

though, it's barely five minutes later when his own eyes well up with tears and they spill over the same time he fills you up with his seed yet another time.

“o-oh fuck, m-marry me, please, please, please...” he rambles, tears staining his own cheeks. from the hedonistic euphoria.

“ah! we're a-already ngh married, idiot.”

“oh, we are. we are. hngh fuck 'm so lucky. so, so, soooo lucky. this pussy is allll mine,” he giggles. were those tears of happiness now? “i should breed this sweet, sweet pussy. really make her all mine, huh?”

the strikes of his hips pick up pace, more frantic, needier. there's a new mission he needs to accomplish.

“you've already-- ngh shit-- stuffed me full of your cum,” you retort, catching your bottom lip harshly between your teeth, feeling the stinging prick of tears again. similar to the stinging on your ass from the way he rams into you. “all fuckin’ week.”

and he grunts, lips plump from biting them and parted as he huffs out heavy breaths. there's a sheen of sweat painting his toned chest and abs, his arms briefly buckling as he still cinches your thighs to your chest.

“o-oh, wait, fuck... i shouldn't have thought about you being pregnant with my baby. fuck, fuck, fuck... ‘s sooo hot. so hot. oh g-god...” he stammers. the contrast between his whimpers and harsh snaps of his hips is almost mind-boggling. the way he can ruin you and himself at the same time. “gonna fuck you ‘til you're round and glowing.”

he leans down again, kissing your tears away so kindly that you almost forget about the cruel force of his relentless hips.

Sat-on-ur-faceday

“i told you to sit on my face, not hover,” he pouts, as if offended that you don't want to suffocate him between your thighs. he thinks that the only correct and most perfect way to go out would be between your thighs.

“but--” you're about to protest, just a few inches shy away from your dripping lips meeting his eager ones.

“but nothing. fuckin’ smother me,” he mumbles against the plush flesh of your inner thigh as he litters it with kisses and gentle bites. marks that only he will ever see. it makes him feel giddy at the thought. he ends up branding his name into your inner thigh with his teeth.

his hands slide up to your waist, pulling you down onto his awaiting face. and he moans as soon as your sugary scent fills his nostrils and he flicks his tongue out to taste you.

“oh. fuck... so sweet. mmm... ‘m never gonna eat outside again. not when i have a five-star michelin meal right here.” he already sounds hysterical. from a single lick.

with the flat of his tongue, he sweeps it from your clit down to your twitching, weeping hole. and he moans again, like he's never tasted you before and can't bear to be parted from your cunt. he could never get enough, no matter how overworked his tongue is, or how deprived he is of oxygen. it's you that has to stop him from driving both himself and yourself to your limits.

he tilts his head up, nose buried in your folds, trying to go further, to drown himself in your decadent syrup. his tongue firmly prods at your entrance, slipping past and swirling around.

usually, he takes his time with his desserts, savouring every lick and bite. but with you? his sweetest and favourite dessert. oh, he doesn't hold back with you. smearing your juices all over his lower face, inhaling as if you gushing out onto his tastebuds isn't enough, and the sloppy, lewd noises of his lips smacking against yours.

he sucks on your folds, devouring every drop of your juices and teasing every inch of your pussy, before fucking his tongue back into you. he curls it against every sweet spot he's memorised and mapped out with his tongue, fingers, and cock, knowing exactly how to get those whines out of you.

“s-sato-- ah! slow doooown hnnngh!” your words turn into an elongated moan when his tongue slithers out of you and instead, flicks your clit violently. the complete opposite of slow. it's not his fault he can't resist such a cloy pussy and can't resist drawing all those equally cloy songs from your mouth.

you can feel his smirk against you when your thighs tremble on either side of his head and your body buckles forward, your hands rushing to find leverage on his abs.

it's only then that you realise he has a hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, solely hard from eating you out. he bucks up into his fist, a dribble of precum trickling down and making the glide easier. he's whining and moaning into your cunt, but he doesn't let down, continuing to eat you out like a man starved and his free hand keeps you tethered to his face.

“mmm hah... ride my face, baby. fuckin’ ride it, ‘s all yours. use my face to make yourself feel good,” he urges you, practically babbling against your sodden lips, choking on his own moans and your sap flowing down his throat. “yeaaahh, that's it.”

your hips involuntarily jerk against his face, your clit sliding down to rub against his chin before drawing back to his lips. but you obey to the unconscious sway of your body and do the same movement, purposely this time. riding his face just as he asked you to, and your entire body shakes like a leaf in the wind each time you grind against the bump of his chin.

it's the perfect friction paired with his wet muscle plunging in and out of you, dragging along your walls and poking in every crevice of your cunt. you gyrate your hips, mewling loudly. at the same time, another thick glob of precum descends down to his balls and he grips his base tightly like he's using every force in him not to cum.

“cum on my face, please, pleaseplease. can't take it anymore ngh--”

his tongue works overtime to get you to cum and with the way your constricting canal pulses around it, he knows it won't take long before you're making a mess on his face.

the undulation of your body becomes shaky, asynchronous, faltering. your head falls back while your body arches forward. and he thinks it's such a heavenly sight when you're surrendering to the gratification, ecstasy written all over your face.

he laps at your quivering hole, slurping up every drop he can, groaning like he's scraping the plate clean after already devouring every bit of a dessert.

when he finally pulls back, lifting you off his face and switching your position so that you're straddling his waist now, he grins up at you goofily with rosy cheeks, glistening with the aftermath of your orgasm. but the desperation is so prominent in his sky-blue hues.

“sit on my dick now, please. finish me off, wanna cum inside this pretty little pussy.” his hands grasp at your waist again, grinding you along the length of his cock, encouraging you.

you shudder as your clit glissades up and down, and his tip catches onto your entrance a couple of times. purposefully? perhaps. who knew what satoru was thinking?

needing no more enticement and wanting to feel the stretch of his girth and his throbbing vein, you take ahold of him and hover just enough for you to be able to slowly sink down on him.

he grits his teeth, eyes shut like a vice and head thrown further back into the pillow, fingers becoming bruising on your hips. “how is it possible for ngh something to feel this... divine?” he mutters, singing the alphabet in his head to stop himself from cumming already. he wants to enjoy it, savour it. “how are you still so damn tight?” he gasps once you begin the rise and fall of your hips.

it's a steady pace for only a moment, before you suddenly speed up and something of a gasp-whimper hybrid is forced out of his mouth. you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it, becoming addicted to the stretch and eager for his cum. rising your hips up until the head of his cock is peeking out of your entrance before slamming back down, a wet slap of skin against skin complementing each recoil.

his eyes meet the back of his head, rolled all the way back and he swears he can see your name written in the stars.

“you ride me like you're trying to get me pregnant,” he groans, sounding strained but you can hear the amusement laced in it.

you laugh, short of breath, before getting cut off by your own moan. “m-maybe i am... you're the one acting like you're in heat-- fuck...”

and he's rutting up into you. it's messy and uncoordinated, thrusting lazily but deep. invading and attacking your sweet spot like it's something he can do so effortlessly with the shaky thrusts of his hips. it throws off your own rhythm.

you reach down, fingers lightly curling around his neck and squeezing gently. his hips stutter and his legs suddenly feel weak, a loud whine ripping out of his throat.

“choke me harder," he grits out. and when you do, he immediately regrets it. “n-nooo, wait, baby, wait, s-stoop-- fuck, imgonnacum, imgonnacum hahhh...”

your walls mould to his cock so deliciously, clinging onto him as if he'd even want to go anywhere. he'd live and die being inside you if he could.

after two more rocks of your body, he's tightening his grip on your hips and holding you down on him, preventing you from moving as his slender back arches off the bed and he cums inside you with the force of a tsunami. his jaw drops open, moans struggling to make themselves be heard and known, but instead being lodged in his heaving chest.

your greedy cunt soaks up every drop of his release, some of it beginning to seep out and stain your lips and dribble down his taught balls.

he's panting like he just ran a marathon once he comes down from cloud nine, the haziness so evident in his eyes once they ease open to stare up at you. it's only a second before he's rutting up into you again.

“don't stop, please. ride me until i'm shooting blanks... want you to take all that i have. ‘m all yours, all yours.” his words are slurred together.

Sudsday

sundays are always yours and satoru's lazy days. no chores, no going out, no work. just the two of you, relaxing, doing whatever you wanted.

and satoru believed you deserved a day of extra pampering and spoiling after the strenuous week he put you through due to his animalistic nature. like a rabid dog. a puppy in heat. leaving you marked in more ways than one.

that's why he's running you a comforting bath, infused with lavender oil, setting up scented candles in the bathroom which mingle with the lavender.

“hey, sweetheart,” he calls out gently from the bathroom, poking his head out from behind the door to see where you are. “the bath is ready.”

and the sunniest of smiles immediately springs onto his lips when you come into view. he stretches his arm out for you to take his hand, holding yours almost gingerly as he tugs you towards the bath.

“are you gonna join?” you ask, glancing at him curiously as you untie the soft robe from around you. and his eyes never wander astray, staying faithful to your face before he moves to stand behind you.

he carefully gathers your hair in his hands, using a claw hairclip to keep it up higher on your head.

“if you want me to. it's for you, after all.”

“join me,” you insist, turning around to face him and his eyes crinkle in the corners as he admires your features so tenderly. as if you can feel the caress of his eyes over your face, burning each and every detail into his mind, until he'd be able to see the image of you engraved into his eyelids when he closes his eyes.

he keenly complies with your request, stripping off his sweats without a second thought. he submerges in the warm bath first, sitting with his back against the end, before reaching out to you again. he helps you step in, mindful to not let you slip.

once you're sitting under the water, he tugs you back against his chest, spreading his legs as far as he can to make sure you're comfortable in between them.

he twines his arms around your waist, kissing feathers along the side of your neck. at the same time, he gently massages the soothing touch of his fingers into the bruises he left on you over the past week. the etchings lingering from his teeth all over your neck, shoulders, tits, and thighs; purplish red traces of his fingers on your hips.

“you were so good for me,” he murmurs softly against your neck, nosing the back of it as he closes his eyes and lightly inhales your sweet scent.

he focuses on the warmth of your body against his, the suppleness of your skin beneath his fingertips, your soft, steady breathing complementing the rise and fall of your chest, . he's never been so immersed in anything before, other than the previous times he gets caught up in you, only ever you.

and in his tender travels of soothing your body, his hand eases between the crease of your thighs, his index and middle fingers slowly circling your nub, sensitive from the six days prior.

“‘toru,” you whine weakly, head dropping back onto his shoulder with half-lidded eyes. it's a half-hearted protest. you can't exactly complain when the simple brush of his touch can drive you crazy so easily, so quickly.

“shhh, just let me make you feel good. relax. let ‘toru take care of you,” he whispers in your ear.

his touch is both soothing and exciting. making you melt against his chest while your heart gallops behind the confines of your own ribs. your eyes close, submitting to the pleasure he's gracing you with while relaxing. your mouth parts slightly with quiet whimpers of his name.

his hushed sweet nothings tickle the flesh of your shoulder as he continues his pilgrimage of kisses. he never speeds up the pace of the circles, nor increases the pressure. just the right amount to drive you towards the peak without heightening your sensitivity.

you're overcome with a subdued orgasm, leaving you twitching in his arms against his chest. he rubs his hands along your thighs soothingly, before holding you against him protectively. your soft moans bounce off the cool bathroom walls.

“there we go,” he coos softly once you've ridden out your orgasm. like a lullaby in your ear. you go completely lax against him and he tightens his arms around you. “so beautiful when you're feeling good.”

you really wouldn't be surprised if one of you made it out of the week pregnant.

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multifandomsmutstash · 2 days ago

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older bf!nanami spoils you quietly. thoughtfully. he never makes a show of it—the fresh bouquet on your nightstand every sunday, the lunchboxes packed when he knows you’ll be busy, the way he lets you drag him into shops just to buy you trinkets that “make no financial sense,” yet his wallet’s already out.

he’s older, calm, and terrifyingly composed, but he never makes you feel small—until you’re under him like this.

“k-kento… t-too big—!” your breath hitches, nails clawing into his forearms, but he doesn’t stop. his hips are relentless, driving his cock deeper, harder—brutal, merciless, a sharp contrast to the man who buttoned your coat for you this morning. “i know, darling,” he coos, lips brushing your temple, but there’s a dark gleam in his eyes as he watches you fall apart. “but you’re taking me so well, aren’t you? such a good girl.”

you’re folded in half—legs pinned to your chest, body trembling as he pounds into you, thick and deep, splitting you open with every brutal thrust. his cock kisses your cervix, the heavy drag making your toes curl. “k-kento—ahh—too much… f-feels so good, i—” your words melt into high-pitched whines, drool spilling from the corner of your lips as you squirm beneath him.

“look at you,” he murmurs, pace never faltering, “so pretty when you can’t even form a sentence. what happened to my sharp girl, hmm?” his words are sweet, but the way his hips snap against you—rough, punishing—has your mind blanking. “kento! ahh—mmph—fuck—!” you sob, overwhelmed, nails raking down his back as his cock drags along every sensitive spot inside you, every thrust making your brain fuzzier.

he leans down, mouth messy against your lips, licking into you as his cock bullies its way back into your squelching cunt. “that’s it. take it. you can take a little more, can’t you?”

“y-yes! yes, please—” you cry, teary-eyed, completely cockdrunk as he rocks you into the mattress. “my good girl,” he praises, voice so tender it’s almost cruel, even as his hips roll with devastating force. “let me fuck you dumb, sweetheart. you don’t have to think—just feel me.”

and god, you do. every inch of him. every filthy, perfect inch.

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multifandomsmutstash · 5 days ago

Text

On the edge . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

synopsis: edging them bc i want to see them beg thank you !

content: SMUT (mdni)

zayne . ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

He got home late again.

You heard the door open and close quietly, the telltale sound of Zayne’s boots being eased off by the front door. It was past midnight — his shift had clearly run long. You weren’t angry. Not really. But you'd spent the evening alone, wearing the silk set he liked, and now your need sat just beneath your skin like heat rising from a banked fire.

You stayed curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, feigning disinterest when he stepped into the room. His coat was slung over one arm, his shirt sleeves pushed up, forearms bare and dusted with flour from some emergency nutrition break at the hospital. His hair was a little messy — damp at the temples, like he'd run water through it in frustration.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth like velvet pulled taut. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You didn’t respond. Just looked up at him slowly, and tilted your head.

He blinked. “...Are you okay?”

You stood without a word and walked over. He smelled like antiseptic and his cologne, sharp and warm. You slid your hands up beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the taut lines of his stomach. He stilled.

“Missed you,” you said simply.

His brow knit. “I know. I’m sorry. Things ran longer than expected—”

You cut him off with a kiss. Not a sweet one. A slow, intentional press of mouth to mouth, your hands slipping down to his waistband. He groaned quietly against your lips, but when you started sinking to your knees, he caught your arm.

“Wait—what are you…?”

“Shhh,” you whispered, and smiled up at him. “Let me.”

He hesitated. You rarely did this, not like this, not without him orchestrating every move. He always took care of you first — insistent, focused — to the point where he’d deflect the moment your hands even flirted with his belt. But tonight, something in your gaze must’ve made him yield. His hand dropped away.

“All right,” he said quietly. “But only because you look like you're about to combust.”

You laughed softly and undid his fly.

He hissed in a breath when you freed him, already half-hard from your kiss alone. You curled your fingers around him, slow and warm, and gave the first teasing stroke. He braced one hand against the wall behind him, chest rising subtly beneath his shirt.

“Darling…” he murmured, breath catching.

You took your time, drawing pleasure from his every reaction. He didn’t moan — not Zayne. But he made these low, delicious sounds in his throat, and occasionally muttered soft curses under his breath. You watched him carefully, timing each stroke to build him up slowly, too slowly, backing off every time he started to roll his hips or tip his head back.

His eyes opened, sharp and narrowed.

“…You’re teasing me,” he said flatly.

You smiled innocently, thumb dragging over the leaking tip. “Maybe.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You’ve never done this before.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he said, without hesitation. “I Just… didn’t expect to be punished right after my shift.”

“I missed you.” You pressed a kiss just above his hip. “This is what you get for being gone so long.”

His knuckles flexed against the wall. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You kept going. Slower this time, gentler, even more patient — your mouth brushing the head of his cock, but not taking him in, not yet. He hissed through his teeth, shoulders tense, control starting to fray around the edges.

“Darling,” he rasped. “You don’t have to—fuck—”

“Say it,” you teased. “Say you missed me.”

“I did.” His voice cracked with a note of real heat. “I missed you every minute. I’ll prove it—after.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, eyes blown wide, chest heaving. “I’ll return the favor. Thoroughly.”

You finally took him into your mouth.

The curse he let out was nearly a growl — deep and wrecked — his fingers tightening at his sides. You kept the same rhythm with your hand while your mouth worked the rest of him, letting him fall apart slowly, savoring every twitch and shudder. He didn’t beg, didn’t whimper. But he shook slightly by the end, jaw clenched, voice frayed.

He came with a low, wrecked sound, spilling over your hand and your lips, breath stuttering like he hadn’t meant to lose it that hard.

You looked up through your lashes, licking your thumb clean.

Zayne looked down at you with something like reverence and hunger all wrapped into one.

“…Get on the couch,” he said calmly, even as his voice shook. “I’m not letting you sleep until you forget your own name.”

xavier. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You don’t even know why it bothered you.

It wasn’t him.

Xavier was polite. Distant. Soft-spoken. He barely even looked at her.

But the girl wouldn’t stop touching his sleeve, leaning into his space, laughing like she’d earned something. And he — sweet, oblivious Xavier — just nodded along, clearly not catching a thing.

So now, here you are.

Straddling him. Riding him. Slow.

Xavier is spread out beneath you, flushed pink all the way down his chest, arms tense where he’s gripping the sheets instead of you, because you told him not to touch. Not yet.

He’d let you do anything, and it shows — the way his hips jerk every time you roll down just enough to tighten around him. His breath stutters. His lips part, eyes fluttering half-shut, then snapping open to find yours again.

“Starlight,” he pants, “you’re going slow on purpose.”

You tilt your head. “Is that a problem?”

His throat bobs. “No,” he whispers. “Just… didn’t know I did something wrong.”

You lean in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear. “You didn’t.”

“Then—?”

“You let her touch you,” you say, soft. Controlled. “She thought she had a chance.”

There’s a flicker of realization in his face. Then regret. Then—

“Oh.” His voice is barely there. “I didn’t notice. I swear, I didn’t—”

“I know,” you murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You never do.”

He exhales like he’s relieved — only to inhale sharp when you grind down again, slow and deep, his cock twitching inside you. His whole body tenses.

“Fuck—”

His hands are trembling again. He wants to hold you. Needs to. But he doesn’t. He’s being so good. Letting you use him. Letting you have him.

You rock your hips again, same pace, same angle. Deliberate. Controlled.

“I’m not mad,” you whisper, voice like honey. “Just making sure you remember who you belong to.”

“I do,” he says quickly, breathless. “I do. I never forgot—my star, please, let me—”

You clench around him. His whole body shudders.

“Not yet.”

His eyes squeeze shut. A whimper leaves him — high and desperate, muffled by the back of his hand where he’s biting down to keep quiet. His thighs are shaking.

“I—” He gasps, blinking up at you again. “I love you. You know that, right? I don’t look at anyone else. I only want you. I only ever—”

You kiss him — slow, deep, possessive — and when you pull away, your hand wraps around the back of his neck, holding him there.

“Show me.”

And finally, you give him what he wants.

You move faster. He moans loud, needy, broken — his hands fly to your hips and you let him grab you now, let him hold you as he cums hard, trembling under you, eyes glassy with it.

When it’s over, he pulls you into his chest without hesitation, still panting.

“I really didn’t notice her,” he whispers.

You laugh softly into his throat. “I know.”

sylus. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

He hesitates. Still.

Even with his shirt undone, skin flushed beneath your mouth, even with your hands at his belt, undoing the buckle slowly — he hesitates.

“Sweetie,” he murmurs, voice low, deep, almost chiding. “You don’t need to do that.”

Your lips brush his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants. He shudders.

“I want to,” you whisper, tugging his pants lower. “You always take care of me. Let me return the favor.”

He swallows hard, like he’s chewing down whatever protest is still trying to rise in him. You watch the muscles in his abdomen twitch as you drag your fingers along the edge of his waistband, teasing. Slow. Like he does to you.

His cock is already hard — has been since you first straddled his lap and whispered what you wanted between lazy kisses and lingering touches. The tip is flushed, leaking already. He’s beautiful like this. Open.

You look up at him. “Let me, Sylus. Please,”

And finally — finally — he nods. Voice hoarse.

“…Okay. You can have me.”

You ease him onto the bed, nudging his thighs apart as you kneel between them. You kiss the inside of his knee, then his thigh. You take your time. He smells like heat and something you could get drunk on.

“Don’t tease, kitten,” he says with a faint smile, though his voice is already shaking. “I might start thinking you’re trying to turn the tables.”

You grin against his skin. “Who, me?”

When your tongue finally traces along the underside of his cock, he gasps. Sharp. Real. His hips jump. One hand fists in the sheets.

You don’t take him into your mouth yet. Not fully.

You kiss him there. Lick. Trace.

And when you look up, his head is tipped back, one hand hovering near your hair, the other clenched in the blanket like he’s already close.

You start sucking him slowly, lips stretched around him, hands gripping his hips to hold him still. He moans — a quiet, choked-off sound like he’s trying not to scare you.

“Oh, kitten,” he groans. “Fuck—your mouth…”

You work him deeper. Just a little. Let him feel the heat, the wet, the rhythm. Then you pull back. Lick the tip. Blow a breath across the head.

His hips jerk.

“Sweetie.” It’s a warning. Or maybe a plea.

“You okay?” you ask sweetly, resting your cheek against his thigh.

He huffs a breathless laugh. “What are you doing to me?”

“Taking my time.” You wrap your hand around him, start stroking again, your lips brushing just the head with every pass. “You’ve made me beg so many times, Sylus. Let’s see how pretty you sound.”

His head lifts. His eyes find yours. They’re burning now — heat and challenge and the faintest shimmer of want.

“Oh?” he breathes. “That’s what this is?”

You give him one long, slow lick up the underside. He twitches. His breath catches. You take him into your mouth again, just to the halfway point, and swirl your tongue around the tip before pulling off again.

His thighs flex. He groans through gritted teeth.

“You little tease,” he pants. “I thought you wanted to make me feel good.”

“I do,” you murmur, kissing his stomach. “I want to ruin you for anyone else.”

That gets him.

He moans again — head falling back against the pillows, arm flung over his face, breath wrecked. His hips are twitching now, trying not to buck, and he’s begging without realizing it.

“Please,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Please, kitten—just a little more, I’m so close, please—”

You stroke him faster now, mouth working the head again, eyes locked on his face as it breaks. He’s panting, trembling, his muscles twitching under your hands.

“I can’t—” he gasps. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t hold it—”

You pull off. Again. Just before he tips.

He cries out, a sound so raw and desperate it punches through your chest.

“Sylus,” you whisper, climbing up his body to kiss the edge of his jaw. “You gonna cum for me?”

His voice is shattered. “Yes. Please. Let me—please, sweetie, let me—”

You stroke him fast now, hand slick from your mouth, and it doesn’t take long — maybe five seconds — before his whole body snaps, hips arching up as he cums in thick, hot pulses across his own stomach, a moan ripping from his throat like you tore it from his soul.

You watch every second of it. Watch his face, the way it twists in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open like he’s afraid to breathe.

And when it’s done — when he’s twitching, panting, flushed and trembling — you lean down and lick it off him.

Slowly. Lazily.

“Fuck,” he groans, still dazed. “You’re going to kill me.”

You rest your cheek on his chest, sighing. “Mmm...not yet,”

caleb. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

You had found the med reports by accident.

Tucked beneath calibration files on his tablet — meant to be hidden, meant to be forgotten — evidence of just how close he’d come to losing a lung, of how many bones had splintered clean through muscle. He hadn’t told you. Hadn’t said anything when he came back, bruises half-faded, smile intact, voice soft like nothing had happened.

So you decided not to say anything either.

You wait until the lights are low and the quiet of your shared bedroom is safe and soft, your body folded over his in bed — kissing him slow, letting your weight sink onto his lap while your fingers dip beneath the hem of his sweats. Caleb, already pliant from your attention, sighs into your mouth when you wrap your hand around him.

