#smooth and soft fabric to the touch

[woolsboutiqueuomo]

[osachiyo]

“HERE K!TTY-K!TTY—”

synopsis— not so innocent moments with your favorite cat boys <3

warnings— n/sfw content, fem!reader, HORNY cat boys, teasing, bondage, oral (m&f), thigh fucking, kinda feral xavier, collars, body worship, overstimulation, sub!rafayel, pet names & nicknames (master, kitty, cutie etc), praise, a lil degradation, very feral sylus & more! also there may be some grammar mistakes which i apologize for </3

note— my first time writing for these boys, hope I did ‘em justice! ik I’m astronomically late don’t clock me 😞

featuring— zayne, xavier, rafayel & sylus x fem!reader (separate)

�� now playing — kitty kat by megan the stallion ✰

✦ ZAYNE— feasting on his master

“There, there, kitty,” you smiled at Zayne’s serious expression, waving the cat toy in his face before pulling it away just as he reached for it.

“Feeling playful, are we?” he huffed, his voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he lunged to catch the bright, feathered toy again, but your quick reflexes kept it just out of reach. “Oh? Don’t you want to play with your master, cute kitty?” The corners of your mouth curled into a wide smirk as you settled comfortably onto the plush sofa behind you, the soft fabric cradling your form. In your playful distraction, one of your shoes tumbled gracefully to the wooden floor with a soft thud. You glanced up at the towering man, your eyes sparkling with mischief and challenge. “Well? Aren’t you going to help me put it back on?” you teased playfully.

Zayne sighed at your flirtatious little display before kneeling in front of you and picking your shoe up from the carpeted floor. You observed as he gently lifted your foot, his gloved hands gliding down the soft fabric of your stockings while you placed your foot on his thigh. A gasp nearly escaped his pink lips as you ran your foot up and down his clothed thigh, causing him to shiver at your touch.

He let out a soft scoff, a small frown gracing his face as he suddenly seized your foot, halting your playful dance. “Your shoe, master,” Zayne said, his gaze locking onto yours, those long lashes framing his eyes captivatingly with every blink. A thrill ran through you as you leaned in, your cheek resting against your palm, eyes sparkling. You nodded, a playful smile curving your lips, allowing him to slip the shoe back on your foot, your heart pulsing with a mix of anticipation and lust.

You didn't stop him as his hands suddenly traveled further, and further up your smooth legs, up your plump thighs — until they were playing with the hem of your tight little dress, making goosebumps appear on your soft skin. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore this, didn't you, master?” Zayne breathed out, licking his lips as he slowly spread your legs apart, lowly purring at the sight of the little patch of wetness staining your cotton panties.

“Hmm, did I?” A playful grin spread across your face as your hands reached out to gently pet and scratch at his soft, velvety ears. The delightful sensation made him release a soft moan from his slightly parted lips, his fingers instinctively tightening their grip on your thighs, anchoring himself closer to you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” Zayne murmured with a low, teasing tone, his breath warm against your skin. He lowered his face, allowing his cheek to rest on your lap, feeling the warmth radiate from your body. The intoxicating scent of your arousal filled his senses, and he could almost taste it—rich and sweet, making his mouth water with longing.

“Well?”

Your voice, soft yet teasing, drew his gaze upward to meet your captivating face, where a playful glint danced in your eyes. A mischievous smirk graced your lips as you leaned in slightly, the warmth of your presence electrifying the air between you. “Aren’t you going to dig in, kitty?” you purred, each word laced with an inviting promise.

And dig in he did — panties hurriedly being pushed to the side as he buried his face between your plush thighs, tongue circling your clit while two long fingers poked and prodded at your tight hole — eliciting little moans of pleasure from your plump lips. The pretty noises encouraged Zayne to wrap his lips around your little bundle of now nerves and sucking hard — causing one of your hands to tangle itself in his hair and tugging like your life depended on it.

That caused Zayne to groan loudly into your cunt, earning a sharp gasp from you as the sound reverberated through your body — biting down on your bottom lip to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he stuck his tongue in your cute hole; gooey walls clamping down on the muscle as he savored the tang of your sweet slick.

“F-fuuh— tastes s’good, master,” he moaned into your pussy, slurping on your juices as they poured down his chin like honey, successfully coating the lower half of his handsome face in your sticky arousal.

With your legs resting comfortably on his shoulders, you could feel the warmth of his skin against the backs of your thighs. Your shoes lay discarded on the floor, forgotten as your feet swung gently in the air, toes barely brushing against his back. The way he held you created a lovely curve in your spine, pulling you into a graceful arch as Zayne brought you closer to the edge of the sofa — his tongue sloppily fucking into your cunt.

“O-oh god, Zayne—!” you mewled, clenching your eyes shut as you felt your orgasm approaching fast, your legs closing around him — effectively trapping his head between your thighs as you grinded on his face. “Cum. Oh s-shit — cum on my face, master.” You threw your head back as your pussy gushed on Zayne’s eager tongue, while he licked up every single drop of your sweet slick — couldn't let any go to waste.

“Good girl. Now bend over for me, won't you?”

✦ XAVIER— sleepy catboy turns feral?!

You stepped into the shared bedroom, a weary sigh escaping your lips as you brushed off the stray cat fur clinging to your clothes. Another long day at the cat cafe had left you both exhilarated and drained. Your heart swelled with affection for the playful furballs that filled your day with joy, but you couldn’t ignore the toll that wrangling a dozen spirited kitties took on your energy. As you kicked off your shoes, you felt the familiar blend of exhaustion and satisfaction wash over you.

"You're back." A wave of warmth flooded through you at the sound of your boyfriend Xavier's soothing voice, the tension in your shoulders dissipating as he enveloped you in his taller, comforting frame. His lips met your forehead in a tender kiss, and he nestled his nose into your hair, inhaling the delicate, fruity aroma of your shampoo. "Missed me too much?" you teased, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you wrapped your arms around the elegant curve of his neck. In response, he tightened his embrace around your waist, eliciting a contented sigh from you, as your exhaustion melted away in the safety of his hold.

"Mm, you couldn't imagine how much," Xavier purred, pulling away from you before pouting — god, you just wanted to press kisses all over his face. He's too pretty for his own good, you thought as you reached out to pat his head and scratch at his little ears until he caught your hand before you could. "You smell like other cats. I don't like it," he scrunched his nose up in disgust, clearly jealous that you had another cat's scent on you.