“Pips,” he murmurs, voice hazy, already thick with want. “Missed you. You—mmn—been thinkin’ about you all day.”

Your lips brush the shell of his ear. “All day, huh?”

“‘Course,” he breathes. “You're all I think about.”

But you don’t stroke him, not yet. You just hold him there — hard, heavy in your grip — and let the moment stretch. His hips shift subtly under you, seeking friction.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asks, brows drawing together. “Did I…?”

You tighten your hand slightly, just enough to feel him twitch. “You gonna tell me about the four broken ribs, Caleb?”

His breath catches.

“I saw your file,” you say, quieter this time. “Saw what you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he says quickly, guilt flooding his voice. “Pips, I—I swear I’m okay. I just thought—if I made it back to you, that’s all that mattered.”

You finally stroke him, once — a slow, upward drag of your palm — and he lets out a helpless noise.

“That why you kept it from me?” you ask, voice saccharine. “Thought I’d be too fragile to handle it?”

“No, baby, no—never. I just… it was stupid, I know it was stupid, I just didn’t want you scared.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know, I know—shit—” His hands clench at the sheets. “You’re right. I fucked up. I should’ve told you.”

You start moving your hand then — long, languid strokes, alternating with tighter squeezes that make him groan under his breath. His hips jerk up, but you lift slightly, denying him any real friction. He looks up at you with that frayed, remorseful gaze that makes your chest ache.

“You’re punishing me,” he says, almost like he likes it. “I deserve it. Keep going. Do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

You kiss along his throat, down to his collarbone, while your hand works him slowly, relentlessly. Every time he gets close, you stop. You tease the head of him with your thumb. You let him whine.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, pips, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you everything next time, anything you wanna know. Just—baby, please, let me cum—”

You hush him gently, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not even close yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He lets out a broken breath, biting his lip. His abs tighten when you give him a firmer stroke, and he chokes on a moan.

“You like this, don’t you?” you murmur, lips brushing his cheek. “Being made to wait. Having to beg.”

“I—” He swallows hard. “I like when you touch me. I’ll take it however you want. Just wanna be good for you. Let me be good, pips. Please.”

“Then be still.”

He shudders, his knuckles white where they grip the bedsheets, trying not to buck. You tease him again, just the tip now, swirling your thumb in slow circles as his eyes flutter shut.

“Say it again,” you whisper, lips at his ear.

“That I’ll be good?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

“I’ll be good for you, baby. I swear it. I’ll make it up to you. Anything. Just… please—don’t stop.”

You smile softly against his jaw. “You’ll get what you want. Eventually.”

And you keep going. Keep him pinned and wrecked and whispering your name like a prayer, until his voice is raw and his body trembling, aching for release — and even then, you make him ask for it one more time.

rafayel. ݁⋆ ۶ৎ ݁˖ .

It was supposed to be a date.

Or at least, that’s how he framed it when he invited you over: “Come by the studio, cutie. I’ll clear my schedule. Just you, me, wine, maybe a little jazz in the background… I'll even cook.”

You’d said yes, excited. You’d dressed nice. You’d brought his favorite dessert. You even refrained from teasing him when you noticed the paint under his nails that he definitely said he’d washed off earlier.

But five hours later, he still hadn’t left the canvas.

He tried. Really. He kissed you hello with paint still wet on his fingers, poured you a glass of wine with that crooked grin, and gestured dramatically at the little charcuterie spread he’d made. “Feast, beloved. Nourish thyself while I immortalize the human form,” he’d said, gesturing vaguely toward a canvas already full of half-finished strokes.

You humored him.

For a while.

You sipped your wine and curled up on the couch. You watched the brush in his hand move with graceful certainty. You even complimented the piece — some half-formed tempest of shadow and skin that probably meant something very deep, knowing him.

But the minutes turned to hours, and the affection he’d promised turned into distracted hums and muttered curses and words like “just a little longer” and “hold that thought, cutie” and “fuck, where did I put the viridian—”

So you got up. Slowly. Deliberately. You stood behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Rafayel.”

A distracted, “Mm?”

“You promised.”

He paused. Just briefly. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he wanted to give in. But then he sighed — a little too apologetic, a little too sincere — and said, “I know, cutie. I just… I’m right there. Give me ten more minutes?”

You didn’t answer.

You just smiled against his back — a smile he couldn’t see — and then let your hands drift lower, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Ten minutes later, he was flat on his back.

His head tips back against the pillows, dusky hair fanned out like a spilled halo, cheeks flushed a soft crimson. The curve of his mouth is caught somewhere between a smirk and a whimper — the look of a man trying very hard not to completely lose his mind.

You're straddling him, bare, slow, and in control. He’s deep inside, twitching against the vice of your heat, and you're not moving. Not really. Just enough to make him feel everything. Just enough to keep him desperate.

“Cutie…” he groans, voice strained and silky. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You hum, dragging your nails down his chest. “Obviously.”

“Sadistic,” he pants. “Criminal. I should paint you like this, riding me with that look on your face—God, I think I’d go blind from the brilliance.”

You roll your hips once, slow and shallow. His breath catches. He bucks—instinctively, helplessly—but you press your hands to his chest and push him down.

“Don’t you dare.”

He shudders. “Okay. Okay, okay—fuck—just—cutie, you can’t just leave me like this. My body is going to catch fire. I’m Lemurian, you know what that means, my internal temperature—”

You cut him off with another slow grind. He gasps — broken, needy, sharp. His hands clutch at the sheets beside him because you haven’t let him touch you. Not once.

“Please.” The word slips out before he can stop it.

You look down at him — flushed, panting, wet lashes fluttering against sweat-slick skin. Every muscle under you is tight. Straining. The prideful, witty painter is gone — reduced to a trembling wreck.

“Please, what?” you murmur, leaning forward until your mouth brushes the shell of his ear. “Say it. Nicely.”

He lets out a shaky, desperate laugh — but it breaks in the middle. “Please let me come, please, cutie, I’ll be good, I promise. Just—just let me—” He grits his teeth, his hips jerk again, and you don’t let up this time.

You ride him slow. Torturously slow. Watching him unravel.

“You want to finish?” you whisper, breath warm against his throat.

He nods wildly. “Yes—yes, please—”

“Then wait.”

The sound he makes isn’t human. His head drops back, throat exposed, lips parted around a moan that turns to something like a sob. You can feel how close he is — every muscle in his abdomen twitching, his cock straining inside you, hips trembling under your hands.

“Please,” he tries again, “I’ll paint you a thousand times, I’ll give you all my attention from now on, just—”

You finally slam your hips down. Hard. And again.

His cry is filthy. Unhinged. His back arches off the bed and he’s losing it, mouth moving around broken pleas, until—

“Now,” you say. “Cum for me.”

And he does — with a moan so loud it echoes, hands scrambling to hold you as he finally, finally falls apart. His whole body shakes beneath you, long after the climax hits, as if every nerve in him is still catching up.

When he opens his eyes again, dazed and glowing with sweat, he just looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

“…I think I saw God,” he whispers hoarsely. “She looks a lot like you.”

a/n: i have writers block and im ovulating. i can't come up with a plot so its horny hours on this blog for now. enjoy <3

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multifandomsmutstash · 5 days ago

Text

🜼 ⋆ you’re trying to win your game but gamer!choso is only making it hard with every thrust he fucks into you.

you’re trying to focus. really.

your eyes are on the screen, controller firm in your hands, knees braced on either side of choso’s hips where he’s sprawled back on the couch behind you. your headset’s already halfway off one ear, heart pounding with the tension of the match. your team’s shouting something about “left flank, hold the point, where the fuck is support”, but it all filters through like static, background noise.

because he’s still inside you.

choso, warm and heavy and impossibly deep, arms splayed behind your back as he lounges like he’s not currently fucking you slow enough to make your thighs shake. and he’s not even moving, not much. just shifting his hips every now and then, enough to feel the soft suck of you clenching around him, enough to grind the fat head of his cock against your most sensitive spot until your vision blurs at the edges.

you try to adjust your grip on the controller, you even try to focus more.

“you good, baby?” he asks, voice lazy and low, chin tucked over your shoulder like he’s barely even aware of what he’s doing to you. like he’s not the reason your fingers are slipping on the joystick, breath catching every time he presses just a little deeper. “you’re gettin’ real quiet.”

you glare at the screen and not at him. you can’t afford to. not with your character on the brink of getting sniped.

“’m fine,” you mutter, biting your lip hard enough to ground yourself. your voice wavers, barely audible beneath the low whirr of his breath against your neck.

choso hums and then he thrusts up—once, slow and deep and steady. your jaw drops, your whole body jolting forward and you miss your shot.

“…choso.”

he grins, lazy and smug. you don’t have to look to know it.

“just makin’ sure you’re still with me,” he murmurs, one hand curling around your waist, the other resting flat on your thigh where he spreads your legs just a little wider. he’s not even trying to fuck you hard, choso doesn’t need to. the heat’s already pooling low in your belly, breath catching every time he shifts under you, thick cock grinding through the slick heat of your cunt like he owns it. like it’s his personal amusement to see how long he can keep you functioning.

“you’re not gonna lose, are you?” he murmurs, all faux-innocence, dragging the pad of his thumb over your inner thigh in a slow circle. “wouldn’t want your team thinkin’ you can’t multitask.”

you gasp when he bucks his hips again, shallower this time and more of a roll than a thrust but it still punches the breath out of your lungs. the controller slips in your hands for a second. you miss another target. you bite down on a whimper.

“fuck you,” you hiss, cheeks hot.

his voice is right in your ear now, smug as ever.

“you are.”

the worst part is: he’s right. and you don’t want to stop. your body’s on fire, flushed and twitching every time he shifts just right under you, slow enough that it doesn’t feel like fucking, not quite, but enough that your whole focus starts to slide sideways. the wet sound of your slick around him is obscene, especially layered under the high-action game music, and every time he moves, you can feel him throb inside you.

choso reaches up lazily, plucks the headset halfway off your head with one hand and lets it dangle around your neck.

“you’re makin’ real cute sounds,” he murmurs, voice gone low and syrupy. “don’t want them hearin’ how needy you sound, do you?”

you shake your head, slightly frustrated, overstimulated, wanting him so bad your vision’s gone glassy.

“then say it,” he breathes, mouthing at the side of your throat, licking just under your jaw. “say you’ll let me fuck you proper after. you’ll put the game down and let me make you come like you want.”

your fingers go limp on the controller. your hips rock back against him without thinking, and his cock hits a spot so deep you sob, eyes rolling back.

“say it, baby.”

you barely get it out. voice wrecked. “yes. yes—choso, i will—”

the controller drops to the floor with a dull clatter.

he’s already got your hips in both hands, already snapping up into you like he’s been holding back this whole time. filthy, wet, deep—driving up into your soaked pussy like he’s starving for it, like he’s been waiting all day for you to stop pretending you could ignore him.

“knew you’d fold,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips. “always do.”

you do. and when he finally fucks you like he means it, fast and hard and merciless, you can’t even pretend you ever had control to begin with.

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multifandomsmutstash · 5 days ago

Text

🜼 ⋆ doing nanami kento’s skincare whilst cockwarming him.

he’s already buried inside you by the time you open the jar.

his cock rests deep and heavy, unmoving, your walls soft and warm around him—clenching every so often without meaning to. not riding. not grinding. just sitting, your thighs snug around his hips, chest to chest, full in a way that makes your whole body ache.

nanami’s not even looking at you.

his eyes are closed. head leaned back against the headboard. one hand loose around your thigh, the other resting across his stomach. calm. quiet. pretending this isn’t killing him.

you dip your fingers into the cream.

“look at me.”

his eyes open immediately. obedient, steady, almost bored, except for the muscle twitching at the edge of his jaw.

you smooth a layer of moisturizer across the high slope of his cheekbone. slow and focused. like you’re not straddling him with his cock inside you. like this is just another part of your routine.

“your skin gets dry when you don’t let me do this.”

he exhales through his nose—measured, deliberate—but his cock twitches inside you. a slow, dangerous throb.

“you shifted,” he mutters, not opening his eyes.

“you’re imagining things.”

but you did. only a little. just enough to feel him drag along that tender inner wall. enough to make your breath hitch, to make your core clench helplessly around him again.

you swipe cream down the bridge of his nose, then across his jaw, all while seated deep on his lap. you’ve never felt so full, so stretched without movement. the weight of it. the heat of him. he’s not even hard anymore—not fully—but he hasn’t slipped out. hasn’t let himself soften, not even for a second.

he grunts when you reach for the folded sheet mask on the side table, lifting one hand off his chest for balance. the shift makes you clench again, and his hands tighten around your hips like a warning.

“you like being difficult,” he says flatly.

“you said i could do your skincare.”

“not like this.” kento hisses.

“you didn’t stop me.”

you smooth the cool sheet across his face, gentle and deliberate, pressing it into place with both palms. your fingers linger at the edge of his hairline. you’re sitting so close now your nose brushes his.

“hold still,” you whisper, like he’s the one misbehaving.

his cock pulses inside you again, slow and deep, and you fight the urge to move your hips, to rock on top of him, to take.

he’s so still. so composed. but you know how tight he’s holding onto it.

“ten minutes,” you say.

he doesn’t respond. just closes his eyes again, face beneath the mask unreadable.

you shift your hips to get comfortable, clenching around him as your muscles adjust.

he groans. softly.

but he doesn’t move.

he just presses one large hand flat against the small of your back—fingertips splayed wide, warm against your skin—and pulls you just a fraction deeper onto his cock.

“don’t squirm,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “or you can wait twenty.”

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

Text

Hair and Hands

Bangchan x F!Reader

So I actually responded to this earlier but because I responded to it I couldn’t grab it again for the final fic. (I hope anon sees this.) Here we go. Possessive, punishing, dirty Chan. 😈

Get ready for some panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

Content warning: hair pulling, spanking, choking, possessive, degradation, overstimulation, multiple rounds, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), aftercare.

word count: ~1000

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

You hadn’t expected it to unravel this way.

It was just a little tug.

You’d touched his hair a thousand times before—when he first started growing it out, when it curled at the ends after a shower, when he sat between your legs on the floor and let you braid it while he played video games.

Chan never minded.

In fact, he leaned into your touch more often than not.

Sometimes his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting with a soft exhale, like your fingers combing through his hair could ground him better than sleep.

So you didn’t think anything of it earlier.

At the grocery store, you’d tucked a loose piece of it behind his ear.

At the crosswalk, your hand brushed along the nape of his neck and up into the thick, dark-brown strands at the crown of his head.

When he reached for the top shelf to grab your cereal, you teased, “Your hair’s really getting long, baby,” and gave it a soft stroke.

He just smirked and said, “You like it?”

Of course you did.

But back at the apartment, everything shifted.

You were behind him on the couch, casually playing with his hair while he scrolled through his phone, head tilted back into your lap. Then, you got an idea. You smirked and coiled a chunk of it around your finger. Tugged it just a bit.

Chan stilled.

Completely.

And when he looked up at you—those warm brown eyes suddenly sharp, locked on yours—your breath caught.

“…Do that again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Pull it, I fucking dare you.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering.

The second your hand tugged again—just a little firmer this time—Chan surged up off the couch like a snapped wire.

In a blur, you were on your back with his weight over you, arms pinned, his mouth hot and angry at your throat. His hair fell in your face, wild and undone, as he pressed his hips down—hard.

“Ohhh, no no no,” he growled, low and feral. “You think you get to do that and stay in charge, sweetheart?”

Your heart thundered. “I didn’t mean—”

“You think I didn’t notice you teasing me all damn day?”

His palm slid under your shirt, gripping your breast roughly as his lips brushed your ear. “Touching me in public. Getting bold. Tugging my fucking hair like you own me?”

His hand moved lower—no hesitation. Straight into your pants, right over your panties, middle finger pressed directly to your soaked slit.

“Mmm—fuck,” he hissed, grinning when he felt it. “You liked testing me, didn’t you? Look at this. You’re soaked from one little warning.”

He shoved your panties aside and dragged his finger through your folds, slow and unrelenting. “You needed this, huh? Needed to get put in your place?”

You whimpered. “Chan—”

“You’re not in control anymore.”

That’s when he dragged you by the thigh and flipped you over onto your stomach.

“Stay the fuck down.”

A sharp smack landed on your ass, then another, harder, making you gasp and jolt forward—but his strong hand pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

“I want you to remember who owns you,” he growled, jerking your hips up and yanking your pants off. “You don’t get to touch my hair like that unless you’re ready for what it does to me.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before his cock was thrusting inside you—hot, thick, punishing. The stretch stole the air from your lungs, your eyes rolling back as he bottomed out with one rough snap of his hips.

“Fucking dripping,” he moaned. “You were begging for this, weren’t you?”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, choking you slightly with your own moan.

“Say it. Say you were being a brat.”

“F-Fuck, Chan, I—”

He slammed into you harder.

“Say it.”

“I was—fuck—I was being a brat, I just wanted you to—”

“Yeah? Wanted me to ruin you?”

His voice dropped, guttural. “I will, baby. Don’t worry.”

Your arms gave out under the weight of his rhythm—sharp, possessive, relentless. His hand tangled in your hair like reins, the other slapping your ass again, leaving his mark.

“Mine,” he growled. “You hear me?”

You were crying out, head spinning, legs trembling.

“Mine to fuck. Mine to control. Mine to make cum until you forget your fucking name.”

You choked on a moan as his fingers reached around, rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit. The overstimulation hit like lightning.

“Gonna cum?” he panted. “Do it. Let go. Come on my cock, like the desperate little thing you are.”

Your body seized and shuddered under him, pleasure ripping through you like a live wire. You didn’t even know you were screaming until he bit down on your shoulder to muffle you.

And he wasn’t done.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin. “You don’t get to pull my hair and only cum once.”

He fucked you through it—past it—until your moans turned to sobs and your thighs shook.

Another orgasm built too fast, too hot. You clenched around him, sobbing his name, tears spilling down your cheeks as he let go of your hair and wrapped his hand around your throat instead.

“Take it. Fucking take it.”

You came again with a strangled cry, body collapsing under the weight of it.

Only then—only then—did Chan groan and finally spill inside you, biting down on your shoulder again as his cock twitched deep in your throbbing cunt.

He stayed buried there for a long moment, panting, chest pressed to your back. Then slowly—so gently—you felt him shift.

His hand came to cradle your head, brushing your hair back softly.

“…You okay?”

You nodded weakly, still breathless.

His lips kissed your temple. “Good girl.”

Then he picked you up and carried you to bed—tucked you in, kissed your thighs, wiped your tears, and whispered every praise he could think of.

But just before you drifted off, sore and full and aching in the best way possible…

He leaned down, tangled a hand gently in your hair, and murmured with a smirk,

“Next time you pull it… think twice.”

TYSM for reading!!

Feel free to check out my master list to see more of my works!

tag list : @quaxing-lour @chryssi-kitten @kkd1021 @sagetakami @nojerama-writes @hwangseolover @yaorzu-blog @rrhwang @sayuri122014 @yaangu @eluvsp1hskzbtstxtatz @soojinie-5 @satosugu4l @ynxa-bliss @magikdarkholme @mbioooo0000 @rougegenshin @deadpool15 @simpqueen2025 @stronglychanbiased @kwanniehae @inlovewithstraykids @iovecb97 @rtyuy1346 @minho-kitty @tillaboo

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

Text

la petite mort

⋆｡°✩

pairing: hyunjin x fem reader

word count: 6.7K

contains: +18, bf!Hyunjin, established relationship, praise kink, deep intimacy, eyes locked the whole time, dry humping, grinding, tit play, oral (f and m receiving), couch makeout, soft & messy <333

authors note: english is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes in advance +++ requests are open! :)

summary: What began as a quiet night unraveled into something deeper. No need for explanations. Just touch, breath, and the weight of your little deaths shared in silence.

✩⋆｡

𝐿𝑎 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡, 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 “𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ”, 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐 𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑠𝑚. 𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑝ℎ𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑔𝑜, 𝑓𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝑤.

｡°✩

!!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!!

The apartment smelled like paint and night air. It was quiet, save for the low creak of wooden floorboards beneath your steps. No music playing, a rare occasion.

Hyunjin stood in his desk, shirt loose, bare feet, brow furrowed as he stared at the blank notebook like it was keeping secrets. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him in that quiet way he always did with you, like you were something he didn’t want to startle. There was something reverent in it. Careful. Curious.

When he turned, his expression barely shifted, but you saw the softness behind his eyes.

“You ever feel like your body remembers something your soul hasn’t caught up to?” he asked, voice low, rough with thought. “Like there’s a truth hiding under your skin, just waiting for the right hands to draw it out.”

You blinked, heart stammering, unsure about what he was talking about.

“Is that what you’re drawing?” you asked, stepping further into the room, your gaze moving from him to the white blank page.

He looked at it again, then down at his fingers, holding a pen. “I’m not drawing anything. I’m waiting for something to start me.”

He stood up, looking at you with those soft, caring eyes. "Come here"

You moved beside him, close, and then into him.

He opened his arms instinctively, and you folded yourself there, letting your cheek rest against the slope of his chest. His heat sank into your skin. He smelled like bergamot and dust and something quieter, something like him. You felt his heart beneath your ear.

His hand came up carefully, brushing along your hair and held the back of your head in that gentle way of his, thumb tucked just behind your ear.

Then, a kiss to your forehead. Barely there.

A second, softer, to the tip of your nose.

And then your mouth.

Slow. Intentional.

When he pulled back, you barely had time to breathe before he was looking at you again, eyes flicking between your own like they were answering something he hadn’t asked aloud.

“Maybe you’re thinking too much,” you said gently.

He glanced at you. “I’m always thinking too much.”

A quiet beat passed.

Then, softly “Sit for me.”

You turned to him. “What?”

His eyes didn’t waver. “Not to pose. Just… be near me. Let me look at you.”

The way he said it... it wasn’t flirtation. It was something deeper. A study. A prayer. A longing you weren’t sure you had the words for.

You sat on the chair near the corner, folding your hands over your knees, and waited.

Hyunjin stayed standing, sketchbook in hand, but didn’t draw. He stared at you like he was trying to memorize you all at once, but not your features, your presence. The slope of your breath. The way your fingers twitched when the wind shifted. The small furrow in your brow you didn’t know you wore when you were trying not to look nervous.

“I don’t think this will help me” he said after a long silence.

You tilted your head. “No?”

He stepped forward, eyes tracing over you. “I don’t know how to explain. Something is... missing”

You swallowed. Hard.

When he reached out, he didn’t touch your skin. His hand hovered near your jaw, eyes flicking to your lips like they were part of a language he was just learning. He leaned in, close enough that your breath caught between you, and whispered: “Don’t move yet. I’m still listening to what you’re not saying.”

You didn’t move. Not when he leaned in, not when his breath brushed over your lips. Something in the room had shifted, not heavier, not darker, but quieter, as if the air itself had gone still to watch whatever this was.

His fingers found your jaw, the barest touch. Thumb soft against your skin, careful, like the edge of a page he didn’t want to tear. And then he kissed you again, not hesitant, but slow. Maddening slow.

You kissed him back, hands curling into the loose fabric of his shirt, and felt the way his body answered, that low, aching tension held in his shoulders, in the steady drag of his hand down your spine. Like he had been waiting. Not for permission, but for timing.

Hyunjin pulled you with him as he stepped backward, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the room couch. He sank down and guided you into his lap like it was inevitable, like your body had always belonged there, curved around his. Your legs straddled him, knees pressing into the cushions.

He kissed you again, deeper now, mouth parted, lips plush and warm and present, and when your tongue brushed his, the sound he made was quiet, broken, helpless.

His hands were everywhere. One cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, anchoring you there; the other slid up beneath your shirt, trailing fire along the curve of your spine. His fingers flexed against your ribs, then flattened across the bare skin of your back like he needed to feel all of you at once. You arched into him, gasping into his mouth when his teeth grazed your lower lip, not biting, just holding.

Hyunjin had always kissed you with passion, he felt everything too deeply to pretend otherwise, but this time, something was different.

There was a quiet urgency in him tonight. Not rushed, not greedy. But the kind of desperation that blooms when you’ve spent too long pretending your hands weren’t shaking.

You felt it in the way his mouth chased yours, not letting you pull away, not for a second. He licked into you like he was searching for something. His tongue moved with a slow, aching precision, catching your whimpers before they left your throat.

And you kissed him back with everything you had.

Your fingers ran into his hair, letting dark strands spill between your knuckles. He moaned, low and caught, and the sound curled straight through your belly. You could feel him hard beneath you, pressed between your thighs, and when you rocked against him instinctively, his breath stuttered against your lips.

Your shirt was the first to go. He lifted it over your head with a kind of reverence, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. His gaze dropped and lingered on your chest. But when his hands came up, they didn’t grope, didn’t rush. They mapped. He brushed his palms up your sides, over your bra, thumbs circling so gently it made your whole body ache. Every touch was a promise.

You tugged at his shirt next, and he let you pull it off in one fluid motion. His skin was warm beneath your palms, you kissed his shoulder, the hollow of his throat, the line of his jaw, and he took it all, eyes fluttering shut, hands still roaming, anchoring you there.

He kissed you again, still slow, tongues brushing, deepening as your hands found the nape of his neck. Something about now felt heavier. Hungrier, yes, but also more delicate. Like he wasn’t just chasing pleasure, he was chasing meaning.

You felt the shift in him. In yourself. Something unspoken, but certain.

And when he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, you didn’t need to ask what he was thinking.

You felt his breath before you felt his mouth, warm, steady, brushing over your lips like a promise. His hand slid up the length of your spine, his fingers splaying wide across your bare skin.

In a second, you were kissing again.

It started soft, reverent. His lips molding to yours with quiet hunger, his body close enough for you to feel the tension in his chest, how hard he was trying to stay slow. To savor. Your mouth opened for him like instinct, like worship, and his tongue slid against yours with a pace that was deliberate, drugging. Not a rush, a study. Every tilt of his head, every graze of his teeth, a test of how much he could pull from you without either of you breaking.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders. Then into his neck. Then into his hair. You needed him closer, even when he was already everywhere.

The kiss deepened.

Got messier.

Tongues meeting more urgently now, wet and warm, a shared breath between gasps. Your thighs tightened around his hips without thinking. His hand slid further, tracing the dip of your lower back, fingers trailing down until they settled just under the waistband of your pants. His other hand framed your jaw, guiding the pace like he was orchestrating it.

Hyunjin kissed with intention. Like he was trying to memorize the taste of you mid-whimper. Like he wanted to leave your lips bruised with meaning. Like this kiss wasn’t just leading somewhere, it was the somewhere.

You were panting into each other’s mouths now, your body flushed from contact and the unbearable ache between your legs.

He wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t hurrying.

But you were burning.

He pulled back, lips red and breathless, his forehead resting against yours, both of your chests rising and falling.

Still, the look in his eyes was sure. Steady.

His fingers moved with quiet purpose, not rushed, not hesitant. Just sure.

You barely noticed when he slid a hand beneath the back of your bra, until the clasp gave with a gentle click. He pulled the straps down your shoulders with care, and your breath hitched as the cool air kissed your newly bared skin.

Then came his fingers.

Just the tips at first, tracing the outer curve of your tits, feather-light. Barely a touch, but it was enough to make your entire body spark to life, a shiver running from the base of your spine to the tips of your toes.

“God,” you whispered.

He hummed, pleased, and pulled you closer, his chest against yours, skin to skin now. Warm. Alive. Then he bent his head and pressed a kiss right to the center of your chest. Not teasing. Just… honest. And it undid you more than anything else.

From there, he moved slowly. Traced his tongue from that point, that quiet, reverent place, down to one nipple, soft and aching, while his hand lifted to cradle the other. His thumb circled with maddening tenderness. Barely any pressure, just a slow, sweet drag that made your toes curl.

Hot. Wet. Careful.

He licked once, then again, with that same slow-burning rhythm he used to kiss you, like time didn’t exist, like he could stay right here forever if it meant watching you fall apart.

You gasped, your back arching slightly, offering more of yourself without thinking. And he moaned softly against your skin, lips closing around your nipple with gentle suction.

Both of his hands slid down, finding your hips with certainty, firm and grounding, like he needed to hold you steady while he lost himself in you. His mouth stayed on your tit, tongue dragging lazy, wet circles around your nipple before closing his lips around it again, sucking just enough to make you gasp. He was getting messier. Less careful. His breath catching now and then, his tongue more insistent, less polished.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, not pulling, just anchoring yourself as the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth and the steady grip of his hands.

Then he started to move you.

It was subtle at first, the slow, guiding shift of your hips in his lap. Just enough friction to make you both inhale sharply. Your thighs tensed on either side of him, instinctively following the rhythm he was setting with his hands. Slow. Rolling. Measured.

His thumbs pressed small circles into your hips, grounding you even as he made you move. You dragged against the rougher fabric of your jeans, and the sensation sparked low and hot in your belly. Each movement sent a pulse through you, a growing ache that made you whimper softly, hips already trying to chase more.

Still, he kept it slow.

His mouth left your tit with a soft, wet sound, lips brushing your neck, your collarbone, as his breath came harder now, warm and shaky against your skin. “Feel that?” he murmured, voice wrecked but steady.

You nodded against his temple, too breathless to speak, and he groaned, that sound, low and raw, blooming right against your skin like it had a weight to it. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging in just a little, pulling you harder against him now. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath catch. Enough to make your thighs tremble from the pressure and the rhythm.

You could feel him through his jeans. Hard and hot, perfectly positioned beneath you. And when your body rolled again, his head dropped back.

“Fucking—” He bit it off, jaw clenching.

Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight, grounding yourself as you caught your breath. You rolled your hips one more time, slower this time, torturous, and his whole body jerked beneath you.

“I need…” you panted, barely able to form the words, “I need these off.”

His eyes snapped open, black with want. And then he nodded, just once.

You moved off him enough to shimmy out of your jeans, breath catching when the cool air hit the soaked fabric of your panties. He watched you the whole time, licking his lips as he reached for his own fly, taking his time, deliberately slow. You could tell he was savoring this, watching you stripped bare, keeping just enough distance.

Once his jeans hit the floor, he stopped you with a look.

“Underwear stays,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “That okay?”

You nodded, and it didn’t matter that your body was screaming, aching, desperate for more, the way he looked at you made it all feel worth it. Made you want to be good. Made you want to wait.

He opened his arms and patted his lap, and when you sank down, the heat between your bodies somehow doubled. Still covered. Still unbearable.

And then, he stilled. Not completely. Just long enough to tip his forehead to yours, to hold you like stillness was part of the art.

“We're getting to the part the French call la petite mort.”

Your breath caught before you even understood it.

He held your face in both hands now, gaze locked with yours, as if speaking from a place beneath language.

“It means ‘the little death.’ When your body shudders and your soul forgets how to carry it. It’s what happens when something is so good, so true, you fall apart just to feel it.”

He kissed you again, but not like before. This one was slow, deep, final, like he had just told you the name of the thing he had been chasing through every brushstroke, every sketch, every breath you had ever given him.

“I want to watch that happen to you,” he whispered. “I want to feel it with you.”

Your hands trembled where they rested on his chest. From how seen you felt. How undone. How close you were to already coming apart.

“You’ve seen it, Hyun” you said softly, voice barely above the hush of breath between your mouths. “So many times.”

There was no teasing in your tone. No smugness. Just truth, and the gentle offer of clarity, like you were helping him untangle it all.

Hyunjin’s gaze didn’t waver. His fingers grazed your ribs, your waist, slow like a brushstroke.

“I know,” he murmured. “But this time, I want to hold it. Capture it.”

Your breath caught. Not just from his words, but from the way he said them, like it was sacred. Like you were. His touch never stopped moving, always reverent, gliding over your skin as if he were learning it all over again.

Then his hands flexed, grounding you again before forcing you down in one smooth drag. “Do that thing again,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

Your hips obeyed before your mind did.

You moved, slow and grinding, your clit catching just right this time, and your whole body jolted, a soft, broken moan slipping out of you. He felt it, felt the way your muscles twitched and your legs stuttered and one of his hands left your hip, slid around to your ass, and pulled you down, rougher now.

“God, I can feel you soaking me,” he breathed, almost in awe, his voice shaking.

You whimpered, your forehead dropping to his. His other hand tangled in your hair, keeping you close, eyes locked on yours, his breath hot.

“Keep going,” he murmured, mouth brushing yours now, open and panting. “Just like that.”

Every grind against him had you gasping, panties sticking to your soaked folds, the friction sending shocks through your spine.

He was panting too, mouth parted, pupils blown wide. His hand on your ass squeezed tighter, guiding you, urging you on.

“Yeah,” he growled, voice wrecked. “Just like that, baby. Fuck—.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, but you did, locking with his as your body rocked over him, chasing the pressure, chasing the edge.

“Making yourself feel good, hmm?” His fingers in your hair pulled just enough, to snap your attention right back to the way he was watching you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered. “My pretty girl.”

You whimpered again, it was embarrassing how close you were already. How badly you needed more. How badly you wanted him to say more things like that.

He felt you tremble, heard the way your breath hitched.

“Ohh, that’s it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours again. “You like that, don't you, baby?”

His hips bucked up suddenly, once, hard, and your whole body jolted again, mouth falling open with a silent cry.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

He leaned in again, breath ghosting over your skin, and his mouth found your neck, open and wet, kissing down slowly, hungrily, like he couldn’t help himself.

Your hips kept moving, dragging over him with that same aching pace, but your breath hitched when you felt his teeth graze the soft skin beneath your jaw. He sucked just enough to make you gasp and shiver.

“Can’t stop touching you,” he murmured against your throat.

You moaned, hands fisting his shoulders, and he moved lower, kissing down your collarbone, then further, until his mouth found your tit again.

This time, he didn’t go for your nipple.

He sucked right beside it, slowly, tongue dragging over the skin before his lips sealed around it. The pull was just strong enough to sting, sharp enough to make you jolt in his lap, thighs tensing as the friction lit you up from the inside out.

You whimpered, hips stuttering, and his hand on your ass held you down again, harder.

“Mm,” he hummed against your skin, still sucking.

He pulled back after a moment, lips red and wet, and looked up at you with a dark, wild kind of satisfaction in his eyes.

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered, fingers brushing the forming bruise.

Then, gently, his hands slid to your thighs. He squeezed once, grounding you, then murmured, “Come here.”

You barely had time to nod before he shifted beneath you, guiding you down with hands far too patient for the heat in his eyes. He laid you back on the couch, slow, careful. And once your spine hit the cushions, he knelt, settled between your legs like it was where he belonged.

You bit your lip, heart pounding as he hooked his fingers into the sides of your panties and glanced up at you.

“Can I?” he asked, voice already wrecked.

You nodded, breathless.

He peeled them down so slowly it felt like he was memorizing the process, eyes locked on the way the fabric dragged over your skin. And when he finally dropped them to the floor, his hands returned to your thighs.

“Fuck, baby…”

He exhaled like he had been holding his breath for minutes.

His thumbs brushed your inner thighs, then slid higher, warm and careful, spreading you open with something close to reverence.

His gaze flicked up, catching yours.

“I need to watch you,” he said, low and firm, voice thick with want. “Need to see what you look like when you fall apart.”

And then he leaned in.

His tongue was soft at first, one long, slow stroke, like he was tasting you for the first time and needed to savor every second. You whimpered, hips jerking just a little, and he groaned into you, hands already sliding up to hold your thighs open.

He licked you like he was trying to learn you. Every flick and press of his tongue deliberate, slow at first, methodical, but so fucking warm. He moved with care, with hunger, with something deeper than just lust, like this was art, and you were the masterpiece.

Your hand found his hair and tugged. His tongue pressed harder.

“Oh my God—” you gasped, and he moaned into you, the vibration shooting through your body.

Every reaction you gave him, every stuttered breath, every twitch of your thighs, every arch of your back, he drank in. Like a man in love. His mouth was sinful, wet and firm, relentless and soft, licking into you like it was the only thing that mattered.

His tongue moved with purpose, long strokes up your folds, then a slow swirl at the top, flattening against your clit before pulling back down again. He dragged it lower, then dipped it inside you, slow and deep, tasting everything you gave him. When you clenched, he groaned, low and rough, like he felt it everywhere. And he did it again, deeper, firmer, tongue fucking you like he needed to learn the shape of you from the inside out.

Then he pulled back just to press his lips to your clit, full and wet, and sucked. The suction sent a sharp wave of pleasure through your belly, and you gasped, eyes flying open, only to meet his.

He was watching you. Still.

Eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t bear to look away.

His hands didn’t rest. One stayed on your thigh, thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin. The other slid up, spreading his fingers wide across your belly, grounding you, feeling every little shiver, every twitch under his palm as he devoured you.

And he didn’t just flick and tease. He worshipped.

He licked you slow, then fast. Let his tongue curl around your clit, flick up the underside, then roll in tight circles while his lips sealed around you again and sucked like he was trying to coax every ounce of pleasure straight out of your veins. Your legs trembled, and his grip on your thigh tightened, holding you still.

“Fuck—” you whimpered, voice breaking.

He moaned against you like it was the only answer he could give, desperate and aching, like he was the one being undone.

His eyes searched your face the whole time. Reading you. Memorizing you. Catching every change in your breath, every flutter of your lashes, every twitch of your hips. His tongue moved faster when you gasped, gentler when your body started to tense, relentless when your thighs squeezed around his shoulders. He wanted to see the exact moment you lost yourself. Wanted to witness it, feel it, own it.

And God, he was close to own it. So close.

Because his mouth never wavered, lips locked to your clit, tongue flicking hard and fast, slow and perfect, while his hand on your stomach pressed down just enough to keep you grounded, just enough to feel how close you were.

Then, his other hand slipped lower. The pads of his fingers brushed your soaked entrance, slick and fluttering from how badly you needed him. He let out a low groan at the feel of it, and without warning, sank two fingers into you, deep, unhurried, curling immediately against that perfect, tender spot inside.

His fingers moved with the same reverence as his mouth. Slow at first. Intentional. Then faster. Deeper. Crooking with purpose while his mouth kept working your clit, a perfect, merciless rhythm that made your body arch beneath him. Every drag of his fingers sent heat flooding through your core, a dizzying pressure that built fast and sharp.

And through it all, his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark, hungry, glowing with something unspoken and overwhelming.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your thigh, his lips brushing fire into your skin:

“Tell me,” he whispered, voice velvet and wrecked. “I want your words. I want to know exactly what it feels like.”

Your hips bucked. “It’s—Hyun, it’s… burning. Soft... but it's like fire. Like my skin’s too tight for everything inside me.”

He groaned, quiet and low, and let his mouth fall to you again. His tongue was a slow drag that made your breath stutter, your thighs clench.

“More,” he said, as if he couldn’t stand the silence. “Speak to me. Let me feel it through you.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the mess you were turning into but he didn’t want restraint. He wanted you to fall apart.

“I feel… dizzy,” you breathed. “Like I’m floating — but every time your fingers curl it pulls me back, or... pushes me further, I can't tell. It aches. But I need it. I want more. I want you everywhere.”

Hyunjin moaned into your skin. “And when I do this?”

His tongue circled your clit, gentle and reverent, and his fingers began to move faster, slow thrusts turning deep, precise, unrelenting.

“Oh f-fuck" you gasped, “My chest, it’s fluttering. Like I’m about to break open. I—I think I’m gonna—”

"Let me feel you fade, baby. Let the little death take you — let it be mine."

You could barely breathe, every flick of his tongue like fire, every curl of his fingers unraveling you. “F-Fuck, I—” you cried, eyes fluttering, “I feel it everywhere. In my legs, my chest—”. You tried to hold on, to keep talking, tried to warn him, but your words came out desperate and slurred. “I—my toes, f-feels like lightning—inside, I’m—”

Then it hit you.

You came with a cry, thighs locking around his head, cunt clenching around his fingers so hard he moaned into you. His tongue didn’t stop, kept flicking, kissing, loving, while your body shook through every wave, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes from how much it was. How deeply you felt it.

Your body twitched with the aftershocks, every nerve alight, every breath uneven. You barely realized he was whispering until his words brushed your skin.

“That’s it… Just like that. Let me feel it all,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. His fingers slowed but didn’t leave you, easing you through the tremors, grounding you with every soft press and curl. His mouth placed tender kisses along your inner thighs now, lips gentle where they had just been relentless.

You felt him breathe you in. Your legs loosened around his shoulders, but he didn’t move away. He looked up, his hair a mess, lips swollen, chin glistening. His eyes, god, his eyes, they were still on you. Like he had just witnessed something holy.

“Like lightning you said?” he asked softly, smiling, brushing a thumb over your hip, fingers slick and still reverent.

You nodded, barely able to speak, voice cracked. “Worse,” you whispered. “Better. It was… it was like everything shattered and melted at the same time.”

Hyunjin groaned, deep and aching, and leaned in to kiss the inside of your knee, your thigh, the curve of your hip. “I want to remember this forever,” he breathed. “How you sound. How you taste. How you fall apart.”

His hand trailed up your stomach, slow and warm, then settled over your heart, feeling it race beneath your skin.

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed and exposed in the softest way. “You make me feel… like I don’t have a body. Just… sensation. Just heat. Floating.”

Hyunjin lifted his head, eyes heavy but shining, and hovered above you, breath shallow, lips damp. For a moment, he just looked at you, his hand still over your chest like he was anchoring himself to your heartbeat.

He came up slowly, deliberately, and kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was molten, mouth open and sweet, tongue licking into you like he could still taste you on your lips and needed more. Like he wanted to sink into you and stay there.

You whimpered into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. He pressed closer, chest to chest, the heat of his skin grounding and infinite.

When he pulled back, barely, his forehead rested against yours.

“I can still feel you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “Around my fingers. On my tongue. Everywhere.”

You let out a soft, shuddering breath, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. There was so much in them, reverence, desire, a kind of awe that made your throat tighten.

“I don’t think I’ll ever come back from this,” you whispered, your voice a hush against his lips.

Hyunjin smiled faintly, but it wasn’t playful, it was aching. “Don’t,” he said. “Stay here with me. In this.”

His hand moved again, from your chest to your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin as if memorizing its warmth. His other hand settled at your waist, grounding you, his touch so careful it made your heart clench.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he murmured, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. “The way you sound… the way you breathe when I touch you. You're so beautiful.”

You whimpered, unable to hold the words in. “My whole body feels melted. Like… I’m not even made of skin anymore. Just… nerves and fire.”

Hyunjin groaned again, a low sound pressed against your mouth, and he kissed you harder, like he couldn’t stand the space between you anymore. His fingers tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

“Say more,” he whispered against your lips. “Tell me everything you feel.”

You gasped softly, light-headed from him, from all of it. “It’s like you’re in my lungs. In my blood.” A pause, then, breathless and desperate: “Please don’t ever leave.”

Hyunjin kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the hollow beneath your ear. “I won’t,” he promised. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You tilted your head, letting his mouth linger against your neck, his breath warm and unsteady on your skin. Your fingers traced his body, feeling the subtle tremble beneath.

Then, softly, like a secret only he could hear, you asked, “Can I give you your little death?”

Hyunjin stilled.

Not in shock. Not in hesitation. But like his whole body paused to absorb it, to savor the weight of your words. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, and when they opened again, Hyunjin licked his lips. A slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue across his lower lip, as if tasting the moment, as if bracing himself for what was coming. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

He just nodded.

Once. Silent. Sure.

And the way he was looking at you then, wide open and wrecked, like he'd hand you the sky if you asked, it was enough.

More than enough.

You shifted your weight slightly, guiding the both of you lower onto the couch. He followed without resistance, eyes dark and glassy, until his back met the cushions. You were the one who moved next, straddling him, chest brushing his, mouth still tangled in his kisses as your hands started to wander.

You kissed the corner of his lips. His jaw. The dip just beneath his ear that always made his breath catch. Then you trailed lower, down his throat, letting your lips drag across every inch of warm skin, tasting him.

He was breathing harder now, but staying still, letting you set the rhythm. One of his hands gripped the couch cushion; the other curled into your thigh.

You kissed down his chest, tongue flicking softly at the hollow between his collarbones. Kissed gently at the space just above his heart. When your teeth scraped him there, he shuddered, whispering your name.

Your kisses kept going. Down his ribs. His stomach.

When you looked up, his head was tilted back, lashes fluttering, lips parted. Beautiful and undone.

Then hooked your fingers into the waistband, breaking the silence. “Fall apart for me too,” you whispered.

And then you pulled his boxers down, slow, reverent, never breaking eye contact.

He lifted his hips for you just enough to help, but even that small motion sent a pulse of want through you. His trust. His quiet surrender.

You slid the fabric down, watching the way his cock twitched as it was freed, heavy and already flushed. Your breath caught, not because it was new, not because it was unfamiliar. But because it was him. Because it was Hyunjin, like this, sprawled across the couch, bare and waiting and looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that could touch him.

And you were.

Your hand wrapped around the base of him, slowly. The heat of him pulsed against your palm, heavy with need. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched you, eyes dark and molten, chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath.

Your gaze didn’t leave his.

Not when you leaned in and let your tongue drag along the underside, tasting the salt of his skin. Not when your lips parted to kiss the flushed head, so gently it made him shudder. Not even when you took him into your mouth, watching how his eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then opened again to find you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, barely audible, more instinct than thought.

You could see it there, in the way he looked at you: the ache, the reverence, the disbelief. Like he couldn’t believe it was you, like this, again. Like every time felt like the first time.

He reached for you, not to stop, not to guide, just to feel. His fingers found your hair, then your jaw, thumb tracing your cheekbone as you moved on him with slow, wet heat. He was panting now, soft sounds slipping past his parted lips, but still… no words. Just the way his thighs tensed beneath your touch, the way his hand trembled ever so slightly in your hair.

You wanted him to feel everything. Every swirl of your tongue, every shift in pressure, every pulse of your throat around him. You wanted to ruin him, slowly, completely, and still make him feel cherished.

Hyunjin’s head fell back for just a moment, throat exposed, a choked gasp slipping out “Oh, god” then he looked down at you again.

And fuck, he looked wrecked.

Eyes glassy, lips parted, flushed all the way to his chest. His fingers gripped the edge of the couch like he needed to anchor himself.

You pulled back slightly, just your lips wrapped around the head now, your tongue flicking against the slit with teasing strokes. Your hand kept moving, tight and slick, stroking him in perfect rhythm with your mouth.

Still, you didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to. Not with words. With the press of your lips to his skin. With the way you let your thumb glide down the vein that throbbed along his length, then back up again.

“Shit—” he whispered, hips twitching, eyes falling shut for a heartbeat before locking with yours again. “Please…”

You watched him come undone like that, eyes locked with yours, no words exchanged, just breath and touch and the kind of intimacy that didn’t need sound. Just the soft sounds of your mouth on him, the low curses he couldn’t hold back, the quiet please that escaped his lips.

And when he was close, when his hips lifted slightly and his hand gripped your jaw with trembling reverence, you didn’t look away.

You held his gaze.

And made him fall apart with your mouth.

He tried to hold back, even now, tried to anchor himself to the moment, to your eyes, to the way you looked up at him like he was the only thing you wanted to taste. But he was too far gone. Too lost in the rhythm of your mouth and the heat of your hand and the unbearable closeness of it all.

He came with a gasp and a desperate tremor of your name, hips lifting just enough to chase the feeling, but not enough to break the unspoken agreement between you. You stayed with him, let him ride it out, swallowed every broken sound and every last drop.

And when it was over, when his body stilled and his hand slipped from your hair to your cheek with a touch so gentle it made your chest ache, you rose slowly, settled beside him, one leg folded beneath you, one hand still resting lightly on his thigh. He turned to you like he didn’t know how to look anywhere else. His lips were swollen from biting down on them, his lashes damp.

Still, silence.

But not empty. Never that.

Because when he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, when his thumb brushed over your bottom lip like he was memorizing it, like it meant everything, you knew.

Everything had been understood in the way you looked at each other.

There would be words later.

But for now... your souls were still floating, wrapped around each other, tangled in your little death.

—

+++ authors note: It took me MONTHS to finish writing this. Hyunjin was my first SKZ love and bias, so writing about him is a lot. It means a lot. They say your first bias is your personality, and honestly? I see that. Guess you could say I’m a bit of a poet too. Anyway. I really hope you enjoy this one, I poured so much of myself into it. 🩷

taglist @velvetmoonlght @anjian03 @nightmarenyxx @nebugalaxy @annyeongffs @hanjisunnnng @fawnoverdawn @headfirstfortoro <3 (comment or dm me to be added) special tag to @fangirljas929 bc i know you've been waiting for a hyunjin fic on this blog, so here it is!!!