You laughed softly, amused at how childish he was being. "I was at a cat cafe the whole day, love. I'd be surprised if I didn't smell like cats," you said, shaking your head in disbelief. You made another attempt to wriggle your hand free from Xavier's firm grasp, but he remained steadfast, his grip unyielding. Just as you were about to plead with him to let go so you could take a refreshing shower, he suddenly broke the silence with a surprising comment.

"I see... I suppose it's only right for me to mark you as my own now," he declared, a determined glint in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on you, his seriousness palpable. The weight of his words hung in the air, thick with unspoken promise. You could only blink in stunned silence, your mind racing to process his intent. Confusion etched itself across your features, and you furrowed your brows in disbelief. "M-mark me...?" you stammered, the words barely escaping your lips as you struggled to comprehend what he meant.

Xavier's lips curled up into a devilish smile, mischief swimming in his soft azure eyes. "Mhm, shouldn't a cat properly mark their property?" He questioned as he pulled you closer — your hands settling on his hard chest, his voice husky and dripping with lust, causing your thighs to clench.

You gasped when Xavier's soft lips found themselves latching onto your earlobe, biting and sucking on the sensitive spot before whispering lowly, "don't you agree, master?"

That's how you ended up in the meanest arch— your knees sinking into the silken sheets as your face was pushed into the fluffy pillows, rendering you a drooling mess beneath the man fucking into your sopping cunt like his life depended on it. "Nngh— Xavier!" You wailed out, fingers entangling themselves in the sheets. Your pretty moans and cries of pleasure did nothing but add fuel to the burning fire of his desires— his eyes almost rolling behind closed lids as he slammed his hips against your ass harder— faster, much too drunk on the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him.

"S-shiit— so fucking pretty, angel—" Xavier's breath came in quick, warm bursts as he panted into your ear, his hard chest flush against your back. Each labored inhale fanned over your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a rush of heat across your cheeks. "You're s-so nng—! pretty.." he slurred, one of his hands reaching to grab your hair before pulling your head back and forcing your tear-stained eyes to meet his own drunken ones. Your mushy walls tightened upon looking at his hungry gaze, earning a choked moan from him— god, you could practically see hearts floating in his eyes.

Xavier smashed his lips against yours, teeth clashing against each other’s and his tongue ravishing yours. His hips bucked into your ass at a wild pace and the tip of his cock nudged into your g-spot repeatedly, causing little yelps and moans of his name to fall from your candied lips.

"s'messy, baby fuuck—!" You whined, biting your lower lip as you looked down to see what a mess you both were making, your juices and Xavier's previous loads dripping down from your overstuffed hole to the sheets underneath like a waterfall.

"Haah— clenching s'tight 'round me," Xavier whined pathetically before sinking his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder, earning a high pitched squeal from you. You threw your head back as you felt his hand coiling around your tummy to reach down and rub fast circles on your clit— sloppy walls clenching and unclenching around his length, his mouth all but drunkenly slacking open at every clamp of your syrupy pussy.

"'G-god, you're so unngh— fucking b-beautiful," he groaned out, his free reaching upwards to wrap his fingers around your pretty little throat— turning your head towards him to meet his gaze once again.

You feel your swollen folds get even more soaked, if that's even possible, at the utter pussydrunk look on Xavier's usually aloof features. His eyes were almost crazed— feral even, pupils blown out with the desire to breed you and fill you up with his kits overtaking his entire being.

To say you were in big trouble would be an understatement at that point..

✦ RAFAYEL— “stringy” situation?…

The sun flooded through the window, spilling its golden rays throughout the living room. You were lounging on the couch, half-distracted by a book, when you heard the familiar sound of Rafayel's soft purring from the other side of the room. You glanced up just in time to see him—your recently turned cat-boyfriend—pawing at a stray ball of yarn you’d left on the floor earlier.

"Rafayel... no!" you gasped, knowing full well how mischievous he could be when he set his mind on something.

But it was too late. His curiosity got the better of him. Rafayel, with his nimble fingers and feline instincts, quickly batted at the ball, unraveling it further. He gave you a sly glance, as though saying "try me if you dare."

"You better not," you warned further, but it was already too late.

Rafayel was able to deftly maneuver his hand towards the center of the ball of yarn, thanks to a sudden flicking motion of his wrist. He made a strange sound and stopped working when he felt the string rotating around his wrist and then his arm. His cat brain was clearly working hard but didn't seem to realize how much havoc a ball of yarn could cause.

Before you could react, Rafayel tried to pull the ball closer, only to find himself awkwardly yanked forward by the strands now snaking around his legs. With a plop, he tumbled to the floor in an ungraceful heap, his body tangled in a mess of yarn.

You burst out laughing, watching as Rafayel wiggled and squirmed, his tail flicking with irritation. "I didn’t think it would be this bad," he muttered, trying to untangle himself with his free hand, but only managing to knot the string further.

“Need some help?” you asked, trying to stifle your giggles.

“I’m fine,” he replied, a bit too proudly, although he was clearly stuck in a ridiculous position. He tried to stand, but the yarn just seemed to hold him in place, like an invisible web. His attempt only resulted in a slow, comical spin as the yarn tightened around him.

After a few more futile attempts to free himself, Rafayel finally gave up with an exaggerated sigh, slumping onto his back. “Okay, maybe a little help.”

You moved over to him, carefully "undoing" the tangled mess of yarn as he laid back with a contented purr, his eyes half-closed in relaxed defeat. “I really thought I had it under control,” he mumbled, his voice warm with embarrassment but still endearing.

"Wait- wait why are you—!" Rafayel gasped in confusion as you pulled the yarn tighter around him, effectively trapping him in place. "Well, mister kitty cat, I did tell you not to touch the yarn, didn't I?" You questioned, a teasing lilt to your tone.

“So? What’re you planning to do, cutie? Punish me?” Rafayel smirked, raising a brow at you. You only smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Yes. You’re gonna be punished.”

“Bring it on then,” he huffed, cockiness dripping from his tone as he eyed you down, a tent already managing to form in his pants at your intense gaze.

Oh poor thing, he had absolutely no idea what was coming for him.