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

Text

V I C T O R Y L A P

F1 Driver!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | His reward isn’t champagne. It’s you. Legs up, soaking, ruined.

🔞synopsis: You should’ve known better than to watch him race like that. Gloved hands gripping the wheel like he wanted to fuck the track into obedience, smirk tucked behind a million-dollar helmet, engine howling louder than your common sense. But it’s too late now. He wins, and you break. Backseat leather sticking to sweat-slick thighs, his cum dripping down your cunt like a trophy. He’s not asking, you’re already wrecked. He earned first place and you are the prize.

💌a/n: SURPRISEEEEE 💀 hi. yes. i’ve lost all shame. okay, okay, i already hear y’all breathing in my inbox like “daku. be so serious. hyunjin was riding a motorcycle in the trailer.” AND YOU’RE RIGHT. I KNOW. but also??? let me live. this is F1 Driver!Hyunjin. he’s fast, rich, filthy, and he doesn’t care about podiums. he just wants to fuck you into his backseat. that’s it. that’s the lore. this one’s not as long as my usual insanity, i know 😭 i was like “what if i just went full whore” and... well. here we are. no backstory. no buildup. just pure, slutty combustion and the sound of you not walking straight tomorrow. i wanted to try smth different so I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT (pls tell me you did or i will cry) AND THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME RUIN YOU <3 p.s. if you got ruined, pls reblog so other degenerates can suffer too p.p.s. ily all. especially the ones who left the chat the moment he said “want a ride?” bc same 💅🏻

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. Legs up only if you're ready to not walk tomorrow.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

The city blazed like a fever dream.

Neon signs flickered across glass towers, casting streaks of pink and electric blue over the circuit. Every billboard, every LED screen screamed one name. Hwang Hyunjin. Seoul's golden boy. The prince of the track. The one who never blinked when kissing death at 240 km/h.

You stood just past the pit wall, press badge swinging around your neck like a collar. Not a team member. Not a racer’s girl. Just a bystander, officially.

Unofficially?

You were the only person he ever looked for.

The roar of engines swallowed the night as the cars revved into position, sleek bodies lined up like coiled beasts waiting to be unleashed. The air vibrated with tension, money, lust.

Gridlock lights: 3… 2… 1—GO.

They shot forward like hellhounds let loose.

Hyunjin’s car—jet black with thin gold trim—slipped through the starting surge like it had a mind of its own. He was in fourth. Then third. Then second.

Lap one blurred by in a scream of rubber and smoke. Cameras tracked the leaders, commentators breathless, but you? You didn’t care about stats. You watched the way he drove. Shoulders tense, control absolute, lips slightly parted in concentration. His gloved hands gripped the wheel like he wanted to fuck the track into submission.

Another corner and he didn’t brake.

He drifted, tires shrieking, crowd roaring, and slid into first like it had been promised to him from the start.

“Goddamn,” someone whispered behind you. “Does he even fear death?”

No. Hyunjin didn’t fear anything. Not speed. Not failure. Not wreckage. And certainly not you.

By lap 12, he had it locked.

He wasn’t racing anymore—he was performing. Showing off. Taunting fate.

Every turn, every overtake, every millisecond of shaved time, he made it look easy. His car moved like sin incarnate—sleek, black, wicked fast—and even with the helmet on, you could feel his smirk.

As he crossed the final straightaway, your heart was racing harder than any engine.

First place. Again.

The moment he parked, smoke curling off the hood, you knew where he’d go. Not the team. Not the crowd. Not the podium.

You.

And when he stalked toward you, helmet under one arm, sweat dripping down his jaw, smile slow and lethal, you were already ruined.

“Want a ride?” he said, eyes glinting.

You didn't answer. You didn't have to.

Hyunjin tilted his head, watching the way your lips parted. The way your thighs shifted. The way your breath caught when his glove brushed your waist, almost casually.

“Thought so,” he murmured, voice still gravel rough from the comms.

He didn’t take your hand. He didn’t offer an arm.

He turned, slow, confident, and started walking expecting you to follow. And like a good little prize, you did. Past the press hounds, the flashing lights, the stunned pit crew who knew better than to stop him when he was like this. Buzzing on adrenaline, oil, and whatever sick, perfect madness he’d won with tonight.

You ducked under the steel half-door of his private garage, heart stuttering as it slammed shut behind you.

Hyunjin dropped his helmet on the table. Peeled off his gloves. His racing jacket hit the floor with a wet thump, exposing the black compression shirt clinging to every muscle, slick with sweat, stretched tight over a body built to dominate.

“Get in the passenger seat.”

You blinked. “Wha—”

“Now.”

His voice left no room for questions. And fuck, your legs were already moving. You slid into the low, leather seat of the car still humming from the track. The door closed beside you with a satisfying click—and before you could even exhale—

The driver’s door opened. And Hyunjin was on you. Lips crashing onto yours, claiming. Mouth hot. Open. Filthy.

He cupped the back of your neck, tilted your head like he owned it, tongue licking into you with zero hesitation, like he’d been thinking about this for every single lap. Teeth scraped your lower lip, making you gasp, and he groaned deep in his chest like he felt it in his cock.

“Been waiting to do that all season,” he muttered against your lips. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Sitting here. Legs crossed. Eyes on me like you want to be wrecked.”

His hand slid up your thigh. Under your skirt. Not wasting time.

“Say it,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “Tell me you want this.”

You whimpered, hips arching into his palm. “I want—fuck—yes, I want it.”

He pushed your seat back with one smooth yank of the lever, your spine hitting the leather, and suddenly he was on top of you, one hand braced beside your head, the other already tugging your panties aside. “Bet you’re already wet for me,” he growled, fingers sliding through your folds. “Shit—look at you. All this from one race?”

He shoved two fingers in, and you moaned like the engine itself just kicked back to life.

“That’s right,” he said, low and dangerous. “You’re mine after every win. Every single one. You hear me?”

You nodded, gasping, thighs trembling as he curled his fingers inside you just right.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Y-Yes, Hyunjin. I’m yours.”

He grinned like the devil. “Good girl.”

Hyunjin crashed his mouth back onto yours. Tongue hot and demanding, teeth clashing, spit slick between gasps. You were already moaning into him, hips grinding shamelessly against his hand, your fingers clawing at the back of his neck, into his damp hair.

“God, you’re so fucking desperate,” he muttered between kisses, pumping his fingers faster now—slick and relentless. “You gonna cum for me already? That easy, huh?”

Your answer was a choked sob into his mouth, thighs squeezing around his wrist as your stomach coiled tight. He groaned into the kiss, dragging his lips down your jaw, across your neck, biting just under your ear. You arched into him like you needed him to live.

“You think I didn’t see you watching me out there?” he hissed, voice ragged, breath fanning hot across your skin. “Legs crossed in that little skirt, lips all pouty, pretending like you weren’t soaking through your panties by lap five?”

He curled his fingers again, deeper and meaner, and your entire body jolted, a cracked moan breaking free.

“There she is,” he purred. “My perfect little passenger.”

Your hands flew to his chest, gripping the sweat-soaked fabric as your climax started to build, pressure searing behind your eyes. He kissed you again—open-mouthed, wet, teeth dragging your bottom lip until it throbbed.

“Hyun—I'm—”

“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your temple like it was sweet. His fingers didn’t stop, even as your walls fluttered and clenched around him like a vice. “Gonna cum all over my hand like a good girl?”

You nodded frantically, mouth open in a silent cry.

“Then fuckin’ do it.”

You shattered.

Heat tore through your core, white-hot and vicious, and he swallowed every broken moan, every curse, every sob of his name like it was the only thing that could keep him grounded. Your legs shook, your back arched, and still he kissed you through it, fingers slowing just enough to make you whimper from overstimulation.

When he finally pulled them out, dripping and soaked to the knuckle, he brought them to his mouth. Sucked them clean. Watched you the entire time. “Better than the champagne,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “And I haven’t even started yet.”

He reached for his belt now. “Move to the backseat, sweetheart.”

You barely managed to crawl over the console, knees shaky, heart pounding in your throat. The leather seat stuck to your thighs, the interior still hot from the race, humming with residual energy, like the car itself knew what was about to happen. You settled onto your back, skirt bunched around your hips, chest rising fast. Before you could even blink, he was there, belt undone, pants halfway down, dark eyes dragging over you like he was starving.

“Legs up,” he ordered, voice rough with restraint. “Spread 'em.”

You obeyed instantly, heat pooling between your thighs all over again at the sound of his tone. Commanding. Greedy. Yours.

But he didn't move. He just stood there, half-undressed, cock visibly hard under the fabric of his briefs, hand lazily tugging down the waistband as his eyes locked on you.

“Touch yourself.”

Your breath hitched. “Wh-what?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, one brow lifting as his hand finally freed his cock. Thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Fingers wrapped around the base, slow strokes beginning with absolutely no shame.

“Play with your clit, baby. I want to see it.” His tone was low, casual, almost like he was asking you to pass him a drink. “Show me how desperate you are.” Your hand trembled as it slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding through your soaked folds. He hissed at the sight, cock twitching in his grip.

“Fuck, yeah… Just like that.”

You circled your clit, breath stuttering as your legs fell wider apart, muscles trembling from overstimulation and the burn of how bad you still wanted him. His gaze never left your cunt, eyes blown, jaw clenched, fist moving slow and steady over his length.

“You know what you look like right now?” He rasped, licking his lips. “A fucking dream. All ruined for me. Legs spread, pretty pussy all messy, and you’re still hungry for more.”

You moaned, head falling back, thighs twitching as you rubbed harder, chasing that raw edge again.

“Don’t you dare cum,” he warned suddenly, voice sharp. “Not yet. Not without me.”

You whimpered, fingers slowing, body trembling with restraint.

“Good girl,” he growled. “Keep playing. I wanna see it shine for me.”

He finally stepped forward, one knee bracing on the edge of the backseat, towering over you now as he stroked his cock right above your soaked heat. “You want this?” he murmured, brushing the head against your clit just to tease, watching your hips jerk. “Say it. Tell me how bad you want my cock.”

“I want it,” you gasped, nearly sobbing. “Fuck—I want it so bad, hyunjin, please—need it in me, need to feel you stretch me out—”

“Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Filthy little thing.” He knocked your hand away, replacing it with the thick press of his tip against your entrance.

“Let's see how loud this car can get.”

He pushed in slow at first, just the thick head stretching you open and your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. Every inch was fire. Your cunt fluttered around him, desperate, greedy, already trying to pull him deeper.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips stuttering. “You feel that? How tight you are?”

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, body arching up to take more, needing more. “Hyun—” your voice cracked into a moan as he sank deeper, every vein of his cock dragging along your walls. “So full—fuck, you're so big—”

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, leaning down until his chest pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips. “You can take it. I know you can. this pussy was made for me.” He kissed you then, sloppy, frantic, moaning into your mouth as he bottomed out. Both of you groaned at the same time, lips parting from the sheer overload of the stretch, the heat, the way your cunt clenched around him like it didn’t want to let go.

“God, you're squeezing me like a fucking vice,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “You missed me this much, huh?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him into another kiss. This one was messier—tongues clashing, teeth knocking, spit dripping between gasps. He started moving, slow thrusts that dragged every single inch of him through your soaked walls, hips rolling deep and controlled.

“Feels so good—” You whimpered, breath hitching every time his cock hit that perfect spot inside you. “Please—faster—”

“You want it faster?” he growled into your mouth. “Then fucking say it. Beg for it.”

“Fuck—please, Hyunjin—need you to fuck me—hard—please, ruin me—”

He snapped his hips forward, hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. “Like that?” he snarled. “You like being my personal trophy fuck.” You moaned so loud it echoed in the car, fingers clawing at his back as he fucked into you deep, fast. The slap of skin against skin mixing with the wet, filthy sound of your cunt milking him.

“You're gonna cum on my cock, aren’t you?” he panted, lips dragging down your throat. “Gonna soak me like the good little mess you are?”

“Yes—yes, i’m close—fuck, Hyunjin—”

Hyunjin kissed you again, all filthy and hungry while his cock pistoned into you like he was chasing first place all over again and you were already falling apart. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers slick with your own arousal as they found your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that made your back arch off the seat.

“Fuck, there you go,” he growled, eyes glued to your face. “That’s it. Feel how good I fuck you? How deep I am? This pussy’s perfect, fuck—it’s mine.” You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. Your mouth was open, gasping, drooling as your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled around his waist.

“Can’t even speak anymore, huh?” he snarled. “Just moanin’ like a dumb little baby. Can’t think—can’t breathe—without my cock in you.”

“Hyun—Hyunjin, please—fuck, I’m—I’m—”

“Yeah, baby? You close? You gonna fall apart for me again?” His voice dropped, thick with pride and filth. “You gonna cum on my cock like a good little whore?” You sobbed, incoherent now, hands gripping at anything—his shoulders, his back, the seatbelt strap—eyes glazed over and tears brimming.

He leaned down, lips against your ear as his thrusts grew messier, rougher, his cock pounding that same perfect spot over and over. “Do it. Cum. I want it—I earned it. Give it to me.”

At his words alone, combined with his fingers on your clit, your orgasm hit like a fucking car crash. Violent and consuming. Your entire body seized, a high-pitched moan ripping from your throat as you clenched around him, your release flooding out onto his cock, down your thighs, soaking the seat beneath you.

“Fucking hell—fuck—” Hyunjin gasped, hips stuttering as your pussy milked him through every pulse. “God, you’re perfect—so fucking tight—”

Then he was cumming too.

With a broken groan, he slammed into you one last time, buried to the hilt as he spilled deep inside you, cock twitching, his fingers still lazily circling your overstimulated clit just to watch you squirm. “Take it,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours again. “Every drop, baby. You take it.”

Your limbs were shaking. Your mouth was open. Your thoughts were gone. He stayed inside you, breathing hard, sweat dripping onto your chest, his hands cradling your thighs like you were fragile and holy—even after he ruined you. Slowly, he kissed you. Gentle. Hot. Tender in a way that broke you open all over again.

“I fucking love this view,” he whispered, still buried deep. “All wrecked and cock-drunk in my backseat.”

You whimpered, blinking slow, brain still rebooting. He smirked, leaned back, and rubbed a hand over his face like he’d just finished a damn workout.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, voice hoarse but soft. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He shifted carefully, groaning as he finally pulled out, cock still twitching from how hard he’d just come. You both watched the mess of it drip between your thighs. His cum, your slick, the evidence of everything he just did to you pooling on the leather seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “We definitely can’t return this car now.”

You let out a breathy, dazed laugh and he smiled. That rare, post-race Hyunjin smile that only came after adrenaline and sex and victory. That private, yours-only version of him. He reached into the glove compartment, yanked out a few black microfiber cloths, and crouched down between your legs again, cleaning you up with gentle hands.

“You okay?” he asked softly, thumb grazing your thigh.

You nodded, cheeks flushed. “I think I died for a second.”

“That’s fair.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “You looked like you saw God. Spoiler alert, it was just my dick.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, smacking his shoulder.

He grinned. “You love me.”

“You’re an arrogant little shit.”

“Still love me.”

You did. Of course you did.

And the way he helped you sit up, the way he held your hands to keep them from shaking, the way he kissed your knuckles before tucking himself back into his racing pants? God, he made it impossible not to love him.

As you fixed your clothes and wiped the last remnants of him off your inner thighs, he grabbed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield.

“You did good, baby,” he said as he opened the car door for you, guiding you out like a gentleman who definitely hadn’t just fucked you into the seat like a demon on nitro. “Didn’t even scream loud enough to alert the pit crew. Proud of you.”

You smacked him again, but you were smiling now, dizzy and sore and completely his. “Where are we going?” you asked, still breathless as he laced your fingers together and pulled you down the garage hall.

He glanced back at you with a look that made your knees weak all over again.

“Penthouse,” he said simply. “You didn’t think I’d stop after one lap, did you?”

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

Text

It started when you made the mistake of asking what was in the third drawer of his studio desk.

“I assumed it was paints or something,” you’d muttered, half-joking.

“Oh?” Rafayel had tilted his head, smile too calm. “You’ve never opened it?”

You hesitated. And he grinned—slow, wicked, delighted. “Well, cutie... I suppose it’s time for your first gallery tour.”

He opened the drawer. It wasn’t paints. No, it was way worse. Velvet-lined compartments. Glass toys. Chrome. A few pastel silicone pieces shaped too intricately for you to identify at a glance. They weren’t thrown in like dirty secrets—they were displayed, curated, as if he had sculpted them himself. Some even looked like art. Sleek. Minimalist. Beautiful.

Your face heated instantly. And Rafayel? Oh, he noticed immediately, his eyes glued to your face in delight. He leaned in, eyes glowing brighter with every twitch of your expression. “Embarrassed already?” he cooed. “But you haven’t even seen the vibrating ones.”

You tried to turn away, but his hand came to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “No hiding, cutie. Yeah? You’re my muse. I need to see everything.”

Twenty minutes later, you were in his studio, barely able to sit upright in the chair he used for oil sketches, thighs trembling, body flushed. One of the toys was inside you now. It was remote controlled, quiet but lethal.

Rafayel circled you like a wolf.

“You’re being so good,” he whispered, adjusting the setting. “But this one’s barely a three. I wonder what five feels like for you...or six...or—”

“Rafayel—” you gasped, nearly choking as the vibration intensified deep inside you.

And he moaned at your voice like it was music.

“Well, fuck,” he breathed, squatting in front of you. “You should see your face, cutie. I’ve painted less expressive portraits.”

You whined and covered your face with both hands. He laughed, leaning in to pry your hands away. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “I need to see it. Every twitch, every flinch, every little shudder when you try not to come.”

He turned the dial up again, just a nudge and your whole body jerked.

“Rafayel!” you cried.

“Yes?” he purred, absolutely glowing. “Tell me what it feels like. For reference. For research.”

You whimpered, legs trembling, completely overwhelmed. And still he didn’t touch you. He just sat back on his heels and watched. Eyes locked to your ruined form. Lips parted. Chest rising like he was trying to memorize your breath.

Because to Rafayel, this wasn’t just play. It was art, watching you fall apart.

You didn’t think it could get worse. You were already trembling, thighs shaking from the relentless pulse of the toy inside you. The remote—small, sleek—rested in Rafayel’s palm like it belonged there, his thumb lazily brushing the dial up and down. Never long enough to let you come. Never soft enough to let you rest.

And then he stood, wandered to the velvet drawer again, and hummed. As if he were choosing a new brush. As if your body were just another canvas. He turned back with a second toy in hand, one you didn’t recognize. Pale rose gold, delicate. Your eyes widened.

“Do you trust me, cutie?” he asked, voice soft. Too soft.

You nodded, already breathless. He smiled and moved fast, the toy pinched gently over your nipple, cold at first, then warm. Then—click. A slow, subtle pulse. Not painful. Not harsh. Just constant. Just enough to drive you insane.

Rafayel’s eyes practically lit up at your expression.

“Oh... look at you,” he whispered, stepping back to admire the effect. “I haven’t even touched you and you’re already falling apart.”

You whimpered, fingers clawing at the arms of the chair, hips shifting in place as both toys worked you from inside and out. The dual sensations blurred, burning through you.

“I wonder,” he murmured, circling behind you, voice low near your ear, “if I could make you come without a single hand on your body.”

He twisted the dial again, both of them. You screamed. Your legs shook violently, eyes glassy, chest heaving under the pulsing stimulation at your breast. You couldn't even beg. Couldn’t think. Could only feel.

And Rafayel? He didn’t even flinch or speak. He just watched you so intently, a hand pressed lightly to his own chest, lips parted like he was high on your pleasure alone.

He didn't need to touch himself. He was already aching, cock hard beneath his pants, but it didn’t matter. The sight of you—trembling, flushed, moaning his name like it was salvation—was more intoxicating than anything else could be.

His eyes were wide, almost reverent.

“You’re divine like this,” he whispered, crouching beside you, nose brushing your cheek. “Do you even know what you look like, cutie? I should paint this. Frame it. Worship it.”

You came again with no warning. And he gasped like it hit him, too. Hands still behind his back, remote untouched. Just his eyes on you. And that damn smile on his face as leaned in and kissed your jaw gently.

It had been days. Days since the last time he reduced you to tears with nothing but vibrations and words. You thought maybe it had satisfied him. Maybe he’d had his fill. Maybe that wild, possessive edge in his eyes had dimmed just enough.

You were wrong.

Because tonight, he sat you down in the center of his studio again—same chair, same dim lighting—only this time, he was prepared. Very prepared. Two toys. One thrusting deep inside you with slow, devastating rhythm, thick and unrelenting. The second pressed to your clit—smaller, crueler, pulsing in syncopated bursts that made your whole body twitch.

Rafayel was sitting across from you in that same velvet chair, flushed, legs spread, eyes glassy. His shirt was still buttoned but wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up, chest rising and falling like he was the one overstimulated.

“Cutie,” he whispered, biting his lip, hand gripping the remote tight, “you should see what you look like like this.”

He shifted the thrusting toy’s rhythm—faster, shallower, and your head snapped back against the chair, mouth open in a wordless cry.

He moaned at the sight. “Fuck…do that again. Let me see your throat. Yes... yes.”

And then just as your orgasm built, just as you were seconds from tipping over—Click. He shut them both off.

You screamed in frustration, hips bucking, chasing friction. And Rafayel just laughed—soft, breathless. “You should see your face, sweet girl. Oh, you’re so fucking beautiful when you beg.”

You panted. Whimpered, really. Your thighs were shaking violently, already soaked, pussy fluttering around the unmoving toy buried inside you.

“Please,” you breathed.

“Oh, I know,” he whispered, crawling toward you on his knees, not to touch, but to watch closer. To see every tremble as he flicked the remote back on. First the clit toy. Then the one inside you. Then both. Then none.

Over and over. Cruel and perfect and orchestrated.

You came the first time without warning—body slamming forward, hands grabbing the arms of the chair as the pleasure tore through you like lightning. Rafayel shuddered, jaw slack, like your orgasm had touched him. But he didn’t stop. The second wave hit harder. The third left you sobbing, eyes unfocused, legs flinching uncontrollably.

“Rafayel—” you gasped, tears streaking your cheeks. “I can’t—I can’t—”

He leaned in, kissed your trembling thigh, lips soft and reverent. “Yes, you can. You were made to come for me.”

Another switch. Another build. Another climax, ripped from your raw, shaking body as he sat back and watched, his own breath ragged now, mouth parted, flushed from head to toe, voice low and addicted.

“You’re perfect. My perfect little masterpiece. I could do this all night.”

He meant it. Not once had he touched himself, but he was undone. Just from you. Just from this. And when you collapsed forward, boneless and soaked and still twitching, Rafayel crawled to you, finally laying his hand on your cheek.

“Still breathing?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

You nodded weakly. He smiled, that soft, dangerous glow back in his eyes. “Then we’re not finished.”

You should’ve known when he brought out the tripod. He didn’t even say anything, just set it up with the same slow, careful reverence he gave to his canvases. He adjusted the angle, tilted the lens and hit record. Then he turned to you. You were still naked, still trembling from the last wave of overstimulation. Skin flushed. Eyes glassy.

“You’re not nervous,” he said softly, as if stating a fact.

You shook your head, breath catching. “No.”

His smile was feral. “Good girl.”

He walked to you slowly—barefoot, shirt undone, hair slightly wild—and lowered himself to his knees again. Took up the remote, the toys already humming between your thighs. But this time? He looked at the camera as he pushed the first setting higher. Like he wanted it to see.

“You’re going to come for me again,” he said, gaze flicking between your wrecked face and the red blinking light. “And I want you to look at the lens when you do.”

Your stomach flipped. But you obeyed. Because you were too far gone now. Too used to this rhythm—his commands, his precision, his addiction to every detail of your ruin.

The toy thrust into you harder this time, slick and merciless. The vibrator pressed to your clit pulsed in uneven patterns—his favorite setting. One that made you anticipate and fear every jolt.

He didn't touch you. But his voice was everywhere.

"Look at it, cutie," he murmured, tilting your chin up so your teary, desperate gaze met the lens. "Let it capture every second of what I do to you."

You moaned, the sound breaking apart as your thighs shook, body convulsing around the toy inside you. The orgasm was fast—too fast—and he groaned aloud when it hit you, watching your eyes roll back on film, your body jerking in helpless surrender.

And still he didn’t stop. He switched the settings, flicked between pulses. Alternating pressure. Different angles. And every time you sobbed or moaned or whimpered his name, he watched it happen all over again, reflected in the camera’s cold, perfect eye.

He was sweating by the time your fifth orgasm tore through you, chest heaving, one hand gripping the edge of the chair so tightly his knuckles went white. Still untouched. Still painfully hard. And still, so obsessed with watching you break in real-time.

“I’m going to watch this again,” he whispered darkly, reaching out to brush your soaked, overstimulated core with the back of his hand. “Over and over, until I know every second by heart.”

You sobbed and came again. And only then—when your body slumped against the chair, totally spent—did he finally shut the toys off and click the recording to a stop.

Later, he carried you to the bath in silence. You were weightless in his arms, floating. Boneless. Wrecked. He settled you into the warm water, one arm behind your back, the other cradling your thighs as he poured lavender-scented oils over your skin.

His touch was reverent now. Gentle. Loving. He washed you slowly, carefully, eyes still full of that same awe, that same holy fixation.

"You did so well," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You gave me everything, looked so perfect."

You leaned against him, too weak to speak, but he didn’t need words. His hand cupped your cheek again, tilting your head back just enough to press his lips to your temple.

“I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you,” he whispered, and for once—his voice trembled.

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

Text

better than the devil

where you find out if Sylus really has horns, and why he avoids letting you touch them

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, unprotected sex, size kink (i mean bro is PACKING), breeding kink, sylus’s horns are ✨sensitive✨, dirty talk, sexual tension, missionary, a fuck ton of horn play, horny horns, cumming untouched, orgams galore!, so much cum♡

w/c: 2.9K

a/n: gotta thank the loml @bro-atz for helping me with this a little ehehehe >:) I hope this destroyed yall as much as this destroyed me to write it!!🥹

They say he takes the form of some dragon-like creature—with large black horns and wings.

The first time you witnessed it with your own two eyes was when he choked out a serpent wanderer ten times his size before it got to you. You were semi-conscious at that point of time, the fatigue threatening to take over, but you had caught a glimpse of his silhouette—two thick appendages that curled proudly past his dirty silver hair, and large wings that hung off his back—before you blacked out.

“Staring at me isn’t going to get any of your curiosities satisfied”, Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. Your gaze flickers to his face, but Sylus has his eyes on his phone.

Then his gaze shifts to you.

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

Of course, you couldn’t just tell him outright that you wanted to see him magically grow his horns out of his head. You doubt even Luke and Kieran have seen it themselves.

“Your horns.”

Sylus lowers his phone onto his lap, then he cocks an eyebrow, which turns to a furrow in seconds.

“What gave you the idea that I grew horns?” He asks, his tone laced with mock and caution. His attention is fully on you now.

Yeah, maybe that was not a good question to ask. Then again, being around someone as direct as Sylus had made you pick up his mannerisms quite a fair bit.

“Nothing really”, you brush off, attempting to derail the conversation before something goes wrong. “I’m just curious.”

“Talk”, Sylus demands, albeit in a soft tone. “I’m listening.”

His crimson eyes burn a hole into your head, and you now only realise the way he has you cornered on his couch, his large frame looming over yours.

You sigh, realising he’s not about to let it go anytime soon.

“A few weeks ago, during one of the battles we had, where I almost died-“

“Get to the point, sweetie”, Sylus cuts, seeing through your guise.

You pout. “Right. Before I blacked out, I saw you appear right in front of me, with horns.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows, seemingly in amusement. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating?”

He earns a smack on his chest. You’re ready to let him disprove you further or whatever, but your body jolts when you feel Sylus snake his arms around your waist before he carries you effortlessly off the corner of the couch and onto his lap.

You watch his eyes grow soft when he locks his gaze with yours. His expression is unreadable.

Your eyes widen in amazement when the thick pair of horns curl past his locks, the black a stark contrast with his white hair. He looks like he’s wearing bows in a funny, demonic type of way. Not that he has to know that.

You continue to stare at his horns, visually taking in the rough yet smooth texture and patterns that run downwards as the horns grow thicker towards the base.

“What are you really?” You wonder aloud, your fingers reaching out to feel the interesting texture of his horns, only for him to pull away quickly.

“It’s not the right time for you to know”, he replies curtly. You notice the glint of concern in his eyes, shrouded under the indifferent expression he wears.

So you decide to leave it for now, at least.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop you from annoying the ever-loving shit out of Sylus about his horns once you found out about it.

He would stare at you with his eyebrows furrowed, muttering that he should have never told you about his horns, only for you to bat your eyelashes at him, much to his annoyance.

“At least let me touch them if you’re not gonna tell me more about them”, you would whine. With a frown, he would push your forehead with a finger, giving you his standard answer.

"No."

“Then could you at least tell me why you won’t let me touch your horns?”

He would rest his thumb and index finger on his chin, feigning a thinking stance before his expression drops deadpan and then the curt answer leaves his lips.

“No.”

You’re putting this right next to when you were fighting for your life to get that fucking brooch months ago.

While the thought continues to eat into your curiosity, you mostly let Sylus off the hook after a while. For some reason, you’ve been noticing that Sylus has been walking around his mansion with his horns freely out. Maybe because he’s shown you his full horns once that’s why?

Or he’s just straight-up taunting you.

You feign nonchalance, only stealing glances at the thick appendage that stood out against his pale locks from time to time, but never really bringing it up to him, for now at least.

You hear the raindrops patter against the large windows of Sylus's room one afternoon. At least the heavy clouds are hiding the sun on top of the dark curtains drawn, and it makes Sylus's rest a little more comfortable.

He's sound asleep beside you on his bed, but you're seated up on your phone, the sound of the rain also slowly luring you to grow sleepy. You stretch a little, careful not to wake the male beside you. Sylus grunts softly, and you feel his hair tickle your thighs.

Through your peripherals, something catches your attention. The black on white is undoubtedly hard to miss.

Now that Sylus seems dead asleep, you're considering taking a chance to take a closer look at his horns, and maybe even touch them.

Carefully, you shift your weight closer to Sylus, monitoring his expressions and movements. When the coast is clear, you lean closer, staring at his horns with much amazement. It's a lot different now that you're this up close to admire them.

His horns aren't simply a simple shade of jet black–at different angles, you notice how the scales of his horns shimmer like an oil spill under the soft light. Close up, the base of his horns are thick, and as it extends, it curls, almost fully wrapping around his head.

“So pretty”, you mutter to yourself. Your fingers are reached out as if by instinct, barely inches away from touching his pretty crown.

You pause, weighing the risks of attempting to touch his horns. How fucked would you be if you actually did?

Your eyes scan Sylus’s calm sleeping face. He doesn't seem to have even noticed his horns have grown out.

“It’s just a little touch, he won't feel it anyways”, you convince yourself softly, your resolve firming as your curiosity begins to bubble over your rationale.

You let your fingers brush his horn, feeling the cold and scaly texture beneath your fingertips. Your eyes are sparkling in amazement even more, now that your curiosity has been satisfied. You press your fingertips onto the appendage, enjoying how nice and cool it feels to the touch.

Just then, you hear Sylus groan slightly. Your hand immediately retracts before you fully freeze, watching the way he presses his head against your leg, his eyebrows slightly scrunched before it returns back to relaxed.

Close call.

You obviously don’t learn your lesson, because your fingers are on his horns almost immediately once more. You grow more curious about the feeling of running your palm across his horns this round.

So you do.

Your hand starts from the thick base, and you stroke it, following the horn's curl, enjoying the way the texture of the scales run smooth under your palm.

And then Sylus makes a sound beneath you. You squint in curiosity, wondering if you heard it right.

So you run your hand from his tip to the base this time.

And this time, Sylus lets out another moan. You definitely did not hear wrong.

Your cheeks are slowly flushing when you realise what you're doing to him. But for some reason, it makes you want to do it more.

So this is why he doesn't want you touching his horns?

With a cheeky smile, you run your fingers along his horns in various ways and places, eliciting more pretty and erotic reactions from Sylus.

You giggle to yourself, trying to ignore how he's making you aroused with all the noises he's making with every stroke you give his horns.

You want to go for the next round, wondering how far you can take this.

Obviously not very far, because the next time you do, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist before you're about to touch his horns again.

He stares at you with half-lidded eyes, pink dusted on his cheeks and his breathing shallow.

“Are you having fun, kitten?” He asks with a frown.

Fuck.

You feign a smile, trying to wave your hand from his grip, of course, your attempts futile.

Sylus’s other arm curls around your thighs, locking you from leaving the bed while Sylus lets his sleep leave his body from the rude interruption.

“Denying me of satisfying my curiosity only makes it worse”, you shrug. Well, if only Sylus had just let you have a little touch…

The corner of Sylus’s lips pull up to a half smirk.

“Right”, Sylus replies, a hint of annoyance and something else laced in his tone before he shifts above you in one swift motion, trapping you underneath him on his bed.

“Then, I'm sure you don't have to be reminded that actions have consequences?”

You swallow hard.

His hand that grabbed yours is placed on his chest, and he forces you to trail down his body, feeling his thick chest, then his abs under your touch, all the way down until he stops you right on his thick erection.

“You should take responsibility, don't you think?” Sylus asks with a raised eyebrow.

You know it's pointless even attempt to escape when he’s devouring your lips like he hasn't eaten in days. It's so intoxicating. You would never admit your greed, but Sylus knows you well enough to feed you so good. You want to pull him so impossibly close.

In between breathless kisses, your warm hands trail from his biceps to his shoulders, to his neck, and right to his hair.

You test waters–letting your fingers rake through his hair, grazing the base of his horns. You get his green light when he doesn't swat you off, on the contrary, it makes Sylus grow more desperate in the kiss.

You confidently stroke his horn, from base to tip once more, and the moans that leave Sylus’s lips sound like fucking heaven.

His crimson eyes finally meet yours, and he almost looks like he's in pain.

“If you keep doing that–ngh–” Sylus trails off with another strained moan when the sensation of you stroking his horn buzzes right to his cock that he has shut his eyes to hold back.

“This?” you tease, sliding your palm down to his base once more, rubbing the scaly appendage, watching him failing at trying to keep his composure.

“Fuck”, he hisses, diving into your lips once more, eating you up.

He pulls away briefly, pressing his lips just below your ear.

“You’re gonna be taking responsibility, kitten.”

He presses himself close onto you, so close that you feel his cock just pulsing against your pelvis, only separated by his black sweats. Sylus takes your chin in his fingers and steals your breath away once more, uncontrollably grunting with every stroke your hands play with his horns. You feel his cock twitch, then pulse before the feeling of warmth spreads across your skin, accompanied by a long, drawn out moan in your mouth.

It makes you dizzy with bliss, realising what you've done to him.

Sylus pulls away once more, catching his breath, his eyes reflecting something more feral when you met his.

But all you do is flash a cheeky smile at him, letting your fingers caress his cheek.

His fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts and he yanks them off, almost growing feral for the second time when his eyes meet the sight of the way your pussy is glistening so much that a wet and thin string of arousal sticks itself in between your pussy and your soaked panties.

Well, Sylus is holding the short end of the stick anyway, because when he tugs his sweats down, your heartbeat accelerates as your eyes land on his cock–thick, red and completely covered in white and thick cum, some staining his underwear, twitching slightly with dribbles of cum seeping past his cockhead when the fabric brushes past his balls.

He looks so fucking delicious when he's messy like that. Shit.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself, staring at me like that”, he teases. He doesn't even look embarrassed.

“Maybe I should play with your horns more often”, you reply with a smile. Sylus narrows his eyes at you, his expression mixed with annoyance and affection. His fingers press against your soaking clit, enjoying the way the smile on your face gets wiped, replaced with a contorted expression of pleasure when he rubs it in slow circles.

“I’m strongly against that idea, sweetie”, Sylus responds, leaning in to take in the expression of your mind slowly growing dumb and blank just from his slender fingers rubbing you out. “It’ll give you a little too much leverage over me.”

Through the hazy and building pleasure, you still manage to reply, “that's the whole point.”

Sylus only smiles at your reply, his fingers leaving your clit. You're about to protest, that is, until he grabs you by your hips, dragging you closer to him, then pressing your knees to your chest, before his wet cock slowly enters you from below. He watches your face contort in pleasure–your eyes rolling back and your eyebrows furrowed–while soaking in the fucking delicious feeling of your cunt warm and wrapped around his cock.

“S-so good”, you whimper, his fullness knocking out any ounce of breath and sense out of you at a dangerous pace the his cock inches even deeper into you.

“Such a nice and warm pussy hole”, Sylus grits, pushing himself even deeper, his control slipping when he's buried himself all the way in. “Fuck, you're so good for me, kitten.”

You're clawing his pillows when Sylus starts fucking you, and you're looking at Sylus with such a glazed out expression–and you know it drives him fucking crazy. His palm rests on the bulge that his cock is pushing every time he enters you, and it makes your thighs shake. Your moans grow in pitch and tone on top of the sounds of lewd wet skin slapping.

He lets you wrap your legs around his waist in return for letting him scatter love bites across your neck.

So you decide that it’s the perfect time to aim for his sensitive spots once more.

Your fingers tug against his scalp, then alternating to stroking his horns once more, throwing Sylus into another round of pleasured daze.

You feel his cock fill you up even more, and it makes you greedy to how far you can push it.

“I really should make you regret this”, Sylus mutters, failing to suppress another groan when your fingers scratch against the base.

His thrusts become more like ruts, his cockhead hitting your g-spot over and over as payback. Sylus sprouts a satisfied smirk as he watches you completely come undone on his cock. You throw your head back while stars flicker in and out of your vision. The pleasure is growing so fucking good that you're choking on your moans too.

“Right there! Fuck, that feels so fucking good, Sylus”, you sob through wet lashes and heavy pants.

Sylus is mesmerised by your pretty expressions and the pretty sounds you always make for him when he's breaking you apart.

Maybe you finding out about his sensitive horns is his punishment for indulging in these sick pleasures. Nonetheless, he still wouldn't have any other way.

Your hands find his horns once more, and he falters for a split second. But he doesn't shake you off since he's much too focused on trying to force an orgasm out of you.

Your pussy squeezes him before it starts uncontrollably fluttering against his cock. Ah, his goal is slowly being fulfilled.

As your orgasm dangles above you, you react with periodical squeezes on his cock and his horns, which definitely draws a much larger reaction from Sylus.

“So close”, you whine, your orgasm slowly filling the crevices of your brain, plunging you deep into pleasure. Your cunt clenches on his cock, and you unintentionally yank his horns.

Sylus fucking growls, pressing himself so fucking deep into you, his cum fucking spurting into you–so much that some is leaking out from your plugged pussy hole and onto the bed.

He pulls his cock out momentarily, letting his cum ooze from his cockhead, his eyes darting to the loads seeping out of your hole, before he slides his cock into you once more. You gasp at the fullness, another squeeze to his horns, which only stimulates Sylus once more, and his cock fills you up with another warm and sticky load.

He’s panting, but he musters his energy to meet your eyes.

“Sweetie”, he calls out to you amidst his dick attempting to take over his brain. “If you don't get your hands off, your pussy won't be able to hold anymore, I guarantee.”

He's met with a fucked-out and sly grin from his partner.

“And I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

Sylus scoffs at your comment, realising that he really has to teach his kitten a lesson to not touch things that aren't hers.

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multifandomsmutstash · 7 days ago

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🜼 ⋆ needy choso begs for you to hold him down while you bounce on him filthy.

“p–pin me,” he breathes, barely able to say it without choking on the way your cunt drags over him, slow and wet and so deep he’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. “baby—please, i need you to—fuck—just hold me down, please—”

he sounds so fucking desperate for it, voice raw like he’s already about to break. his wrists twitch where they’re resting beside his head, fingers curling like he’s holding onto the sheets for dear life, muscles flexing like he’s fighting every instinct in his body not to grab you and fuck up into you like an animal.

but he doesn’t. he waits. even when he’s whining under his breath, even when he’s shaking, even when his hips are already lifting off the bed trying to chase the feel of you.

you lean forward, body flushed against his, and catch his wrists in one hand, pressing them down into the mattress above his head. you barely have to apply pressure—he surrenders instantly, melting under you, a choked groan ripping out of him like the act of being restrained alone is too much for him.

“fuck—thank you.” he says it like a prayer, eyes wide, staring up at you like you’ve just given him heaven.

he’s so loud when you start to move again, so fucking needy, his moans high and breathless, little broken uh-uh-uhs every time your hips slap against his. you keep him pinned, riding him slow, deep, making him feel every single inch. he bucks up once—just once—and you stop completely, hovering there with him twitching inside you.

“stay still,” you whisper, dragging your free hand down his throat, pressing just enough to feel the way he swallows hard. “you said you wanted to be good, right?”

he nods—frantic—already panting, already falling apart. “m’sorry—i am, i am good, please keep going, please—i won’t move, just—ride me, please, i need it so bad—”

you hum, starting to move again, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles, watching him shiver and shake like he’s being edged without mercy. he keeps whining, making a mess of the sheets under him, cock twitching inside you as he fights to stay still. he tries. he’s so good for you, trying so fucking hard not to thrust up, not to beg too much, even when his eyes roll back and his toes curl and he’s whispering your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

but then—then he breaks. it starts with a tremble, a twitch of his hips, then a full, desperate buck up into you like he just can’t help it anymore.

“can’t—can’t take it,” he gasps, biting his lip, hips jerking again and again like he’s chasing his orgasm with every last ounce of strength he has. “feels too good—fuck, please let me come—please—”

and you just keep going. slow, deliberate, grinding down on him as he whimpers under you, hands still trapped, eyes wet and glassy and begging for release like he’ll die if you don’t let him come soon.

and maybe you will.

maybe you won’t.

depends how much more of his pretty begging you want to hear.

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multifandomsmutstash · 8 days ago

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gilded dreams

★pairing: king of darknight!xavier x f!reader/mc ★wc: 2.7k ★content: spoilers for where stars scatter myth. smut, throne sex, piv, praise kink, biting kink, claiming. angst, internal monologue, yearning, mutual pining, obsessive & possessive xavier, with mentions of his previous lies. inspired by the gilded dreams secret times. ★masterlist

You can't recall just how you ended up in this position. It's hard to think at all with the strong arms wrapped around your waist, cool armor pressed to your chest through the thin cloth of your dress with each slow, deep roll of his hips upwards into yours.

You know it started with the clash of steel and the strong scent of iron permeating the air. Just moments ago you ran through the halls, your heart in your throat and your staff of light materializing in your hands, only for the assassins to be evaporating to dust by the time you rushed into the main hall.

And there he lounged on the throne he had always rebuked, no evidence of a struggle other than the hilt of the greatsword still clutched in one gauntlet, the other bare hand unhurriedly wiping at a smear of dark red across his cheek.

Your king. A dream long before that, a distant light of happier memories, forgotten in centuries of darkness, of waiting. And even longer before that, he had been a companion. Your dearest friend.

"Xavier," you had breathed, just for that briefest of moments where you got to see him nearly falter from the taunt of familiarity in your tone, leaving him wondering if it was yet another dream of you.

You were by his side in an instant. Like you had been trained to do, like the instincts to never be parted from him that still sang in your pulsing blood urged from you.

"That's not my blood," he brushed aside your concerns over him, and you laughed, dark and bitter under your breath.

Like you're not used to his lies. Like you're not the only two beings in this entire world with blood still rushing through your veins.

It is a strange thing, to see him bleed. Even though he is now a familiar face once more, the feelings you'd harbored for countless ages surging up like waves to crash relentlessly against the shore of your mind each time you see him now, there are still so many things you can't remember of your time together.

Had he gotten injured before? If so, were you the one to bandage him up? To heal him with your own hands, to nurse him back to health?

That was how it had started. Fixated on his blood, still wet on your thumb when you wiped it off his chin, body tensed in tune with the subtle hitch in his breath.

The rest is still a blur, intoxication from closeness that had once been so well-known, still etched bone-deep within you when you sat yourself into his lap. Setting yourself as the perfect, pretty bait.

The King of Darknight's whispers, all temptation and dark promises, wrap around you, ensnaring you to him like he was the one who set the trap. A tether of light and darkness, forces forever at play, two halves of a whole made to move in coordination.

He leans back in his throne, gauntlet curled loosely around your waist, tightening his grip on you when you easily shift forward into his chest. Following that natural instinct to stay close, to always stay together.

You struggle with his armor, on a single-minded quest to find his elusive injuries, and he doesn't let you.

He never lets you see him without those walls, to let you have all of him. Even as he himself yearns for you, as he effortlessly demands for all of you, to reclaim every little part that had been lost to him through the cruel, relentless passage of time.

From the charming, gentle prince you'd grown alongside to this Mad King, the Sinner of Philos. A mystery that tenses under your desperate, wandering hands.

It's not fair. It has never been fair with him.

You're frustrated, and he can feel it. Xavier's grip goes lax around your wrists, allowing you to toss useless pieces of armor to the ground. He lets you feel for the soft skin of him, proof of his existence, of his promised return, his body still hidden underneath dark robes that are nothing like what the man you had once loved would've worn.

All the while, he murmurs into your ear, dark words that curl around your spine and dance in shivers down it to the base. Heat pools in your stomach as he urges you on, to take what you want from him, what you need from your king.

Your wit matches his in breathless banter as much as your swords once met in friendly duels, practice bouts to exert your frustrations out in a time long past. A failed exam or an overbearing father, things had seemed so much simpler then, like there were so many places you could still run away to.

Maybe if he had taken your hand and urged you to elope just one more time, told you once more of that beautiful, little planet just for the two of you, you would have gone.

But you're here instead, rocking forward in the Tyrant's lap, hot pleasure sparking from where your clothed core rubs over the curved edge of his growing arousal, still trapped within the dark confines of this new garb of his lonely reign.

He teases you, like he'd always done. It's both familiar and entirely unknown, looking down into sharp blue eyes that watch your every increasingly desperate move with rapt intrigue that bleeds into something darker.

His own affection you'd overlooked in your youthful, blind infatuation grows teeth and claws that dig into you with hardly contained obsession, grown in the dark of centuries without you.

You scramble for the fabric constraining him as his hands glide up your legs, lifting your skirt.

There's no pretense, no buildup when the weeping head of him catches on your dripping entrance. There is only pure relief when you ease down onto him, until you're both where you had always belonged.

It's addicting and entirely unreal, to know this is your sworn knight sinking inside of you, even with the dark crown weighing atop his head as his forehead rests against yours.

His heated breaths warm your parted lips as you eagerly accept him. Your wet heat sucks him in bit by bit until he's as far as he can get, holding onto you for dear life, like he expects to blink awake to you gone again.

He lifts you slowly, as easily as he does that monstrosity of a sword that lays forgotten beside his throne now that he has you in it. You moan in unison when he brings you back down again, sinking into you as much as the reality of this slowly sinks in, as impossible as it seems to finally have this moment.

"Listen to you," Xavier sighs, pure relief and idolatry twisted within him as you sink down onto him again under his careful guidance.

His hands are as steadfast as they had always been, even as they had seen so much more violence in your time grown apart. They are gentle again when they remember the feel of your skin against his.

"You're so wet, my queen," he praises, lips skimming your ear.

And you hear it, the squelch of your body taking him intimately under the low, heady tone of his praise.

You whimper, burying your face into his hair, tangling your fingers into the long, soft strands.

"Don't say—"

He bucks his hips up, smacking his hips against yours, loud and wet, and it steals the breath from your lungs.

You suck the air back in with a choked whine when he pulls back out almost entirely, just to sink slowly back in, grinding his hips up against yours when you're seated on his lap once more.

"What was that?" he murmurs, all dark, smug satisfaction.

You punch him in the shoulder out of reflex, hearing the taunting of a lost duel from your academy days buried underneath the ingrained arrogance of an uncontested leader of a fallen kingdom.

Your face buries against his neck, sweat beading at the nape of it from his carefully controlled exertion, even as he hangs on the edge of losing it. Your tongue laps out, mindless in your consumption of him, and you both moan again when he twitches deep inside of you.