“O-oh cutie—“ Rafayel’s lewd moans echoed throughout the living room, his abdomen clenching and unclenching with pleasure as you bobbed your head on his pretty cock; the sensitive tip hitting the back of your throat each time. You only hummed, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes, his pre-cum and your saliva running down your chin as your nails gripped onto his thighs.

Rafayel groaned out your name repeatedly, as if it were his prayer — when you were the one worshiping him. Could anyone blame you, though? When he looked so delectable with his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, nose scrunched up in pleasure and eyes shut tight, lashes resting on his cheeks and mouth agape as loud moans left him.

Not to mention the small beads of sweat dripping down his abs— his back arching and hips bucking into your mouth while you suck on his pink tip just the way he likes it, the gags and choked sounds leaving your lips only making him harder— if that were even possible.

You hummed sweetly around his cock, staring up at him through your lashes as you blinked slowly— letting his precum drip down your chin in stringy webs. Rafayel could only whine at the sight, a pout settling on his pink lips as you teased him.

“So close b-baby, don’t— ngh shitshitshit- stop—” he threw his head back with a loud groan as you took him in as deep as you could, shooting his cum down your throat as your nose bushed against that little patch of hair on his pelvis.

You pulled back with a ‘pop!’ before opening your mouth, letting his semen drip down your chin, making a mess on the wooden floorboards below. Rafayel panted, eyes darkening at the lewd scene before him.

“I must say, cutie— that was a reaaal nice show you put on for me,” He drawled, “but—”

Your eyes widened when you heard the loud ‘riiiip’ echoing off the walls — Rafayel’s now free hands reaching down to shove you against the floor,

“Raf—”

He was quick to cut you off, “ah ah ah, darling— you’ve had your little fun, and now I will have mine.”

✦ SYLUS— the collared beast.

You really don’t remember how you ended up in this position— folded up like a lawn chair under sylus’s strong figure, knees touching your ears and thighs flush against your bruised tits. You can hear ringing in your ears, not being able to pick up sylus’s feral groans and growls of your name until a soft slap to your cheek broke you out of your sweet trance. “W-what’s wrong, sweetie? Thought you could handle me?” He purred, fingers tightening around your throat so even if you wanted to answer, you couldn’t. Not that you would be able to anyway, not when Sylus’s fat cock drilled into you so hard, fast and rough— pressing into the rough little patch of your g-spot so deliciously.

You could only babble and cry out broken little moans and sobs— almost making the feline above you feel bad— almost. But it also scratched a deep, dark part of him— something he had been repressing for your sake, but god did it feel amazing— having you split open and dumb on his cock.

The collar around his neck only added more fuel to his burning fire, the pretty leash tangled in your fingers as he demanded you to pull— pull as hard as you could because fuck, nothing could feel better than this, in his mind. Nothing could feel better than him finally letting the beast out— devouring you whole as if you were his prey, not his master. The thought made him rut into your soaked heat even faster— sharp teeth burying themselves in your shoulder as his balls slapped against your ass, the loud “plap plap plap!” noise echoed throughout the room— if anybody was outside they could surely hear you two easily, but that was the least of your worries.

How could you worry about being heard when sharp red eyes glared into your own teary ones— gooey pussy squeezing tight around his shaft as he finally gave you the permission to let go - to cum for him, hard.

“Ohh yes, there she is..” Sylus groaned, a smile gracing his sharp features. “Did you enjoy yourself, sweetheart?” You only hummed in response, seemingly too tired to give him a proper response.

You almost let your eyes fully shut until you heard the soft click of the collar being opened.. but your eyes widened in confusion and dread once he wrapped it around your neck.

“What’s with that look, master? It’s only fair that I have my turn as well, don’t you think?”

@𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐎 — ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ/ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴʏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ.

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[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Zayne

Summary: It was your anniversary with Zayne. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Zayne Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Also I don't think any of these men would ever be the type to actually willlingly forget it. Especially Zayne. So I had to adapt the request a bit. Content Warning: injuries, panic, insecurities, self worth issues, Zayne POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

Zayne’s apartment smelled like him—clean, crisp, and faintly of the eucalyptus-scented candles he kept on the shelves. You sat on the edge of his couch, smoothing the fabric of your dress down your thighs, nerves making your fingers tremble slightly. The dim light of the chandelier cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the carefully planned surprise you had for him —flowers, his favorite treats, elegant scarves, and jackets you had spent weeks picking out. The final touch was the flexible weekend getaway tickets, somewhere warm and far from the sterility of hospital walls. A place where he could finally rest.

You had gone all out for tonight. The garden-themed restaurant was supposed to be the perfect setting—a quiet, intimate place where vines curled around twinkling fairy lights, and the soft scent of fresh blooms would fill the air. And you had dressed accordingly with something elegant, something that made you feel beautiful for him. The deep navy-blue dress you wore clung to your form just right, the intricate lace details at the sleeves soft against your skin. You had taken your time getting ready, styling your hair to perfection, slipping on a pair of delicate earrings he once admired absentmindedly. A spritz of white jasmine perfume, the one he once said reminded him of spring mornings. You wanted to look like someone worthy of being by his side. You wanted to be beautiful for him, for the man who had somehow, impossibly, fallen for you.

Because, truth be told, there were times you weren’t sure you were.

you still didn’t understand how this happened—how Zayne, the prodigy, the man who could save lives with his hands and mind, had chosen you. He was brilliant, disciplined, and deeply compassionate. And you? You were just… you. Ordinary in comparison. He never made you feel small, never belittled you, but standing beside him you felt you were just lucky to be there. His world was one of brilliance, filled with extraordinary people—Lina, the fearless Deepspace Hunter; his late friend Caleb, a DAA pilot whose loss still lingered in hushed conversations; his esteemed mentors and fellow doctors who spoke in a language you could only ever grasp at the edges. Compared to them, compared to him, you felt so small.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight, was supposed to be about the two of you.

You had fallen for him in the quietest of ways—through the gentle cadence of his voice, through the moments he noticed things others didn’t. How he’d pull a chair out for you before you could do it yourself, how he’d check the temperature of your tea so you wouldn’t burn your tongue, how he’d listen, really listen, to your ramblings even after a 48-hour shift. He had nestled himself into your heart without you even realizing it.