"Don't say such obscene things," you demand, your fist curling into his robe, holding onto him when he bucks up into you again, and again, jostling you in his lap with each mind-numbing jolt of pleasure.

"You don't like it?" he taunts, and you wrap yourself around him, arms around his neck so tight that you hear him suck in a sharp breath.

You relax your grip just slightly, but he holds you closer, encouraging you to claim him, to make him yours.

You hold on for dear life with each drive of himself inside of you, as far as he could reach so as to leave a space for himself in your very being, so you never forgot him again.

His obsession is thinly veiled now that you're joined like this, with the echo of forget him in your ears even as he was unknowingly making such a demand impossible. Your mind drifts farther and farther into a golden haze, reminiscent of the way he once used to glow whenever you made him happy.

"But your entire body is responding to me so well," Xavier praises, and your head tilts back.

His lips attach to your neck to plant wet kisses along the length of it when you present him with another ripe opportunity to claim you. To leave his mark so you would remember the feel of him, the weight of his presence, the certainty of his devotion whenever you were apart—which you never would be, if either of you had a say in the course of fate, try as you both did to master it.

"Aren't you?" he urges, confident even as he yearned for your confirmation, your pleasure, for you.

You moan, quietly, then louder when the nails of his bare hand slip underneath your dress to dig into the soft plushness of your thigh.

"What did you say, my queen?" his dark voice takes on a melodic lilt, teasing again, with that newfound arrogance that sends sparks of pleasure up your spine when he was seated this deep inside of you.

"I am a queen no longer," you answer instead, clinging desperately to familiar banter, trying to ground yourself as the wet smacks of your lovemaking echo in the long, empty hall. The place you'd once waited centuries for him, and where he had waited for you long after.

"This throne belongs to the both of us," Xavier assures you, kissing along your collarbone, tugging the neckline of your dress down to suck bruises into the soft skin of your breasts. "It is yours as much as mine. Do we not make such a claim on it now?"

He lifts you up with his armored hand to yank you back down onto his throbbing cock, filling you again suddenly and completely, as if to drive any lingering doubt of his affection from your mind, and you cry out for him.

"I—" you pant heavily, searching for the thoughts that successfully scatter from your mind. "We never wedded. How am I your queen?"

"You told me you would be." Xavier tugs your dress down further and bites gently around your breast, tongue flicking across the sensitive nipple, and your walls spasm around him. Your arousal gushes out and drenches his lap further, pulling a groan from deep within his throat. "You told me you would become my only important person. Do you rescind your word now that you are?"

When you have always been so? you hear unspoken in the way he possesses you until he's all you can think of, until his love is all you've known.

"N-no," you gasp out, your thighs working to meet each of his thrusts upwards in this old competitive nature, in this new dance. Your hand fists in his hair, pulling his head back, and his jaw drops open when his blown wide pupils meet yours. "I am not the one who does so."

Xavier's brow furrows, gaze darkening as he glances over your face; the determination set in your jaw, and the longing that still lingers on you like the nostalgia of a well-loved perfume, learned for so long that it lasts even now when you are finally together.

His expression softens. For a moment, you see him not as hardened, no longer a disillusioned man cursed to live for so long alone, chained with rule that he'd never once wanted.

But somebody gentler, who once grew flowers until they bloomed. A soft soul who spoke of the power of stories, how the simple act of remembrance meant a lost loved one would always be with you.

"Kiss me," he breathes, not the command of a king, but the devotion of a knight, one that had sworn to stay by your side when this throne had once been yours.

Your lips meet his, with as much disbelief and dream-like desperation as in that field of flowers. A kiss from him still doesn't feel real, even as he gives them to you again and again, whimpering softly as his tongue presses past your lips to taste you.

You hear the wet squelching of your joining, your eyelashes fluttering when his hand slips further under your dress, thumb collecting the slick of your coupling to rub against the apex of your pleasure, your thighs twitching with your breathless cry.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes near silently, moaning into your mouth with the clench of your walls around him at the sound of his pleasure, the tangible proof of your effect on him, even with the cool air of aloofness he'd put on since your reunion. "I can't—"

"I know," you whisper, clinging to him as you roll your hips against his thumb and the grinding of his cock against that spot that makes stars spark behind your eyelids. "Xavier!"

"Please," he begs, a crack in his low tone, a falter in his carefully constructed walls as the wet warmth of you consumes him. "I need you. I can't—I can't be without you, my love. Stay with me, stay—"

You kiss down his neck, biting down onto the soft, delicate skin between his neck and shoulder as you shatter around him, pulses of your release filling your mind with the pleasure of a long sought after climax, a well fought for destination finally reached together.

You cling to Xavier, sucking and mouthing at his skin as it rolls through you, moaning when you feel him follow you over that precipice to fill you with his release at last, to claim you completely.

Your heavy breaths intermingle when you kiss him once more, your hand curled into the back of his long hair, swallowing each breathy moan that you pull out of him in this intimate state. The vulnerability of it has your limbs trembling, your drenched thighs shaking with each lingering wave of pleasure that's pulled out of you.

"Stay with me," Xavier says again, still on that razor thin edge of asking and commanding, and you laugh softly against his lips.

"I should be the one to make such a demand," you counter, breathless and still aching, satiated slightly when you feel another warm spurt of his release coating your walls. "You're the one who leaves."

His lips crash against yours again, as if he can steal the words from you, make them unspoken. Even if you both know it is the truth.

"Then ask it of me," he says, all darkness and light in one, tender and obsessive in how he clings to you and gazes up at you with the eyes of an endless starry night. "Demand it of me. Take my throne, my crown, my life."

Xavier kisses you again, and you melt into him when he whispers against your lips, "It is all for you."

"Stay," you command, rolling your hips forward slowly, a keening noise escaping you when you feel the pleasure stoked again, the urgency coming to life once more between you. "Stay with me, my king."

His hand curls around the base of your neck, keeping you to him like in the flowers when he first kissed you, devouring your every kiss as he promises gently, like all the times before, "Whatever you ask of me, my queen, is yours."

taglist: comment here if you want to be added! blank blogs will be blocked ⭐️ Xavier fics: @santaluna @itsmysmut @onigiriinthecorner @inzayneforaj @biblioth-que @needvbunni @whimsicalcup @otome-house @wonys-won 💖all fics: @frostbitten-cherry @asiatic-apple @heartyluv @floatinginaer @sweetcalebb @princessofenkanomiya @lazygelpen @deepspacebunnieblue @cherryartchaos @kireeen @stargirlygirl @draftbeerbibi @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @slovesyouuu @ineffabl-y @grlyeetswrld @toelady @asiaticapple @aenishas @sylusgworl @lamogliedizayne @plasticcardholder @colonelkaboom @plzdonutpercieveme @syncaleb @dailydoseofanimeawesome @wooasecret @glitterykingdomangel @meofary @rchltruly @calistaxoxo24 @blushofeve @starlightyearning @mylifedoesntexist @madamecorbie

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multifandomsmutstash · 8 days ago

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🜼 ⋆ pervy bf!choso’s favorite position — mating press.

his hips are flush against yours when he bottoms out, thick length stretching you open so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. you swear he groans every time it happens—this low, broken sound in the back of his throat, like the feeling surprises him. like it still stuns him, just how tight and warm and good you feel around him.

you’re spread open beneath him, knees bent back near your chest, arms wrapped around his neck, your whole body pliant and helpless under his weight. and he’s there, all over you, chest pressed close, arms caged around your head, big hands fisted in the sheets like it takes restraint to keep from losing control.

he doesn’t thrust fast. he doesn’t need to. just rolls his hips in slow, deliberate grinds, dragging the full weight of his cock through your soaked walls until he feels the shake in your legs, the flutter of your cunt. then he does it again. and again. until your voice is gone and all you can do is gasp around the edge of his jaw.

“fuck,” he murmurs, voice raw against your cheek. “you take me so well—every time. can’t stop thinking about it.”

he pushes in again, and your back arches off the bed. it’s almost unbearable, the way he presses so deep inside, your legs trembling against his ribs. you feel everything. the drag, the stretch, the way he grinds down right at the end, rocking just enough to make your whole body jolt.

his forehead presses to yours.

he’s mouth-breathing now—quiet little puffs of air that hit your lips, warm and shaky, as he watches you from inches away. not blinking. not speaking. just watching.

“feels good?” he asks, barely audible. “yeah?”

you nod, whimpering, fingernails digging into his shoulders, and he groans again—soft, throaty, desperate—like your yes just cracked him open.

he drops a kiss to your cheek. then another to your jaw. then right at the corner of your mouth. but he doesn’t stop moving. never stops moving. keeps fucking into you with that perfect, full-bodied weight, pace slow and punishing, cock brushing that spot that makes your whole body tense and tremble.

you squeeze around him again and he chokes on a breath, mouth falling open like he’s losing it. like he’s seconds from coming but too in love with the way you feel to give in just yet.

and when it finally happens—when his rhythm stutters and his hips jerk forward, and you feel the heat of him spilling inside you—it doesn’t stop him.

he groans, full-bodied, collapsing against you with his cock still buried deep, twitching between your thighs.

but he stays.

even when his muscles twitch. even when the overstimulation hits and he shivers with every pulse of your cunt. he stays inside you, forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing your skin.

“gonna keep it in,” he whispers hoarsely. “just for a little. you can take it, can’t you?”

he kisses you again, messy and soft and breathless.

he doesn’t pull out.

not even when you start to whimper again.

not even when your body starts to beg for more.

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multifandomsmutstash · 8 days ago

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that time caleb couldn't pull out (or out at all)

requested ♡ needy–pathetic–whiney!caleb x overstimulated f!reader

cw : overstimulation, pussy drunk caleb, multiple orgasms, unprotected intercourse, creampíes, ovulation mention, both are at it like rabbits

a/n : I'm a strong believer of caleb seeing sex as something spiritual. that man would be drunk into your pussy forever if it's possible 🧘🏽‍♀️🫡

You don’t even remember how many times you’ve done it at this point.

You’re trembling under him, legs spread wide as your thighs twitch uncontrollably. Sweat glistens across your skin, the sheets soaked beneath your ass as your body writhes from the overstimulation. Caleb’s cock is still buried deep inside you, twitching, throbbing, refusing to soften even after he’s cum twice.

You’re not the only one suffering. No. Caleb’s worse.

Much, much worse.

He’s hunched over you, forehead pressed to your chest, lips parted in a string of pathetic little whimpers as he rocks his hips into you helplessly, like he physically can’t stop. His entire body is trembling, from his strong arms planted on either side of your head, to his thick thighs caging you in as they quake with every slow, shallow thrust.

“Baby—fuck, please—” he gasps, voice breaking. “I-I can’t—can’t take it anymore—”

“You’re still hard,” you breathe, voice raspy from crying out so much. “Still so thick, still so deep inside me, Caleb…”

He chokes on a moan, his hips stuttering. “You’re so warm, baby—shit—y’keep pulling me back in like that, I—” his voice turns into a whimper, high-pitched and desperate, “I’m gonna cum again—I can’t—please—!”

You cup his flushed, tear-streaked face with both hands, forcing him to look you in the eyes. His purple irises are glossy and unfocused, pupils blown wide as he pants open-mouthed, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Caleb,” you coo softly, thumbing at his damp cheek, “you’re being so needy tonight…”

His bottom lip trembles, his hips involuntarily grinding into your soaked, overstimulated pussy as he cries out.

“I know,” he croaks, voice cracking as he hides his face in your neck. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t stop—I need you, baby—I need to be inside you—need to feel you—need to hear you cry—fuck, please, pipsqueak, I’m losing my mind—”

Your core clenches around him at the sound of his wrecked voice. “Aw, poor thing,” you murmur, clenching around him on purpose, and he screams into your neck, entire body spasming as his hips jerk wildly.

His cock pulses inside you, twitching with another orgasm that never ends. His nails dig into the pillow next to your head as he sobs, tears dripping onto your skin.

You’re overstimulated. Raw. Shaking. But his cock doesn’t soften. If anything, it throbs harder.

“Oh my god, Caleb…” you whimper, gripping his waist with both hands. “You’re still hard? You’re… you’re fucking insatiable.”

He lets out a pathetic cry, thrusting slowly, helplessly, like an animal in heat.

“You were—were ovulating, right?” he whispers, delirious, “I just… wanted to make sure… your body was satisfied…”

You grab his jaw and kiss him—sloppy, rough, tongue and teeth, your body arching into his. He moans into your mouth, hips still rolling. Still. Still. The man’s dick is possessed.

“God, you’re a mess,” you pant, pulling away from the kiss to wipe his tears with your thumbs. “My big, strong colonel all needy and whimpering because my pussy feels too good?”

His breath hitches, and suddenly he’s bucking into you faster. His brain is melting. He’s so overstimulated, he can’t even form sentences anymore.

“Let go,” you whisper in his ear. “Just fall apart, baby. Be my desperate little mess.”

And he does. He shatters.

He cums again, harder than any time before, his whole body curling around yours like he’ll die if you let him go. His voice breaks on a sob, hips stuttering, mind gone. His legs finally give out and he collapses on top of you, cock twitching weakly inside your soaked cunt.

You stroke his back as he trembles in your arms, lips brushing his ear.

“You feel better now, colonel?”

He mumbles something that sounds like "I saw god" and you giggle, still clenching gently around his cock.

You feel him shudder. And just like that—he’s hard again.

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multifandomsmutstash · 8 days ago

Text

Yuji fucking you and clueless Choso walks in.........

(There will be a part 2!)

The apartment was warm, dim and filled with disgusting sounds of sloppy thrusts and pathetic little sobs. Yuji had you face-down on the couch, knees spread on the cushions, ass tilted up so high it had your cheek smushed into the spit-soaked pillow below. His fingers gripped your waist tight enough to bruise, holding you down in place as he slammed in deep—cock punching into your messy hole over and over, every thrust lewd and wet and it had your pussy drooling all over his balls.

It was almost feral with how messy and loud it all was.

“Yuji—! Yuji, slow—f-fuck, it’s too—!” you gasped, fingers curling into the cushion.

“You can take it,” he groaned behind you, voice ragged as he snapped into you. “Godddd babe, your slutty little pussy’s squeezing me so tight—you’re so greedy, you miss this dick that bad?”

You whined, the words making your face burn even hotter. Yuji was always so sweet in public—always the golden boy everyone knew and was fond of, kissing your forehead and holding your hand. But the second he got you alone? He was nasty for it. Addicted. Always mouthing at your ass, fingering you while you were brushing your teeth, humping your thighs in the shower just because they were soft.

So you didn’t hear the front door creak open.

Didn’t hear the quiet footfalls.

Didn’t notice Choso standing there until Yuji shifted your hips and you caught sight of him in the hallway.

Choso was just… there. Standing. Blinking. Face blank and completely unphased, like he walked in on you two playing cards.

Yuji didn’t even realize at first. He was too busy rutting in deep, tugging your hips back against his pelvis while staring at your ass jiggling lewdly with every motion.

You squealed, trying to push back against Yuji’s stomach. “Yuji! Yuji, Choso—!”

“Huh?” Yuji blinked, panting. He turned his head—and froze. “Oh fuck—”

“Are you guys…wrestling?” Choso asked, head tilting. His tone wasn’t sarcastic. He was deadass serious. “Why is she crying?”

You were in fact, sniffling—face wet, eyes glassy, tongue poking from your lips as you trembled from how good Yuji had been fucking you. Yuji was still inside you, too stunned to pull out.

Yuji sputtered as his eyes widened. “No! Choso, I—bro, you can’t just walk in—!”

Choso took a step forward.

You both screamed in sync.

“Choso, get OUT—!” Yuji was trying to fumble for a throw pillow to cover your bare ass.

Choso frowned. “You’re hurting her?”

Yuji looked like he was going to combust. “No—! I mean, yes—but in a good way!”

Choso squinted like he didn’t believe what Yuji said. His eyes drifted down between your thighs—still dripping, Yuji’s cock still buried inside you—and he hummed. “Oh. this is sex”.

“YES, this is sex, what do you think this is?” Yuji practically shouted.

You let out a broken moan and shoved your face into the pillow. “Yuji, pull out please, oh my gosh—he’s looking”

Yuji yelped and finally slipped out of you with a wet pop! sound that made Choso’s eyes widen.

“Why is it so noisy?” Choso asked with confusion written all over his face.

Yuji buried his face in his hands.

You were a mess—leaking, shaking, still flushed and aching for more and Choso was standing there like a confused cat in a room full of cucumbers.

“…Can I try next time?” Choso asked thoughtfully. “She looked like she liked it”.

“GET OUT!!”

But still obviously, Choso didn’t budge—Not even when Yuji scrambled to tug his hoodie down over your hips. Not even when you tried to hide your face behind your hands, whining like a kicked puppy. He just stood there in the hallway, arms at his sides, a little head tilt like a confused NPC trying to trigger dialogue.

“I’m not leaving,” he finally said, slowly blinking. “I have questions”.

“Oh my gosh,” Yuji groaned, forehead thudding against your back.

You tried to wriggle away but Yuji’s hand reflexively held your hip still, like his body forgot he wasn’t supposed to be fucking you anymore. You were both flushed and sweaty, still panting, the room sticky with sex—and Choso was barely reacting.

“…What kind of questions?” Yuji asked warily, as if bracing for a bomb.

Choso took a step closer.

You and Yuji both flinched.

“How come her hole was all… frothy?”

You made a sound. Yuji slapped a hand over your mouth before it turned into a shriek.

“She—uh—got wet,” Yuji said quickly, face crimson. “She gets really wet sometimes”.

Choso blinked. “That’s not pee?”

Yuji looked physically ill. “No?! No, what—dude, what the fuck—why would—”

Choso nodded slowly, absorbing the information like it was part of a lecture. “So when you said she was ‘squeezing’ you… you meant inside her vagina”.

“YES”.

“She doesn’t look very strong”.

“…It’s muscle, bro. She—babe, stop laughing, you’re not helping!”

You were wheezing into the pillow, your whole body trembling from the effort of staying quiet.

Choso leaned a little closer, eyes scanning between your legs, then to your ass, then back to your messy thighs. “And she likes it like this? Bent over? Getting her ass clapped?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Yuji practically cringed. “Don’t say ‘ass clapped’ like you read it off Reddit!”

You whined. Your thighs rubbed together instinctively. You were still soaked—your body didn’t care how embarrassed you were, especially with Yuji’s voice in that broken boyish register, trying to defend your honor while you were leaking down your legs.

Choso noticed.

“Why is it still dripping?” he asked, pointing. “You stopped, but it’s still leaking”.

Yuji actually gagged.

“Get out, Choso. Please. I’ll explain everything later. Just—just give us five minutes”.

Choso looked at you. At your glassy eyes. Your ruined thighs. The way you still arched into Yuji’s touch without meaning to.

“…Can I watch next time?”

You squealed. Yuji lunged for the nearest object to throw and beaned him with a couch cushion.

Choso didn’t even flinch. He just stood there and caught the pillow, then dropped it like it was contaminated.

“I’m serious,” he said.

Yuji stared at him, stunned and red-faced and slack-jawed.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumbled with a flustered face.

Yuji turned to you like you just agreed to start a cult.

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multifandomsmutstash · 8 days ago

Text

Tokyo Drift - C.K.

Synopsis. A bad boy? Check. Your parents hate him? Check. Considers you the cute lil’ good luck charm for his high-speed street races? Check. But you’ll be riding more than just Choso’s car…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, racer!Choso, street racing AU, Choso with tattoos and piercings, talks of F1, small towns, gossip, slight good girl x bad boy, he’s so down bad, pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem rec.), he goes FÉRAL, spítting, fíngering, cúmming in his pants, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, making it fit, headIocks, manhandIing, Prince AIbert’s piercing, running from it, matíng presses, rough s, body worship, DÚMBlFICATION, creampíes, overstím, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.6k

A/N. I refuse to watch the F1 movie so this is the closest thing-

“Look at him-”

You sigh, “I know, he’s…”

“-bad news.”

“-hot.”

It was inevitable that you and your group of friends would look at each other with odd expressions at the clash. You always did whenever it came to him.

Choso Kamo - the star of your cozy lil’ town’s latest gossip.

You’d heard (well, it was impossible not to hear) that he’d just recently moved from the big city for an exchange program at your local university. Why anyone would willingly travel to some ramshackle town to be gawked at, you couldn’t understand.

“I’m just saying—” You’re grumbling, gaze flicking across the green campus to where Choso was seated underneath a lone tree, face bent into a book.

Your stare lingers on the twinkle of his ear piercings in the sun, “-he doesn’t seem that bad.” The dark, dark line tattoos crawling down the side of his neck. “Who knows? He seems almost…nice-”

Just then, he’s turning his head - precisely to meet your eyes.

Oh.

You can feel your breath hitch- and something at the pit of your stomach twists in a sudden lurch before you’re turning away in an instant. The glint of his deep eyes too stark, the intensity in them too burning.

“She’s right.” Shoko’s the first to pipe up from your right, tapping her manicured nails on the top of your campus bench. “I won’t deny that everyone’s being a lil’ hard on the guy just because he has a few tattoos and piercings.”

“And he’s a city big-shot with an annoyingly loud car.”

Utahime shudders, seated right in front of you so she has to turn at the feeling of Choso’s stare - who immediately looks away. “Well- fine. But it’s also the way he looks at…”

Your little group leans closer as she trails off, seemingly lost in thought.

Before nodding to herself in affirmation and narrowing her chocolate eyes- “-at you.” Unabashedly, she’s jabbing her index your way, as you sputter in protest, “No no, I’m serious! It’s like he- he wants to eat you or something, my dear.”

Shoko smirks, “Kinky.”

“Shoko.” You’re groaning, flipping back through your textbook to distract yourself, if anything. “Don’t let my parents hear you, Uta. They’ve warned me every single day since he’s stepped foot here to steer clear of him.”

Which wasn’t quite effective when you shared half your classes with the very man that haunted every nook and cranny of your town - and the minds of the people living in it.

And especially not when you couldn’t help but notice him during said lectures; tall, quiet, always seated at the very last row with his head in some car magazine, fingers twiddling with the chunky metal rings on his long fingers.

Not that you’re looking at him that closely, that is.

You find your thighs involuntarily pressing together as you’re hastily darting your eyes to Choso once more, taking in the subtle curve of his pierced lips. The slooow flutter of his long, chestnut bangs in the breeze- “Y’know they told me just this morning to never so much as let him look at me? Apparently some neighbor of a neighbor of a neighbor saw him driving late at night and assumed he was involved in everything shady possible.”

“Understandable.”

“Still dealing with the ol’ folks, huh?” Shoko grins as you wince, a reminder of the parents that absolutely refused to let you hold your own in one of the university dorms.

Not quite out-of-the-ordinary for such a small community, but you still did feel a twinge of envy whenever Shoko and Utahime happened to mention something about them being roommates.

“You should just move in with us, y’know- fuck whatever the lease lady says, we have more than enough room.”

“Ah, one day.” Clearing your throat, you’re standing up- “Anyways, I should really get going before I miss my lab time.”

“Aw, Yaga keeping you late for another project?” Your friend muses as Utahime grabs onto your skirt with a protesting whine, trying to tug you back down onto your seat with all her might. And it’s a small chaos that erupts in a few surrounding giggles, a stray eyeroll or two - and for a certain dark-haired man to spy up from his motor book.

Heady eyes locked on the scene, his gaze seeping right through your body. Choso tilts his head with a glimmer of interest that leaves your mouth dry no matter how many times you swallow.

Oh, he looked just devilish.

You struggle to keep your voice even, “Yeah. Lab project.” And before you make your escape, you’re stealing one last glimpse at him- “No need to wait up, I’ll find my own way home.”

You were definitely, absolutely not finding your own way home.

And it was all your fault of staying way too late behind class hours, glued to one of your most important finals projects.

“Dammit. Dammit.” You’re whispering to yourself as you check the time flashing on your phone - just a little past 10PM, you’d already missed the last local bus.

The university was so empty that you could hear your own heartbeat thumping in your eardrums, in rapid unison with your footsteps. Leading up to the campus parking lot, a quick check showed you only a few stragglers that you didn’t know.

With a sigh, you make sure to stand underneath where a streetlight was overspilling its glow, weighing your options in the dim atmosphere.