And tonight, he had insisted he wanted to be with you, even with the chaos of the hospital weighing on his shoulders.

The call came two hours before your reservation. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you saw his name flash on your screen.

“Hey, sweetheart…” Zayne’s voice was warm, familiar, but there was an edge of exhaustion to it. “I’m so sorry. I can’t make it tonight.”

Your heart sank, but you swallowed it down, forcing your voice to remain even. “It’s okay, Zayne. I know you’re busy.”

“It's been a long shift, and the surgeries…”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cancel the reservation. Take some breaks and rest, okay? You sound tired…”

“I am fine, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “I swear.”

"It’s fine, Zayne." you whispered, even if it wasn’t. “We’ll just celebrate it another day. No big deal.” Even though it felt like one at the moment.

Still, you weren’t upset. Not really. You understood. You always understood.

You hung up and exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your lap. It wasn’t his fault. He was working back-to-back shifts, saving lives, doing what he was meant to do. And yet, you couldn’t quite keep the disappointment from settling in your chest.

You exhaled slowly, stripping away the dress you had so eagerly put on just hours ago. You slip into into one of Zayne’s oversized sweaters instead, the one that still smelled like him, the sleeves swallowing your hands. You wear leggings underneath and slip on your shoes. You took your time packing the gifts back into the car, moving slowly, as if dragging out the moment would make it hurt less. Maybe when he was finally done, you could pick him up from the hospital. At least you’d get to see him and surprise him. This was what occupied your time for the next three to four hours.

Once everything was back in the car, you plopped yourself on his plush but ergonomic couch. You scrolled through your phone while waiting, mindlessly tapping through social media, until one post stopped you cold.

Lina’s story.

A picture of her sitting across from Zayne in a small restaurant outside Akso hospital, the caption lighthearted:

When you have to drag out your doctor because he won’t follow his own advice about resting. (-_-)

Zayne looked amused in the photo, tired but still composed, his lips slightly curved in a small, rare smile. He looked… content. His gaze focused on her as if she had just said something ridiculous.

Your fingers trembled as you stared at the screen.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to feel like this. Lina was his childhood best friend. She had never given you a reason to be insecure, and yet, the sting of it hit you like a slow, creeping ache. He had time to go out for a meal with her. He had time to smile like that, even after canceling on you. You knew you were being irrational, that he had only stepped out for a quick bite in his busy shift, yet you felt betrayed.

Tears pricked at your eyes before you could stop them. You wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, silent at first, then turning into quiet, shuddering sobs. You felt pathetic. Childish. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You knew he wasn’t. But it hurt anyway. Because you would have taken anything—just a few moments, even just a simple meal at that tiny restaurant, if it meant spending time with him today.

It hurt in a way that made your chest feel tight, made the lump in your throat impossible to swallow. The sting of it crept under your skin like a wound you hadn’t realized was open, raw and aching. The disappointment bled into something uglier, something heavier. Why, after everything, did it feel like you were always on the sidelines of his life? No, Zayne never made you feel that way. It was your own spiraling thoughts.

A loud sob choked its way out, your hands gripping the fabric of his sweater as if that would somehow ground you. You wanted to hate yourself for crying over something so petty. He was saving lives. He was exhausted. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it hurt.

You needed to go home. You needed to collect yourself before the ugly thoughts swallowed you whole. You stood up, tears streaming down your face, as the weight of it all seemed too much to bear. You didn’t want to sit here anymore. You didn’t want to wait. You needed to go home, to clear your head, to get away from the overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

You sniffled, grabbing your keys and heading out. The highway would be the fastest route home—less traffic, a straight shot. You rerouted, pressing your foot on the accelerator, trying to breathe through the tightness in your chest. You wiped at your tears quickly, trying to focus on the road.

The road stretched out before you, a wide expanse of concrete and asphalt that felt like it would swallow you whole. The tears wouldn’t stop, and you wiped them away, trying to steady your hands on the wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you understood, that you were rational about his work. The reality of it, the empty seat next to you, the disappointment of seeing Zayne happy in a photo with someone else, it all felt too much.

And then—

Headlights. Too close. Too fast.

A car jumped the signal, trying to merge into the highway.

You slammed the breaks, the scream of tires against pavement rang in your ears.

The impact was instant. A violent, sickening jolt that sent your body forward, the seatbelt snapping against your chest, the airbag exploding in front of you. The windshield cracked, splintering into a spiderweb of broken glass. Your vision blurred, the world spinning.

Pain.

Your chest burned, lungs straining to catch a breath. Your limbs felt heavy. You reached for the seatbelt, your fingers fumbling, but it was jammed.

Fuck.

Your head lulled forward, resting against the deflated airbag. Your head was heavy, your thoughts slipping away like sand through your fingers. The distant wail of sirens reached your ears, but they felt so far away.

Your vision swam, the edges darkening.

I hope the other person is alright.

The thought barely had time to settle before everything faded into black.

ZAYNE'S POV

The fluorescent lights of the hospital buzzed faintly, casting an artificial glow over the chaos of the emergency room. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the undercurrent of blood—familiar, almost routine, yet tonight it gnawed at Zayne's nerves in a way he couldn't quite shake. He hadn’t left since he stepped through those doors, yet somehow, the guilt weighing on him had nothing to do with the lives he saved today. It was you.

He was tired. God, was he tired. His body screamed for rest, his temples throbbed from the strain of back-to-back shifts, but the hospital was understaffed, and there was no room for exhaustion when lives were at stake. As a cardiologist, his expertise lay in the intricate mechanics of the human heart, but duty demanded flexibility—especially in the ER. Cardiologists weren’t meant to be dealing with blunt force trauma and lacerations, but tonight, none of that mattered. They needed doctors. He was a doctor. So, he worked.

Even through the fatigue, his mind kept drifting back to you. He could still hear your voice from the call earlier, soft and understanding despite the disappointment laced beneath it. You didn’t deserve this. You had every right to be upset, to be frustrated that he had broken his promise, yet you didn’t even complain. That hurt more than if you had yelled at him

God, he loved you. And he hated himself for testing that patience again and again.

His hand tightened around the pen he was holding. He had plans—plans to make it up to you. The necklace in his office drawer, nestled in a velvet box, had been meant for tonight. Something small, perhaps, compared to everything you did, but a token of his devotion nonetheless. He could still salvage this. Maybe he could call you later, ask if you were still awake—

His device beeped, pulling him back to the present.

MVA on the highway. ETA: 5 minutes.

Multi-vehicle accident. Paramedics on site, victims en route.

Zayne exhaled sharply, shifting into work mode. He stepped into the ER just as the first stretcher was wheeled in. The radio chatter from their comms filled the space.

"Female, mid-to-late twenties, restrained driver, T-bone collision from a vehicle that ran a red light. Airbag deployment, but impact trauma to the chest from seatbelt. BP slightly low, likely from pain response. Tachycardic at 112. GCS is 14. Possible wrist fracture, mild concussion. No signs of internal bleeding from the ultrasound, but needs further imaging to rule out any complications."

He nodded briskly, slipping into the detached, clinical efficiency that had been drilled into him for years. It was only as he stepped forward, pulling the curtain aside, that his breath caught in his throat.

His world stopped.

There, on the hospital bed, was you.

Lying on the hospital bed, your hair disheveled, your skin pale against the stark white sheets. His breath lodged in his throat, the world narrowing to a pinpoint focus on the rise and fall of your chest. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. There was dried blood at your temple, your lower lip swollen where you must have bitten down upon impact. The sight of the IV line in your arm, the faint bruises forming along your collarbone—he couldn’t breathe.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Dr. Zayne…" Yvonne’s voice cut in, sharp and urgent. A warning. He was frozen. This wasn't just a patient. This was you.

He blinked, his hands suddenly trembling as he reached for his gloves. Breathe. He had to focus. Had to push past the sheer, gut-wrenching fear threatening to paralyze him.

This is her. She was waiting for me. She—

"Dr. Zayne!!" Yvonne pressed, handing him the updated chart. "She needs you."

That snapped him out of it.

The moment his hands touched you, they were steady again. His voice was even as he examined you, the motions automatic, controlled. He checked your pupils, gently palpated your ribs to assess for fractures. He was a doctor. He was your doctor right now. He had to move. Focusing, he reached for his stethoscope, pressing it against your chest to listen for abnormalities. The rhythm of your heart was steady, but your breathing was just slightly labored—likely from the seatbelt trauma.

"You’re going to be fine." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

You were stable.

"Her left shoulder—check for AC joint separation," he murmured, voice steadier than he felt. "Get a CT to rule out any internal injuries. And…" He swallowed. “Get me images from the crash site.” He needed to see how bad the collison was. He had to.

The hours blurred. He monitored your scans, adjusted your IV, checked your vitals more times than necessary. Each time his eyes drifted to you; his chest ached. He had seen the accident reports—your car, your windshield shattered, the crumpled hood. And the contents scattered across the scene…

You had planned everything.

For him.

And he wasn’t there.

Zayne clenched his jaw. Flowers were scattered, crushed against the upholstery. The pastries you must have picked out for him were ruined; their boxes torn open from the force of the crash. And gifts. There were so many gifts. He hadn’t even known you had planned all this.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

You had so much waiting for him. And where had he been? At a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, eating with Lina because she forced him to take a break. He had been smiling in that photo while you were—

God.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily as he sat by your bedside. He should have been with you. If he had just—

The monitor beeped steadily, a quiet reminder that you were alive.

Now, he sat beside you, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, fingers curled into his palms to keep them from shaking.

"Wake up, sweetheart." he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just wake up."

And for once, Zayne—brilliant, composed, always in control—felt utterly powerless.

The beep of the heart monitor was steady, rhythmic, but Zayne found himself gripping the edge of his chair every time you stirred, waiting for that moment when your eyes would finally open. His body was stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to miss it.

Then, a small shift in your breathing. A twitch of your fingers.

Zayne leaned forward just as your lashes fluttered, your eyes cracking open, only to squeeze shut again at the harsh fluorescent lights. You groaned softly, shifting against the sheets. Instinctively, you tried to sit up.

"Hey—stay put," Zayne said immediately, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you down. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers warm even against the hospital gown. "Don’t move too much yet."

Your body resisted for a moment, muscles tensing as if you wanted to argue, but the disorientation dulled your fight. Your gaze finally settled on him, hazy with the remnants of sleep and confusion.

Then you frowned.

“…You look tired,” you murmured, your voice soft, still groggy. “How long have you been here?”

Zayne’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. Even now, even when you were the one lying in a hospital bed, barely recovered from an accident, your first thoughts were about him.

His throat felt tight, but he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to speak. “You should look at yourself first, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flickered down, taking in the IV in your arm, the bruises along your wrist, the faint soreness that no doubt ached across your body. Zayne exhaled sharply and reached out, his fingertips tracing the side of your face before cupping your cheek fully. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, as if grounding himself with the warmth of you. His eyes were moist, though no tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, raw in a way that stripped away every layer of his usual composure.

You parted your lips, breath hitching as if you were about to reassure him—to do what you always did, to let him off the hook, to tell him it wasn’t his fault.

But he didn’t let you.

“No,” he cut in firmly, shaking his head. “Not this time. This is the one time you shouldn’t be so understanding.” His jaw clenched, something bitter twisting in his expression. “I should have been there. We should have been celebrating our relationship. End of discussion.”

Silence settled between you.

After a beat, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again. “Why didn’t you demand my time?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with regret. “You had every right to.”

You hesitated, glancing away. “…I didn’t want to bother you.” Your fingers twisted into the hospital blanket, grip tightening slightly. “You’re important, Zayne. You save lives. I didn’t want to pull you away from that.”

Something in him snapped.

He let out a sharp breath, then reached for your hand, gently prying your fingers from the blanket. His grip was warm, grounding.

“Shh… And you think you’re not?” he murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t ever say that again.” His gaze bore into yours, unwavering. “You are important to me.”

"You’re important to me," he repeated, voice steady but almost desperate. "Just like my work makes demands of me, you are more than entitled to make demands of me, too."

Your eyes searched his, uncertainty flickering beneath the lingering haze of exhaustion. But Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"I know I should have been there," he said again, quieter this time. He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before brushing a thumb over the edge of your jaw, tilting your face slightly. “When I saw you on this bed when I entered the ER… pale, unconscious… I haven’t felt fear like that before," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not in all my years of doing this. Not like that."