You could call Utahime for a ride - or maybe your parents? But as much as you loved them, the multiple earfuls you’d get on ‘responsible time management’ was enough to have you closing out of your Phone app.

Maybe you could (affectionately) blackmail Shoko into borrowing Utahime’s car? No, the one time you two decided that was a good idea, the other girl had given you both a lashing that had you bowing at her feet for weeks.

Swearing underneath your breath, you’re opening up the Uber app and making appalled note of the prices. Ah, perhaps you were just meant to sleep here tonight. “I’d rather beg for a ride from Yaga-”

And then you hear it.

You’re sure that anyone within a five-mile radius hears it, in fact- that low, infamous vrrrr— that made the ground beneath you quake ever-so-slightly. It was the very noise that roared past your quaint neighborhood streets at night, the very noise that your parents made sure to complain about every morning after.

And there was only one man who would drive such a behemoth.

Choso’s midnight black Ford Mustang glistens as he’s lazily pulling up to the flickering streetlight, taking up nearly the entire pavement. Too fast, too be lost, too slow to be heading for anywhere but you were - you can only gape as his tinted windows pull down almost silently.

Almost smugly.

The first thing you’re spying is the glimpse of a pale, beefy forearm gripping onto a leather-clad steering wheel. Tattooed and toned.

And then it’s him - Choso Kamo, in all his glory.

“Need a ride?”

You’re blinking, voice never quite reaching your throat- “Wh-what?”

The first sound of your pretty, pretty tone and his hand tightens on the wheel - as if he’d just been zapped by volts of electricity.

He chuckles softly like he’d expected this, stray arm coming to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. And you don’t know whether you’d simply been standing out in the cold long enough to muddle your mind, but you swear that Choso’s ears tint a bright red. “I uh- I wouldn’t mind dropping you off home…or wherever it is you need to go?”

Expectantly, he’s searching his molten eyes up for an answer. But the longer Choso stares, the longer your silence stretches - and the darker the tips of his ears flush.

“If- that is, if you don’t have another ride coming for you of course.” He’s peering his irises around, as if expecting one of your friends to pop out from the bushes any second now. Words running a mile a minute. “Sorry for assuming, I just saw you here alone and- oh, p-promise it wasn’t anything creepy I just notice y- fuck, I messed this up.”

And his shy smile withers, replaced by the anxious twiddle of his silver snakebites. Hand reaching for the gear shift now- “I should just-”

“No, wait!”

You’re calling out before you can stop yourself, and it’s like Choso’s body listens to your words before his brain does. Because he’s halting in his tracks with a comical yelp, enough so that you have to stifle a smile.

“I uh…I don’t have a ride, actually.” You’re telling him, with a deep breath.

And it’s only with a final glance ‘round your surroundings that you’re confirming Yaga really wasn’t here and you really couldn’t bother him instead.

Looking down at Choso and oh- he’s staring up at you with stars in his eyes. Curved grin urging you to speak- “If it’s ah- not too much trouble, I would really appreciate a ride back home.”

“Yes- yes, of course.”

And as if he’d not just been two seconds away from speeding down the pathway in embarrassment, he instantly lunges out from the driver’s seat. Speeding to the other side of the car and holding the passenger’s wiiide open for you.

You’re slightly taken aback by the manners, by the innocent smile that suggested he’d never even thought of anything less. “Oh!” Making sure you’re safely buckled before gently shutting the door, “Thank you?”

“Any time.”

You can’t lie to yourself and say that you’d never imagined what the interior of Choso Kamo’s notoriously intimidating car might look like. Feel like.

You just never imagined it to be as close to heaven as you could get - all luxurious woven seats and a touchscreen polished enough to mirror your awed face.

You’re running your hand down the side of the car as you give directions to your home, your family would never even let you get close to a ‘deathtrap’ like this. And as Choso starts driving, you can’t help but breathe in that slightly bittersweet lavender scent of him, clinging onto the interior.

“This…this is-” You’re grappling for the words as he’s shooting a kind smile your way, “So all those car magazines aren’t just for fun, huh?”

Choso’s lips twitch, “You noticed. Yeah- a 2025 Ford Mustang Dark Horse.” Tapping the wheel reverently, “My pride and joy.”

“I can tell.” As he looks at you curiously, “My family, we ah- we can hear you driving down the street sometimes, it’s incredible.”

Snickering, “Bet the neighborhood hates me then. With good reason, this thing goes from 0 to 60 in four seconds. 500 horsepower-”

Then there’s a look he shares your way - something the complete opposite of the nervous, stuttering boy he’d been earlier. Perhaps closer to all the whispers that shrouded him instead- “-without modifications, that is.”

And you didn’t doubt that he’d made many.

“So how fast can you really go?” You’re asking with a quirked brow, slightly leaned over the console to take in all the numerous meters on his side of the seat.

The heat of your proximity makes Choso bite back a gasp- “Trying to find out?”

There’s something in his words - his tone.

“What if I am?”

“I-I’d advise you against it.” He’s answering easily, the thickness of his thumb toying with the gear shift in dizzying circles. “Don’t you know what everyone in this town says about me?”

“They say a lot of things-”

“The loudest being that you should stay away.” Long, dark locks fall over his features as he nods, pulling to a stop at a barren red light. Darkness inking beyond his headlights, as if the only living beings on Earth right now were you, him–

“You know, I don’t care what they say if I don’t truly know you.”

“Let’s- let’s just drive slow, get you home safe and you can forget about m-”

VRRRR—!

And the assholes that had pulled up to the side of Choso’s car.

Gesturing him to lower his window, the boisterous voices from the neighboring vehicle hit you instantly. “Oi- nice car!” And before Choso can seemingly thank them, they’re revving up the engine of their own. “Would hate to embarrass ya in front of your girl, though.”

“She’s not my-”

“Why doesn’t she come with us?” One of their troupe of men lean out of the window, “We can show her a real fast car.”

You grimace, taking a glance at the still-red light. “Ew.”

“Oi-”

Your savior turns up the engine of his Mustang, cutting off the other man cleanly - and just a peek his way shows you his darkened eyes. Eyes hooded, face bathed in red from the traffic stop. Tone hard enough that you’re wondering whether this was the same man from just a few minutes ago. “Those are fighting words.”

Orange now.

A sleazy cackle rings out, “That so?”

“You’re asking me?”

“No, I’m asking your gir-”

Green.

You’re instantly sunken deeply into the cushion of your seat as Choso speeds off- tailed closely by the Mercedes of your unwelcome guest. So fast that your surroundings are a blur, so hard that you can barely even move your mouth-

“A- a race?” You’re managing out.

“And we’re gonna win.”

Speeding; and you have a slight feeling that Choso was barely even trying as he’s looking over at the rearview mirror to watch the flashing headlights of his opponents.

Muttering underneath his breath, he shifts his gear with a clack to burst in speed- “Fucking imbeciles.” And if you thought his car was loud before, then you weren’t ready for him to smash the Sports Mode on his touchscreen and make the engine keen deafeningly.

“Hold on tight, my girl.”

Clack!

“Shit, a fucking Mercedes, huh?”

Clack!

Another gear shift, and you’re seeing the trees of the landscape mix into one great splash of mere green. Choso flicks his eyes over in the side mirror only once- before the entire car swerves to the right to block off the Mercedes. “Fucking imbeciles.”

“Ch-Choso.” You’re gasping out, holding onto your seatbelt for dear life. Fuck- you think you’re seeing the line on his speedometer jerk upright as he steps harder on the gas pedal.

“Yeees–?”

Your finger trembles - whether from fear or adrenaline, you have no idea - when you’re reaching it somewhere past the windshield. Eyes nearly bulging out of your skull once you take in the familiar road, “There’s a bend coming around. Hard.”

“Perfect.”

Clack!

You’re hitting the large dip in the road before you know it- thrown in so hard against the left side of the Ford Mustang that you claw onto Choso’s arm. Reached right over the console to grab onto his flexed biceps, “Heh.” He looks down at you through lowered lashes for a second, “Told you to hold on tight.”

Gaping speechlessly, you dig your nails against his pale skin and watch as he bites down on his lower lip.

Fingers tilting down the rearview mirror, “And now, for those bastards.”

Bracing yourself, you manage to garner up enough strength in your body to raise your front off of him - only mildly mortified about being thrown around like a ragdoll by his driving. Taking a quick glance behind, “Oh, they slowed down for the bend.”

“Mhm, told you we’d win.” Choso grins, easily flicking off the Sports Mode for an easier regular one. You’re cruising smoothly down the velvety road, Mercedes long out of sight and out of mind. “You’re like my good luck charm- that means I better get you home safe n’ sound now..”

And that’s exactly what he does.

No more races, no more assholes on supercars - you’re turning into the suburban street of your tidy neighborhood without another hitch.

Well, if you don’t count the rumbling engine that was sure to disturb all the neighbors, that is.

But strangely enough, you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as much as you should. Not even when he’s slowing down by the familiar driveway to your house, not even as you watch the lights inside flick on at the noise.

Dwindling into a low purr by the time that Choso stops- “A-about before- I am so sorry about that, I don’t know why I let them get to me and-” He’s running a hand down his pretty features, “-and I promised myself I’d be good for you but-”

“Are you kidding me?” You breathe.

“I’m sorry.”

“That was-” He winces, waiting for your outburst. “-amazing?”

Choso’s fawny eyes widen, “What?”

“That was the most alive I’ve felt in ages.” You’re starting, “I mean- sure, I wanted to throw up a little but I promise once the nausea stopped it was really fun. And did you see the look on their faces- pffft, those assholes deserved it. Fucking- Mercedes.” Against all judgment, you’re gripping onto his broad shoulders just to shake with emphasis. “I didn’t even know you could drive like that- have you ever considered real racing? Fuck, I wonder if you could go even faster with this beauty.”

Now it was his turn to be awestruck. Soundless. And suddenly you’re understanding just how self-conscious he must’ve been back at the campus.

“Hello?”

“…”

“I mean…oh, what am I even saying.” You couldn’t grab your bag fast enough, hastily opening the door. “Thank you for the ride!”

You make three steps to your front porch - exactly three for Choso to snap out of his little reverie and chase right after you.

Long legs striding up, one of his matching exactly two or more of yours- a large hand catching your wrist, soft breath striking your face once he pulls you back. “Wait.”

Pants desperate, voice pleading.

You’re staring up at him so close that you could count each of his glinting metal piercings - those two sensual snakebites on his lower lip, one on his left eyebrow, several dangling upon both ears. And you swear you see one wink out from the tip of his pink tongue as he’s opening and closing his mouth.

“Do you-”

“I hope-”

You both speak at the same time, huffing out in slight amusement. You gesture for him to go, and he insists, “Ladies first.”

“Fine.” You’re letting him have his way, and the defeat is not nearly as bitter as how sweet it was watching Choso beam down at you from his height. “I just ah- hoped I didn’t weird you out or anyth-”

“Never.”

He says it so seriously that you almost find yourself taking a step back- almost, because he still had his warm fingers curled softly around your wrist. As if he’d noticed your flighty demeanor, Choso drags you a few steps back with him, leaning against the side of his supercar. “Actually- would you like to go to a…thing-”

“A thing?”

“A place-”

“A shady place?”

“Yes-” Seeing the look in your gaze, “-but no! It’s just a race- a big one.” And fuck- he was finding it difficult to hold the line of your sight, ears scorching redder and redder every second you bored up at him. “And I want you there- if you would like to come, as my…” Choso winces, like he was despising each word spilling from his mouth. “-good luck…charm.”

You grin, “Is that a date?”

He squeaks- “If- if you want it to be.”

“Hmm.” Pretending to think for a second, you’re only deciding to let Choso off the hook after you watch as he genuinely, physically sweats a trickle of perspiration down his temple waiting for your answer. “It’ll be a date-” He gasps. “-if - and only if - you win first place.”

The grin you’re gifted with is devastating - and Choso Kamo doesn’t stutter a single syllable as he quirks a brow. As he leans in. As he bends down just enough that his deep, drawling words tickle your ear, “Oh, you’re gonna watch me win, baby.”

Oh.

And you’re still thinking of them even as you manage to waddle your feet back up to your house after exchanging numbers. Predictably, being met with a lecture from your parents and yet not registering a single word.

That is, not until-

“-and wasn’t it that boy?”

Snapping up at their disapproving tone, “Who? That was Choso, he gave me a ride when there was no one else on-”

“You should stay away, you know what they say.” Wagging a finger reproachfully, “How many times have we told you to stay away from brutes like that? And you just had to go and get fondled by the exact same one the entire town’s been talking about- and don’t lie to me, we saw you through the window.”

“Then you’d have seen that we were doing nothing.” You’re gripping onto your bag hard enough to tear, heart thumping with anger where it was once excitement.

“That was not ‘nothing’, girl. I thought we raised you better than that.”

“But-”

“All the loud cars and the tattoos. Mark my word he’ll end up-”

Mumbling, “He was actually really sweet…”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ll ruin your life.”

“I barely have one.”

With a long-weary sigh, you block out the rest of the screeching to head for your bedroom - the same ol’ innocent bedroom you’d had since you were a child. Throwing yourself over your bed, you scroll through the listings of studios in your university area, as you often did.

Except this time, you dare to bookmark one. Just one.

It was hard not to know when Choso Kamo stared.

Because Choso never stared, he never tore his eyes away from the glossy pages of his motorsports magazine, even during lectures. And you always did wonder how he managed to top the scores of each exam despite that.

Except for now.

Right now, you’re feeling the burning sensation of two dark peripherals on the back of your head - immediately making you swivel your own gaze behind you.

Lo and behold, there he was - pen tapping on the side of his plush, rosy lips, brows furrowed as if you were the toughest of calculations he just couldn’t figure out. But the moment your pupils meet his, Choso only grins.

Mouthing, ‘Tonight.’

Your veins bubble when you notice more than one pair of eyes from the lecture hall on the two of you, and the implication of something happening ‘tonight’ wasn’t lost on your little audience.

But you nod anyway, a reminder of what the two of you had been texting back n’ forth for days now. ‘Tonight.’

“What’s happening tonight and why are you eye-fucking Choso Kamo?” Shoko’s whisper infiltrates your little bubble - and many other nearby bubbles, if the way that a few students titter was anything to go by.

“Shoko.” You elbow her side.

“No no, I want to know too.” Utahime pipes up, “Have you learned nothing from the two-bit bad boys in those shitty Netflix movies we watch?”

“He’s not just a two-bit bad boy, he also has a car.” Shoko’s adding on, “And I heard my neighbor’s friend’s aunt’s cousin say that he’s an F1 hopeful-”

The other gasps, “Is it the athlete’s salary tempting you, my dear? Y’know, I’m old money-”

Groaning, “It’s not like that.”

Shoko’s glancing between the two of you - Choso back at his books now that there wasn’t anything more worthy of his attention. You were looking away, after all. She balances a pen on her upper lip in thought, “When did that even happen, though?”

After a few seconds of trying to hide in your hands wasn’t working - in fact, it only made Professor Gakuganji throw more and more increasingly disgruntled glares your way - you sigh. “Well…you two remember last week when I stayed late at the labs? And I said someone was kind enough to give me a lift?” At two matching nods, “It was…”

“Him.”

“Him.” Utahime shakes you by your shoulders, “He didn’t do anything weird, did he, my dear? Oh, do I need to kill-”

“Not at all—” You wave them off, deciding to tell them about the impromptu race later today - preferably at an open space where it would be more acceptable for Utahime to scream bloody murder. “He was actually sweet and…”

Utahime and Shoko gawk at you with wide eyes, and the shorter-haired of the two speaks. “…and?”

“And a bit…cute.”

The pen clatters to down, down, down to the floor.

Already interrupting the class enough, you decide to simply rip the bandage off in one go- “And we may or may not have planned a date for tonight.”

It turns out that you’d very unfortunately overestimated Utahime’s ability to control her scream in a closed educational environment.

It was electric.

You felt electric.

Choso leans over his seat to indulge in your personal space, and you’re sure you’d be melting if it wasn’t for the way that both your eyes were locked on one noisy opponent - that Mercedes.

Engine revving right beside the Ford Mustang, sour faces peeking through the window with a thirst for revenge - who’d have thought that your lil’ enemy from the street competition would wind up being your opponents in an actual street race?

Honestly, tonight you’d let Choso drive you deep into a dingy corner of the town you didn’t even know existed in all your years living here.

You doubted that anyone knew of this secretive scene.

Filled to the brim with as many supercars as your lonely roads could hold- hell, Choso had told you that some participants drove from multiple cities away solely for these races. They were lining every inch of tarmac like glitzy streetlights made to overpower, the type to have given half your town an aneurysm just to think about.

“It’s why I ended up here for my exchange program, y’know?” He was whispering in your ear, voice low in a way it was just for you. “The racing, the cars, the practice. I wanted it all before I went big.”

Dark eyes flickering briefly to you, “Didn’t think I’d find something else worth winning, too.”

Your breath hitched, you didn’t know what else to say to that. And Choso didn’t elaborate- instead informing you on the make and model of the cars that would be going up against him this time.

And the roaring cheers grow deafening by the time a woman in a glittering outfit waltzes over to the middle of the track, a handkerchief held carefully in hand. Her cheery voice chimes out. “Alriiight, I want a nice, clean race around town- not. You know the drill- all racers on go by the time the cloth drops. Ready—?”

Teasing the little fabric around, you can pick out a few stray shouts surrounding the car- “Choso? That’s Choso Kamo? No way he seriously brought his gal- the man doesn’t even know how to smile-”

“They say it’s his last official race before he goes pro- better show off then, eh?”

“Move move I can’t see- Oh my god it’s really him, shit, he has a girl, too. You think they’ll win?”

As you’re nervously toying with your fingers, you jolt at the sudden feeling of ice-cold rings sliding around your throat. One hand of Choso’s on the wheel, the other putting slight pressure on your neck to make you gasp. “Don’t you worry, baby. We’re gonna win this.”

“Set—!”

“Because of the date?” You watch from the corner of your eye as she’s waving the handkerchief ‘round like a chequered flag, raising it up, up, up—

“Because I have my lucky charm with me.”

“Go–!”

“Oh sh-shit.” A shrill whimper tears out from your throat the very second that Choso’s slimy tongue hits your inner thighs.

He’s just so long - so dexterous that the pinkish tip of him curls inwardly along your sodden panties. Lavishing the swollen folds of your pussy with a few kittenish licks, you feel yourself buck in need at the slight graze of his tongue piercing. “Fuuuck, Choso, you’re not even gonna take my p-panties off?”

“Haaa—” His scalding hot breath gusts out in a sticky pant, and you can only watch as his lips purse to spit straight down your slippery slit.

A fat glob of saliva that he’s smearing with the front end of his thumb, snickering. “No.”

And then Choso’s pursuing the quivering lips of your pussy like he’s a man starved - ravenous. Fuck, you didn’t even know how you got here.

It was a given that he would win that street race, coming in first among all the cars with an almost ridiculous lead. But it was only when Choso had kept driving - not even stopping to collect his cash prize - that you’d started to question what he had in mind…

And there you were- sprawled out across the back of his Ford Mustang and smearing the expensive seats with your sheeny slick.

He’d driven you to the edge of some romantic viewpoint, a place to watch the twinkling stars above - but right now, Choso was drinking in a much better view.

“Oh-” The edge of his sharp jawline strikes your cunt, “Oh.” And no matter how close he was, he wanted more - he needed to see your pretty pussy all up close n’ personal.

Using the knobbly edge of his thumb to pull your folds apart with a sluuuurp, Choso’s mouth just waters seeing you drip ‘round your stringy panties. “Congratulations to me.” He’s drawling, syllables shaky. “She’s better than any grand prize, my baby.”

“You’re just so filthy—” You’re whining, hips rutting off of the cushioned seats while he’s making out with your pussy through your panties.

Slap after slap of his mouth plastering to every inch of your hot core.

It’s as if he was just trying to make you even messier, with each side of those rosy pink lips drooling against your pussy. “Mmm, tell me something I don’t already know, baby.”

Slickly rovering his tongue up n’ down the line of your slit- you feel Choso hone his wet muscle until he’s aligned precisely towards your sloppy hole. Pushin’ against the barrier of your underwear like he’s attempting to thrust his way in, “Stop teasing me, Choso–”

“Teasing? Who’s teasing?”

Another push of his tongue against the cloth of your drenched panties and you shriek, just barely feeling the pressure of his mouth drag against where you really needed him the most. “Then eat me out properly-”

Mockingly confused, your pupils sprint all the way to the back of your throat as you’re feeling him murmur straight into your cunt. “M’not teasing, I just can’t see-”

“S-see?”

Looking down so fast that your chin knocks against your chest, in the dim street lighting you can make out the long mess of Choso’s hair. The way his unruly bangs were gluing to his forehead, half-obscuring his darkened gaze.

“Mmm, m’just doing what I can—” He playfully hums, so close that he was practically nose-deep n’ yet still refusing to make out with your pussy past your panties. “Oh, if only I had my pretty girl to pull my- oh, fuck.”

Choso doesn’t get to finish his damn sentence before you’re giving him exactly what he asked for.

“Is this enough?”

Your trembly hands plunged into his clammy scalp, tugging on his silky hair- enough for you to admire his pretty, flushed face. All twisted into a mean smirk, “O-oh, now I can see.” There’s something unsteady in his words, as if he was on the very verge of shattering. “Now just tell me where you want m-mmpf-”

Then you’re shoving his face between your legs and Choso moans.

Mouth slacked all the way ajar- lengthy tongue coming out to simply flick aside your ruined panties. “F-fuck.” Choso’s wastin’ absolutely no time prodding at your clenched hole and squeeze-squeeze-squeezing inside. “Lemme see her. Lemme taste her- my pretty baby.”

Rutting the front of his hips into the backseat, he clings two large hands upon each side of your hips to haul your pussy deeper against his mouth.

Primal tongue slobbering everywhere, he’s gluing his textured tastebuds to the roof of your entrance and watches as you squirm oh-so-cutely. Pushing n’ pushing until he feels the first pressure of resistance from your cunt, “Ngh- Choso, dunno if it’ll- fit-”

“But you’re a goood girl- aren’t ya, baby?” Reeling back with a dewy plop! to prod his tongue into each of your nooks. “So aren’t ya gonna take my tongue like hah- a good girl?”

Your hand claws to clamp your mouth shut as you feel him stick his mouth against your entrance and start to bully inside once more. “I- I don’t-”

“Ah ah, none of that.” Only to have one set of his slender fingers tug down your shaky hand, hearing your pretty whines like his favorite song.

Fuck, Choso can only let you buck wildly once he’s rubbin’ his tongue piercing along your clit. “You’re gonna be loud-” His tongue was just unfairly flexible, twisting around until the metallic orb near the middle hits down your nub with a splat! “Yeah- exactly like that, pretty baby.” He could barely even speak through each pressurized push, “Gonna let this, mmm, entiiiire fuckin’ town hear. And then-”

And then he’s throwing your boneless limbs over his broad shoulders, ankles locking on instinct ‘round the back of Choso’s neck.

It’s the change in angle that has you gasping, holding onto the cushions surrounding you for dear life when that only makes his mouth roam deeper- “-th-then you’re gonna fucking take all of my- ngh- tongue.”

Muffled, each syllable leaves your pussy all raw n’ sensitive.

Splashing out oodles of syrupy sweet sap each time the tip of Choso’s taste buds scrape the inside of your cunt. Stretchin’ out your poor hole to the maximum until you’re mewling at the sting.

Constricting widely, he’s shovelling your walls apart until you’re memorizing the exact feeling of his tongue. Pump after pump.

He wasn’t just hungry - it’s like he hadn’t eaten for eons with the way that Choso was grinding and grinding his face between your face. Each gyration of his tongue rendering you speechless, licking all over your sweetest spots until not an inch was left undiscovered by him.

You feel the glossy points of his snakebites stick against the base of your outer pussy and gasp.

“And then my cock next.”

“Oh- oh my god- ngh-” You babble away- was it possible to bottom out on a tongue? Because the curvy tip of his tongue was reaching all the way near your g-spot and you couldn’t help but sob.

Hands trekking down on instant to-

SMACK!

Your fingers twitch where Choso had swatted your hand away, crushing it within one of his. “But Choso-”

“And who said you could play with my prize?” He tilts his head, dark eyes narrowed in a way that looked almost dangerous. Plump lips twitching with a sleazy grin, “S’my pussy, baby.”