You didn’t say anything, but your hand came up slowly, resting over his.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling.

This—this was what he almost lost.

His jaw clenched, then loosened as he exhaled. “I don’t want to ever feel it again.”

Another pause.

Zayne inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your skin, as if reassuring himself that you were still here. That you were warm. That he hadn’t lost you.

“I know I say I’m sorry a lot… and it probably has lost meaning to you.” he murmured; his voice rough with emotion. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if struggling to put his feelings into something more tangible. “I should have been there. And I will be. Every step of the way until you’re fully recovered and after....”

His eyes flickered downward, scanning you like the doctor he was, but this was different. This wasn’t just clinical analysis—this was personal. "You got lucky," he admitted, exhaling through his nose. "Blunt force trauma to the ribs, a mild concussion, and a broken wrist. Some lacerations on your arm and leg, but nothing deep enough to require surgical intervention. The worst was the head trauma, but the scans came back clear. No bleeding, no swelling. That’s the only reason I’m not having a complete breakdown right now…" His fingers ghosted over your arm, careful not to apply pressure. "Nothing life-threatening or with lasting consequences. But still… you shouldn’t have had to go through that alone." His jaw tensed. "Not when you have me."

You gave him a small, tired smile at that, and something inside him twisted.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to reach into his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He’d gone to his office to clock off for the day to be beside you when he picked it up from his drawer. The very box he wanted to give you today. The one that was supposed to be given in a far more joyful setting. This was supposed to be today. A night spent celebrating the two of you—not this. Not hospital beds and IV drips and the hollow fear that had nearly swallowed him whole.

But none of that mattered now.

What mattered was that you were here. And this… this was still yours.

His throat felt thick as he flipped it open, revealing the necklace inside—a delicate silver chain holding a white jasmine pendant, smooth and polished, its petals carved with intricate detail. And behind it, barely visible, were his initials.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he took it out.

"I was supposed to give this to you today," he admitted, voice lower now, almost guilty. "Before all of this. Before I let my own priorities get in the way of what really mattered." He glanced up at you, and for the first time in a long time, he looked vulnerable. "I don’t want you to ever think that you come second. Because you don’t. You never have."

Gently, he reached around your neck, his touch featherlight as he fastened the clasp. The cool metal of the pendant settled just above your collarbone, resting against your skin. His fingertips lingered there, just briefly.

Then he let out a slow breath, tilting your chin up just slightly with his knuckles. His mind still reeled with everything that had happened, with everything he should have done differently.

"I love you," he said, and this time there was no hesitation, no wry smirk to mask his emotions, no half-hearted deflection. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. "Even when I do a crappy job at showing it." He didn’t need you to say it back—he just needed you to know.

For a moment, silence stretched between you. Then, his lips quirked, just slightly, into something softer. "And since I’m apparently on mandatory bedside duty, I hope you’re ready to be completely spoiled. I’m talking fresh coffee, extra pillows, a ridiculous number of medical advices—"

A small, breathy laugh escaped you, and Zayne felt something in his chest loosen at the sound. Then, slowly, you lifted a hand, brushing your fingertips over the pendant before reaching up to cup his cheek.

Zayne leaned into your touch instinctively, exhaling softly. He smiled, finally, pressing his forehead lightly against yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "We’ll be just fine. I've got you sweetheart... I'll always be here for you."

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

[joelsrose]

Father of the Groom

warnings - smut (as always lmao) virgin reader, cheating, spanking, unprotected sex, family dynamics, creampie ..(??!)

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

You reached for another glass of champagne, your fingers trembling just enough to make the bubbles shimmer against the rim. The suite was quiet now, too quiet, after the flurry of brushes and curling irons, after the hum of music and the soft laughter of your stylist and makeup artist who had only just packed up and left. The air still held the faint scent of hair spray and roses, mixed with the deeper perfume clinging to your skin — warm, floral, soft like summer.

Your hair had been curled into delicate waves, the top pinned back with a cluster of tiny pearls that glimmered every time you moved. Your makeup was bridal perfection — a gentle glow across your cheeks, soft pink lips, lashes long and curled like whispers. You looked like a dream. You felt… like a trembling one. Nerves tangled tightly in your belly, fluttering like ribbons caught in wind. You were getting married today. Today.

The weight of it settled behind your ribs. Excitement, yes — that warm, hopeful kind — but threaded through with something sharper, more restless. The kind of nerves that made your hands fidget, that made you question if you’d eaten too much, if you should’ve worn a different shade of blush, if the weight in your chest was love or fear or… something else entirely.

You were just about to raise the flute to your lips when a knock echoed at the door — soft, deliberate.

Your heart gave a little stutter.

“Luke, I swear,” you muttered under your breath with a nervous smile, setting the glass down, “you know you’re not supposed to see me until the ceremony…”

You padded toward the door in nothing but your white silk robe — the one you’d saved for today, smooth as water and tied loosely at your waist. You pulled it tighter on instinct, fingers curling around the fabric as you turned the handle and opened the door—

—and there he was.

Joel.

Mr. Miller.

Your fiancé’s father.

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

Joel Miller stood in the doorway like he’d stepped out of another world and into this one just to see you — tall and broad in his dark suit, the tailored jacket pulling across his shoulders in a way that made your breath hitch for reasons you didn’t want to examine.

His tie was a muted navy, slightly loosened at the collar like he hadn’t bothered to finish getting ready yet, and in the neat fold of his jacket pocket sat a single white rose — likely chosen to match your bouquet, the detail not missed by you. His hair had been swept back, soft curls glinting silver under the room’s warm light. He looked handsome — devastatingly so — in that older, quiet kind of way that made you want to look at him just a second too long.

“Joel,” you smiled gently, surprised, your fingers tightening slightly on the robe’s sash as you leaned your shoulder to the doorframe, “I thought you were Luke.”

His brow ticked up, but the smile he gave you was warm, touched with something that felt just a little too fond. “Well… look at you, sweetheart.” He stepped closer, eyes scanning you with a reverence that made your skin burn beneath the silk. He leaned in and kissed both of your cheeks — the roughness of his stubble grazing your skin, the warmth of his hands settling lightly on your arms. “You look like a damn dream.”

A quiet breath left you as you backed up slightly to let him in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks, Joel,” you murmured, turning toward the side table where the champagne and spirits were arranged, the glasses catching soft golden light. “Would you like a drink? There’s whiskey.”

He chuckled — low, gravelly, like it lived deep in his chest. “You know me well.”

You didn’t see the way his eyes dropped to your legs, how they lingered on the smooth line of your thigh revealed by the shift of your robe as you reached forward, silk sliding up just enough to test the limits of modesty. You didn’t catch the subtle way his jaw shifted or how his thumb dragged once over his palm before reaching for the glass you passed him.

“How’s your morning been?” he asked, voice smooth, conversational, but his gaze wandered — over the room, yes, but always returning to you.

You motioned for him to sit, and when he did, he chose the armchair closest to you — close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours. You sat down again, smoothing the robe over your legs as you sipped the last of your champagne, trying to ignore the sudden flutter of nerves in your chest that had nothing to do with wedding-day jitters.

“It’s been busy,” you admitted softly, your voice lighter now. “Hair and makeup only just left. Luke and I are getting photos done soon�� in—” you glanced at your phone, “less than an hour, actually.”

Joel nodded slowly, the motion almost absentminded, though his eyes hadn’t left you once — eyes that held something too heavy to be casual, too soft to be paternal. There was reverence in them, yes, but also a flicker of something else, something deep and unspoken, as if he was trying to memorize every angle of you in that moment — the slope of your cheekbone catching the morning light, the gentle way your bottom lip stayed tucked beneath your teeth when you were nervous, the way you kept fidgeting with the edge of your silk robe like you didn’t quite know what to do with your hands now that he was sitting so close.

“You nervous?” he asked at last, his voice quieter than before — lower, almost thoughtful, like it wasn’t just a question but something weightier, an offering.

You smiled softly, almost bashful, eyes dropping to your lap where your fingers twisted the belt of your robe into a little knot. “A little.”

When you looked up again, his gaze was still locked on yours — unwavering, steady, and laced with something warm enough to make your skin prickle.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be nervous about, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice slow and syrupy, rich with something comforting and southern and familiar. “If anything, my damn son oughta be nervous. He’ll get a whoopin’ if he ain’t takin’ care of you proper.”

That made you laugh — the kind of laugh Joel always pulled out of you with so little effort, the kind that spilled out like a secret, the kind that reminded you of every dinner at their family home, of the way he always made sure your wine glass was full, how he always offered you the best slice of roast first, the way he always called you “sweetheart” like it meant something more. Holidays, birthdays, Sunday brunches — Joel was the kind of man who made you feel seen, held, steady in a world that sometimes spun too fast.

And now, as your laughter died down to a gentle smile, he was watching you again — like you were something fragile and golden and borrowed just for a moment. His hand moved slowly, resting gently on your knee, warm and solid where your skin peeked from beneath the silk. His palm was broad, roughened from years of work, but the way he touched you was soft, reverent, fingers still against your skin like he didn’t dare move.

You kept your eyes trained on his, breath catching faintly, though it wasn’t fear that fluttered in your chest. He smelled good — a mix of something woodsy and clean, a little cologne maybe, but mostly Joel — that distinct, masculine scent that always lingered when he hugged you goodbye.

He smiled a little, eyes soft, almost nostalgic. “You remind me of Tess on our wedding day,” he said quietly, and you felt that compliment bloom somewhere deep in your belly, warm and sharp. “She had this look in her eyes — somethin’ soft. Somethin’ like you got now. Though I don’t think she ever wore a robe like that 'round me before the vows.”

The last part slipped out lower, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud, and you blushed instantly, lowering your eyes with a shy smile, your fingers tightening just slightly around the edge of your robe.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice almost too quiet to hear.

Joel smiled again, tilting his head just a little, and then leaned forward, the hand on your knee giving the gentlest squeeze. “Now come on,” he said, voice teasing but kind, “stand up and give me a twirl. I wanna see my future daughter-in-law in all her glory.”

You let out a little giggle — partly from the champagne dancing in your bloodstream, partly from the way his voice held that proud affection, but mostly from the way he was looking at you. Like you were beautiful. Like he knew you were.

You gave a playful little twirl, champagne dancing in your veins and nerves making your limbs feel feather-light. The hem of your silk robe fluttered around your thighs, and you struck a mock pose at the end, one hand on your hip, the other lifting just enough of the fabric to wink at the lace garter snug around your upper thigh — delicate ivory and barely-there sheer, the one your maid of honor had slipped to you that morning with a wink and a giggle.

Joel chuckled low under his breath, the sound rough and warm and unmistakably male, like it was caught in the back of his throat. He leaned forward slightly in the armchair, elbow resting on one knee, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass of whiskey. But it wasn’t the drink he was looking at.

Your movements had swayed just enough for him to catch a flash of lace — and his eyes tracked it like they had a mind of their own.

“Hold up,” Joel said suddenly, his voice casual but the glint in his eyes not quite matching the lazy ease in his tone. He leaned forward in the chair just slightly, resting his glass on the side table as his gaze settled somewhere lower — somewhere that made heat crawl beneath your skin. “C’mere for a sec, sweetheart.”

You blinked, your breath catching as you stepped toward him with a small, hesitant smile, eyes soft with concern. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your brows furrowed as your mind spun — Did I drop something? Do I have something on my face? Did my lipstick smudge already?

But Joel didn’t answer you right away. Instead, he reached out with one hand, slow and deliberate, his fingers warm as they brushed against the outside of your thigh — the place where the hem of your robe had shifted just enough during your little twirl to reveal a sliver of ivory lace. His touch was gentle, almost absentminded, but his movements were precise. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“This,” he murmured, dragging his finger beneath the silk as he shifted the fabric slightly to the side, revealing more of the garter cinched high on your thigh — delicate and bridal and not meant to be seen by him. “Thought I saw somethin’. Damn near missed it.”

He was smiling — that sweet, fatherly smile he always gave you — but there was something else there too, something in the way his eyes lingered, in the way his thumb brushed the edge of the lace like he was admiring it for more than just tradition’s sake.

You froze, a flush blooming across your cheeks, your chest tightening beneath the satin as you struggled to find words. How were you supposed to explain to your future father-in-law that you were wearing a garter? That it was supposed to be seen by someone else — his son, no less. That it was part of some ancient wedding tradition meant to feel cheeky, fun, maybe even a little flirtatious, but now felt scandalous, intimate, exposed in front of the man who should’ve looked away the second he noticed.