Before you know it, he’s guiding your guilty hand down to meet his maw. Slick-sheened fingertips finding their way just between his lips- oh, he was greedy for your sweet, sweet juices. He wasn’t about to let you have a single drop.

Sucklin’ on them like his favorite flavored lolly, Choso stares right into your eyes once he replaces what you wanted with his own fingers.

A drive-roughened index smearing open the edges of your pussy, “D’you know that?”

You’re shuttering your eyes in need, “Oh my god your fingers-”

Pressing just inside your hole, “Do you know that?” You can only let out a few more mindless wails in response, and he’s slipping a second finger against the roof of your core. “Need you to answer me if you want-”

“Yes- yes.” You claw against his strong wrist so hard that you’re leaving marks. Doing anything - everything to get him to go deeper, to sloppily fill you up from the inside with his fingertips. “Oh…mmm, please, Choso.”

“And don’t you forget it.” You’re being treated like a lil’ plaything - one thumb flicking your clit, two more scouring inside your glossy walls. “I’m taking my prize tonight.”

There’s a lecherous, resounding plop! as he manages to fully sink in the two prolonged fingers all the way till his knuckles hit the slope of your pussy. The curvaceous edge of Choso’s index easily mazing past to locate your throbbing g-spot, “Oh fuck- so deep- ngh, so…”

Only letting off once your own fingerpads are licked all clean of your slick, he hastily pushes his face back into your treacly cunt. “That’s it, thaaaat’s it. Fuck up into m-me- into my face.”

And he had you have you on his flushed face - Choso needed you on his face.

Right then and right now, it’s like he’s fighting against himself for a mere piece of your pussy. Like the sweetest dessert in the world, he laps up every slimy ounce of leaky slick- wide tongue draaagging in circles ‘round and ‘round your sensitive hole.

One that was being absolutely pummelled by his fingers, he’s filling up every slick orifice with the curve of his digits. Hooking them so they thrash right against your g-spot-

“This is how ya do it.” You swear you watch as the mountains of Choso’s knuckles turn red with the slamming impact of his pumps, “Look at her- mm, just look. Now this is a winning celebration, huh?”

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck-” Your pupils are speeding in stupid circles within the whites of your eyes, hands twitching on his brown locks. The metal of his snakebites snag against the sensitive part of your folds and your legs shake, “It just feels too good- hck!”

Dragging down his handsome face harder against your pussy- and the manhandling force makes him rut. Crushing the rock-hard outline of his bulge against the carseat, “Too good, huh?”

And then the unthinkable happens - Choso dares to pull his long, hammering fingers out of your pussy.

Instantly latching his pearly white canines onto your clit to bite so you can’t get out a single complaint- he’s forcing you to be patient as he reaches for something in the back pocket of his trousers. “Don’t you move now.” As you’re starting to push away from his shoulders at the sheer fucking stimulation making you see stars. “Don’t you fucking move.”

He’s serious about not letting you escape- one hand reaching behind his sweaty head. He grips both your ankles in one hand and locks them together, pinning them firmly together, dragging you to him.

“Excuse me for this, baby, I can’t take my hah- reward otherwise.”

In a split-second, his fingers are back to bullying between your puffy pussylips- but they weren’t the only thing pryin’ apart your bubblegum walls.

Oh.

With a gasp, you’re lurching your dazed head up as much as possible - watching in real time when Choso’s now-ringed fingers disappear between your folds.

Chunky, cold metal rings scraping your innards carnally, you feel him press a particularly textured one against the area of your nerves and see white- “Oh- oh my god, mmm—” Reaching for the very back of your core, he’s scissoring your cunt open to reach for your g-spot with a dull thud!

Pushing into each softened spot.

Your throat’s clogging with saliva again and again as he’s thrusting in n’ out, in n’ out, in and- “I don’t think I’ll last.”

Fuck, that makes him push his raging erection against the cushion and groan.

“Then cum on my face.” Choso states simply, pressing a sweet lil’ kiss on your clit. Your quivering entrance splatters out a few speckles of glittery slick that latch onto his chin, “Cum on my mouth.”

Sticking his long tongue out, you can see the dot of his piercing glimmer in the dim lighting. Rovering down to swirl on your clit, he’s driving you wild with precise, prodding rolls right over your overstimulated nub.

It was a dual stimulation - and you should’ve guessed from all the expert driving, but he was damn near taking you to heaven with all the multi-tasking.

Clawing at your every gooey spot, the splotchy stains of your sap cling onto his lips like a gleaming medal. Every swirl of his greedy tongue on your clit making your back arch so cutely into his touch.

The flesh of Choso’s bottom lip teasingly juts out to tickle his snakebites along your slope, “Cum alllll over my tongue, baby.”

At this point you don’t know what to ogle - the vicious lashings of his mouth, or the way he just looked so pretty doing it.

Stray strands of his bangs falling over his forehead, ears burnt rouge, biceps flexing as he fights off the thrashing of your legs to keep you in one place.

“Oh- oh, fuck-”

“Yeah-” Your eardrums flood with the rickety sound of friction on his decadent carseat, and only then do you realize that Choso was humping it. Fucking you with his mouth the way he wished he could with his swollen cock right now. “Yeah yeah yeah- exactly.”

Honey-brown eyes locked right into the target of your own as he bucks n’ bucks his face deeper into your sloppy pussy. Wrist aching, mouth panting, but he couldn’t fucking stop.

You’re feeling him directly smash in a repeated one-two against your g-spot and choke- “I-I think m’gonna…” Trailing off, each n’ every word slurs together into one long call-out of his name. Thighs twitching as if you were electrocuted, “Oh, mmm- m’cumming, Cho-”

The only thing you can manage through your wobbly lips before throwing your head back and cumming.

Rushing into your orgasm so hard that it makes your ears pop! “I…I can’t believe I- fuck!” Your lashes flutter at the way he kept his probin’ fingers jackhammering through your high, blinking back tears. “Y-you’re only making it even ngh- better.”

Plap! Plap! Plap! The rugged joints of his knuckles nearly rub raw at the impact against your pussy’s slope, scouring against your poor battered g-spot.

Your hands were on his ready head, holding on to grind on those pretty features in sloppy drags. Zaps of your pleasure bursting at the feeling of his piercings on your flesh, “You really are filthy.”

And Choso was more than happy to have his mouth be used, have the tip of his nose be ridden.

“That’s it-” Eyes twinkling watching your cute lil’ hole spray him with flecks of slick, each peak of your high making you clamp down.

He’s slithering his tongue just vertically down your treacly cunt to try n’ bully it greedily inside. Swabbing with the metal of his tongue piercing, and you think you see white. Head throwing back at the sheerly raw stretchhh—

Yearning to feel the way your goopy innards squeezed ‘round his muscle once more, “Tha’s it- oh, baby, clench like that and m’gonna cu- fuck.”

Too late.

Too late; Choso was already feeling your snug, dripping insides melt around his tastebuds and he was already creaming his pants. A dark, dark stain forming where his leaky orifice kept wadding out seed- the man takes a glance down and tuts.

“S’all your fucking fault, y’know?”

“M-mine?” And by now your wave of euphoria was nothing but a few tingles here and there- so Choso’s lifting himself out from between your trembly legs. Albeit with a sloppy last French kiss on your sopping pussy. Two.

Three.

Four- fuck, you had to be the one to wrench Choso away by the base of his perspired bangs. Leaving a few jet-black stains of his eyeliner smeared between your legs.

Forcing him to stop pussydrunkenly chasing the taste of your cunt, “Yes, fucking look at me.” He sounds gone. “M’addicted and it’s all y-your fault, baby.”

And he was dripping wet from his twitchy girth, so much so that his trousers stick to the upper half of his thighs like a second skin. Choso’s peeling his ruined pants and boxers off and oh-

“Fuck.” You’re gasping, in a daze. Eyes never leaving the hot, pinkish length that he’d just freed, “You’re so…”

Big.

Huge.

Staggering.

Damn near nine or ten inches, and so pretty, too.

The cutest lil’ shade of pink on his globular tip, glistening with cum n’ covered with a few sparse veins that led to his happy trail. More than rock-hard, it looked painful. And was that- oh, fuck.

He had a fucking Prince Albert’s piercing - right there, dotted on the line of his sensitive slit. Choso slaps down his heavy cock between your legs and watches as you squirm at the feeling of him slipping n’ sliding between your folds.

From your distance leaned against the end of the backseat, you’re measuring him up. Eyeing the girth of him, fuck, he was fat enough that your legs squeeze-

“Now now-” Hastily, he unsticks your clammy thighs and flips you over onto your front. Leaning his weight down on your back to keep your restless body pinned, “-none of that.” Tonality breathy, octaves higher. “None of that none of that- oh, you’re not getting off easy tonight, pretty baby.”

Somewhere along the line of you ogling his impressive length, Choso had taken off his rugged band t-shirt. And fuck- you didn’t know which view was better.

Because he was naturally ripped - all lean abs and pecs that jiggled once he’s leaning down. Your mouth waters when you take in the piercings going through his rosy nipples, the draconic tattoos going down his neck.

You’re craning your head, now on all fours. “I-I could’ve guessed.” Sheepishly, as he’s aligning his thick, throbbing cockhead against your entrance.

Choso pulls back on your tattered panties with a snap! “We’re gonna give this entire town something to hah- talk about.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Because the moment you feel his reddish crown bulge between your folds- you almost bawl. The utter primal stretch so much that he’s clawing onto your hips to keep you still.

“Come on.” Choso spits into your open mouth, one of his free hands pressing up on your tummy - hard - just to feel that sensation of his large outline spearing through your walls. “Come on come on-”

“Fuck- fuck, Choso, you’re in s-so deep-”

“Here’s the finish line.” You hear him titter from above you, index paintin’ an invisible line somewhere about halfway down your stomach. Right where his target of your womb was.

And before you can get out a single word, he rears his hips closer and makes you see stars. Closer. Deeper. The curvy weight of his tip bullies between your first ring of muscle, so thick that you can barely even clench. “First, m’here-”

You gasp, “Wh-what-”

“The- the starting line-” He’s hissing out, deliciously rutting a meager inch back n’ forth just to make you feel the way your entrance was gaped to the max. “Now I’m…”

With a hand pressed down to feel your cute tummy bulge, Choso’s fat cock slips further down your walls. Easing in after such a raw, primal squeeelch-

“-here.”

“Oh- my god- I can’t believe-” You whimper, nails clawing at the faux leather for all he was putting you through. Just a few more solid inches, a few more visceral bucks of his hips and you’re babbling stupidly. “Are you ngh- are you there yet? Are you even halfway?”

“Mmm, not quite.” Choso twists out a grin.

Free hand snaking between your legs to lap up a few ounces of your sappy slick, mixing with his cum from before. It’s such a filthy concoction, and it’s exactly what’s being used to draw a line right over your tummy.

“M’here and then-” Another rut, another line - higher upwards this time. The fat, aching length of his cock was slickly mazing between your walls and making your head spin. Tapping that lil’ spot with his pointer, “…h-here.”

Until you could feel every pulse, every vein.

Choso Kamo didn’t even have to try to fill your poor channel up, his vein-decorated shaft poking into every tiny crevice and cranny. Until you felt like you were being molded to his very size.

“And- and then-” Even he wasn’t immune to the completely carnal feeling- your cunt was just too hot, too soft. He’s pokin’ his pointed tip into one of your tender spots and throwing his head back at the way it makes your glossy walls tighten. “-finally-” Rutting. Half-thrusts. “-here.”

Hitting your cervix dead-on, right with his pierced part.

“H-heh…the grand prize.”

Shit, all this effort putting up a cool front and that very first thrust shatters Choso.

It makes him gasp, it makes him stutter- groaning out your name in a gravelly tone like a mantra.

“Fuck- the…grand- oh.” He’s babbling away his own joke, planting yet another thorough slam all the way to the back of your pussy. Hard enough that the vehicle quakes.

Strawberry-pink tip swelling up just a bit more at the impact. Sheathed until those curly dark hairs at his base, and Choso chuckles like he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. “Your cervix- I hit it- got s-second place, too.”

Second place…?

You blearily blink your eyes, saliva flooding at the pure stretch. “Are you-”

Pap–!

“And third-” In a sultry split-second, you’re being pulled back by one of Choso’s beefy biceps - in a fucking headlock. His pierced lips kissing the side of your face, “Got third, too, baby- are you p-proud of me?”

Your hands fist in his silken hair- “Yes- Yes yes yes- ngh, it just feels too good, Cho.”

There’s a sudden slurp, and suddenly the two of you are snapping your heads back down to watch how your stimulated pussy grows even wetter. Spraying out syrupy slick with each of his furious pumps, every slam leaves his meaty thighs stuck to the backs of yours like adhesive.

A roughened thumb slithers down to spread your pussylips. “O-oh.” Just so that he can watch his achingly hard cock disappear from your winking hole. Studded piercing dipping in and out in and out in and out- “We’re gonna break this damn car, baby— Just like this hah- pretty pussy is breaking me.”

Headlock tightening, backseats creaking. “Ch-Cho, are you-” Another smash against the spongy layer of your cervix and he swears.

You’re peering into the tinted window of his Mustang and seeing the full effect of your sweet, candied pussy on him.

Head hunched, back muscles tense.

It’s like he was breaking - bit by bit with every swab of his cocktip against your deepest innards. The rounded globe of his orifice probes into the door to your womb and you find yourself drooling. “Choso, are you even ngh- okay?”

Choso’s long lashes bat, eyeliner smudging ‘round sexily, “No. Fuck.” Sizzling tastebuds lolling out to lick the salted tears streaming down your face. “Fuck- fuck, how could I ever be okay?”

You’re feeling his abs plaster against your spine, usin’ the weight to angle his roaming length even deeper. “A pussy as sweet as you- ohhhh.” Grunts departing into your ear following each rut after rut- “M’n-never going to be okay.”

Choso’s puffy veins drag against your g-spot and you whine. “H-harder.”

“Harder?” Something that sounds like a pussydrunk giggle escapes him, eyes wide. Feral. “Can you even handle harder, my girl?”

Huffing, the first thing you’re thinking to respond with is a sloppy nod. Your neck is barely even capable of keeping your heavy head upright by now, “Faster, too.”

Oh.

You were fucked.

Because when you said ‘fast’, you didn’t think that he would act this rapidly. Taking barely a second - no, a nanosecond - to plunge his angrily hard dick out n’ flip your limp body over.

From the filthiest doggy position to having your legs ‘round his slender waist, his cock ebbing deep inside once more. The new angle easily lets his weepy girth map your walls, mazin’ inside like a searchlight.

Reaching your aching g-spot easily- “Hold on tight, my girl.”

And then he’s fucking your dizzy brain thoughtless.

Until the firm, steady frame of his supercar was shaking from side-to-side.

Plump, raging cock stuffin’ right between your folds to poke against the top of your cervix. Again and again. Thump after thump.

His piercing is so cold that it makes you shiver. And Choso takes extra care to make sure that his winding veins find a way to precisely scrape your most treasured spots.

One hand holding onto the right side of your face, gently brushing against the top of your cheekbone. “It feels so hah- good, oh.” The other toying with your pretty lil’ clit, “So good it’s driving me- fuck, crazy.”

Drawing out the cutest hearts with his thumb on your nub, Choso was just so gone that you swear his pupils were starting to turn heart-shaped, too.

Especially once he catches two of your hands snaking down the sweaty line of his chest- stopping right where the curve of his pecs were. Without a second thought, you’re fingering the sensitive area of his nipple piercings.

Choso arches, he shivers. “Heh, you’re fucking dangerous, baby.” Drilling cock overspilling your insides with a few sticky wads of precum as you tug on one of them.

You whine when he’s withdrawing the loving hand from your cheek to swab the cavern of your mouth. “That’s what they said about- ngh- you.”

“Mmm—” He lolls his head pussydrunkenly, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You’re sure that Choso’s leaving a few bites and smears of eyeliner for you to worry about later. Each word punctured with a thrash of his rotund tip, “Well, they don’t know me yet.”

“A-and I do?”

“Well…” And that makes the sinful man grin.

It makes him unload the hand from your ajar maw - removing it with a few stringy ribbons of spit. And it’s exactly that moisture that Choso’s using to write out your damn name on his left pec, right above his heart.

“You-” Your voice clogs up in your throat- because he wasn’t done. Far from it.

Because soon enough, the ringed fingerpads simply teasin’ your clit start to repeat in a pattern. A swoopy few movements that you’re realizing is his name.

C-H-O-S-O-K-A-M-O

Yours on his heart, his on your cunt.

Spelled out expertly on the buttony top of your clit, you’re seeing stars after each quick movement. The sharp turns n’ swoops of his name being branded onto you was almost too much to handle.

Which was exactly what he was looking for- and the tips of Choso’s plush lips twitch at the sight of you slowly edging towards your high. “Yeahhh, you fuckin’ do. Know me better than hah- anyone else here, my pretty baby.”

Throat breaking out in a sob, “I-I’m so close-” Pulling on his hair, thrashing up your hips. “Not gonna hngh- last too long, Cho—”

“Oh, yeah? Say my name like that- say my name.”

But you can’t say anything, really - because in a singular, fluid motion, Choso has your legs perched on his flexing shoulders. Your capped knees pressing down until they hit your tits- the realization smites you and you gasp.

“A-a mating press?”

“Whaaaat–?” Drawling out through a drunken hiccup, he gifts you three strikes with his Prince Albert’s on your g-spot. Thud-thud-thud. “Wanna see your gorgeous fuckin’ ngh- face when you’re cumming on my cock.”

This angle was perfect for glissading a line of pre straight across your g-spot, unstopping until he’s hitting the back of your cervix with a rattling thud. Speeding his sloppy tempo up until the smacks of skin-on-skin were downright deafening.

Ears ringing with the sappy squelches reeled out of you after every second of his rough cadence. With the way the car was shifting- “You’re just so- so filthy.”

“Mmm, only for you, baby.” Comes out the ragged response, something near the tailend of his sentence cracking. And so is his restraint. His sanity. “A-Always for you, baby.”

He’s driving into you as if he was crazed; toned pelvis of his stinging red, temple trickling with sweat, the fat circumference of his crownhead was leaving absolutely no spot unturned. Thumb nearly a blur on your clit, it makes you arch to have him rewriting his name over n’ over n’ over.

Choso’s simply ruining you from the inside out, and you can feel your body twitching already in response.

Pants hoarse- gone. He finishes off yet another signature twist of your clit - C-H-O-S-O. “Anything for you, baby.”

And then you don’t know who’s first - it’s simply crashing into both of you at once.

A long, blissful wave of euphoria that leaves your vision all white n’ delirious. You’re just so full- being stuffed to the very brim of your dripping wet pussy with his cum. Creamy white ropes that glue to the start of your womb n’ end up being stirred about by his length.

The only thing you can even think to do is wrap your arms ‘round Choso’s neck and give him a lingering kiss.

Mind spinning, stomach twisting - it’s probably the hardest orgasm of your life.

Feeling him moan into your mouth through each clench of your high, “Better than I’ve ever fucking- ngh, imagined.”

Oh, it was just too cute to have him confessing like this as he’s fucking you through his high.

Pushing each knot of sinful cum even deeper- “You’re better than a ngh- dream.” It makes him sensitively whimper to feel you clamping down at his words. Webs of ivory syrup sploshing through your channel like a second skin. “You might just be- oh, my dream, my girl.”

There’s just so much of it.

So much that’s spilling out. Coating his bulky base in a slathered ring of white, neither you nor him can even think to care about the stained material of the seats.

Only plowing probe after probe of his blushin’ tip to probe into your favorite spots, Choso leaves your toes curling at the pleasure of having him draaaaag out your high with his veiny cock.

And it takes you a few seconds to register his whiny words- “You- you really mean that?”

“Y-yeah…” He’s breathing out, in awe. Flinching when your fingers start to caress the crimson tips of Choso’s ears, “Meant every fucking word.”

“And I do, too.” At his slightly puzzled expression, you’re chuckling. “Remember the first time we met? I told you I don’t care about hck! anything this lil’ town says.” It’s almost too intimate having you brush away his bangs from his gawking eyes, but you couldn’t think of anything more fitting. “N’ I still don’t give a single fuck what they have to say-”

“O-oh.”

Choso ends up cumming again - simply from hearing those words fall from your beautiful mouth.

Except, this time, it’s dry. Just a single pearly bead of sap bein’ withered out, he juts the throbbing crown of his cock up against the roof of your cunt.

Knees planting deeper upon either side of your hips to give you a thorough slide of his exhausted, pierced cock. He’s cumming out near sparks by the time he spits out- “Your- your parents are gonna kill me.”

“My parents are gonna kill me.”

“N-next time-”

You knew he’d just bared his feelings out for you, but you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at the mention of a ‘next time.’ “-m’fucking you in your bedroom, my girl-” The raspy tone of Choso’s breath makes you shiver, up close n’ personal. “-while your parents are home.”

“Did you hear- they say that Choso Kamo races F1 and he’s-”

“Forget the racing! Did you hear he’d apparently taken her out- yeah, her, after that race last night and…well, I hear there were numerous noise complaints at that cliffside viewpoint.”

“Oh, my aunt’s her neighbor and she said the house was in chaos the entire night after she came back. Couldn’t even walk apparently.”

“He was that good?”

“Good enough that she packed her bags and moved into a place of her own, apparently.”

“Aaaaand Verstappen holds the lead but Kamo’s close behind—” You never did get tired of the revving thunder of the cars, the booming voice of the Formula 1 commentator fighting to be heard above them.

You’re leaning against the wall of the VIP box with Utahime and Shoko - meant only for family and friends, stomach churning as it always did whenever it came to the last lap of Choso’s races.

“Oh- oh! You can see Kamo weaving behind, ohhh it’s a tight one, ladies, gentlemen, and every folk in-between.”

It was honestly still surreal to be here, of all places, after everything.

After how many told you that he’d break your heart, and here he was holding it with him through each lap like he’d fall apart without it.

As the distance closes - all power, pressure, and speed - you’re yelling his name at the top of your lungs despite the fact that he won’t hear. “Come on— Cho–!” Waving about the flag with his number and color as all his tens of thousands of fans did. “Not too long for the finish line–!”

The announcer bellows, “Ah, you’ve got Kamo’s girlfriend, one of our most beloved F1 WAGs, yelling as the finish line draws nearer- so close! So close! Will he make it?” As that chequered flag raises, his familiar car speeds. “Push now, boy!”

His engine roars - and so does the crowd, split-seconds later.

“And in the final corner, it’s Choso Kamo who seizes the chequered flag—! He wins the Italian Grand Prix! What a drive! What. A. Drive.”

Choso doesn’t give a single shit about the few victory laps, he doesn’t even wait for a final discussion with his pit team.

Zooming right past the finish line and further along the main straight. Right where it was most visible to you from your seat, he’s immediately punching on the gas pedal and swerving the absolute monster of his racecar.

Right then and there on the tracks.

Right into the shape of a…heart?

You’re giggling behind your hands as the commentator cackles– “A celebration for his eighth win this season, Kamo shows off his title- and his love!”

Surrounding you, you can hear the crows coo and cheer, you can already taste the fizzy champagne being popped. And in nearly no time, your boyfriend has pulled his car up to the parc fermé - running right through the outline of a heart he’d drawn in celebration.

Running right up the stands to you-

But not into your arms.

No, not at all.

Instead, Choso Kamo drops to one knee right before you.

The audience loses it- and you hear the booming loudspeakers squeak. “Wait- wait’s what’s happening in the VIP box?! Choso Kamo- it can’t be-”

And Utahime, without a single word, digs inside her purse and throws a small, velvety ring box over within the blink of an eye. One that Choso catches with ease. And oh, he just looked so pretty.

The same boy you met all those years ago - lengthy hair mussed up from his helmet, rosy lips quivering, face flushed.

“Is everyone in the pits watching? Is everyone at home watching? This is absolutely sensational! Choso Kamo has just seized the moment to propose to his long-time girlfriend, an incredible celebration of love we’re seeing here on the tracks today.”

So in love.

Choso whispers, “It would be a dream…if you would marry me, my girl?”

Tear-filled, you can only nod.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and every folk in-between — we have a winner—!”

A/N. The things I would do for him cannot even be spoken into existence.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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