Your voice caught in your throat, lodged somewhere between your chest and your lips, and all you could manage was a breathy, flustered, “It’s…” You swallowed hard, cheeks burning as you reached absently for the belt of your robe, needing something to do with your hands, anything to ground you beneath the weight of his gaze. “Tradition, apparently,” you mumbled. “My maid of honour gave it to me this morning.”

Joel didn’t say anything right away. His fingers — the same ones that had just ghosted over the soft skin of your thigh — trailed off with an infuriating slowness, leaving behind a trail of heat like a brand. He let go of the silk as if he hadn’t just touched something sacred, as if his hand hadn’t rested somewhere it most certainly should not have been — like the act itself hadn’t tilted the axis of the room just a fraction. Like it wasn’t so unbearably wrong you felt dizzy with it.

He leaned back in the armchair, the movement languid and unhurried, like he was stretching into the moment instead of trying to escape it. One arm draped along the back of the seat, the other resting on his thigh, fingers idly brushing his whiskey glass. His gaze moved slowly — dragging unapologetically from your legs, up the length of your body, pausing at the dip of your waist where the robe clung, the soft curve of your chest, the flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat — before finally, finally settling on your face again.

“Well,” he said, his voice warm and low, that Southern drawl folding over you like velvet, smooth but weighted, “it’s a real pretty little thing.”

He paused, his smile curling at the edge with something far too knowing, too intimate.

“Just like you.”

Your breath hitched. You blinked, eyes wide, the blush rising higher on your cheeks as you stood frozen in place, unsure what to say, unsure what could be said. You felt suddenly very young, very exposed — like a girl playing dress-up in a woman’s world, standing in a silk robe that felt too thin, with lace too intimate, in front of a man who should have looked away by now. A man who should have been like a father. A man who wasn’t.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your fingers trembling slightly, your gaze darting away in a poor attempt to gather composure. But you could still feel his eyes on you — the weight of them. Gentle. Heavy. Wanting.

You sat down again, your legs folding delicately beneath you, hyperaware now of the space between you — or rather, the lack of it. His knee brushed yours when you shifted slightly, and the silk of your robe clung a little too close to your skin, made you feel a little too seen. Your skin still tingled where his hand had rested moments before.

“What are the boys doing?” you asked, your voice soft, trying to ease the thrum in your chest by returning to something normal — something safe — but even as you said it, your voice betrayed you, just a little too airy, a little too unsure.

Joel chuckled, low and warm, that rich gravel sound that lived somewhere deep in his chest. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass with idle ease. “Luke and the boys?” he said, eyes still fixed on you like you were more interesting than anything happening elsewhere. “They’re just gettin’ ready in the suite down the hall. Arguin’ over whose tie’s crooked, takin’ shots behind your mama’s back.”

You smiled, shoulders relaxing a touch, but then — then Joel shifted his wrist as he brought the glass to his lips, and just as his arm brushed yours, he fumbled.

It was subtle. Believable. Performed so naturally you would’ve sworn it was real.

The glass tilted — just enough — and a slow, honeyed trickle of whiskey spilled over the rim, slipping down the side of the tumbler and landing squarely on your thigh.

Your gasp was soft, surprised, as the warm liquid soaked into the silk, darkening it in a bloom that made the fabric cling scandalously to your skin. It rolled down your leg in a slow, sinful line.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, deep and throaty, setting the glass aside instantly. His hand followed the spill without hesitation, brushing the fabric with the back of his knuckles, trying — pretending — to help. “Damn, m’sorry, sweetheart. Wasn’t lookin’. Didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice thin, fluttering from your lips like it had to push through the tightness in your chest. Your breath hitched as Joel’s fingers lingered, just for a second too long, his knuckles grazing the edge of your thigh as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching you. “It’s just—just the robe.”

He pulled back, but not far, reaching behind him for the box of tissues on the table with a low chuckle, his voice roughened by something that felt deeper than amusement. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered as he shook his head, pulling a few tissues loose. “Old man like me can’t do nothin’ right with these damn hands anymore. Slippery glass, nerves shot, eyesight probably goin’.”

You laughed softly, unsure whether it was the champagne or the way your heart felt like it had climbed into your throat. “You’re not old,” you murmured, looking down at your lap to avoid his gaze.

Joel didn’t respond to that — not directly. Instead, he leaned forward again, pressing the tissue to your thigh with a gentleness that made the breath stall in your lungs. His hand was warm, firm but careful, like he was scared he might hurt you, or maybe scared of something entirely different.

He dabbed at the silk uselessly, the fabric already soaked through, transparent now and clinging like a second skin.

“Damn,” he muttered again, more to himself this time as his eyes followed the trail of amber staining the pale ivory. “I’m makin’ it worse, ain’t I?”

You didn’t answer, your mouth dry, because he wasn’t really asking.

Joel looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity, and then back down at the fabric. “This ain’t gonna come clean like this,” he said after a moment, holding the tissue up like proof. “You’ll catch a chill sittin’ in it all wet like that.”

You hesitated, blinking. “It’s fine, really—”

“Nah,” he said gently, his voice taking on that soft but insistent tone, the one that always made people listen. “You’re gonna wrinkle that beautiful dress if this soaks through. Here—” his fingers moved to the sash at your waist before you even realized, pausing just long enough for your eyes to go wide.

“May I?” he asked, and the way he said it — quiet, kind, not pushy but so utterly deliberate — made your stomach twist with something sharp and hot, something that curled behind your ribs and settled low, where your thoughts shouldn’t be wandering.

“I—” you exhaled a shaky breath, a breathy, nervous laugh tumbling out of you. “I’m not sure—”

Joel’s smile was warm, sweet even, but his hands were already ready — positioned at your waist like he was just waiting for permission he already knew you’d give. “We gotta get you cleaned up, baby,” he said gently, glancing at the watch on his wrist like this was all just time-sensitive logistics and not a private, forbidden unraveling. “You got what… twenty minutes till the photographer shows up? Tess, Lord, she dropped every damn thing on her dress back on our day. Nerves’ll do that to ya. But this?” His hand brushed the stained silk. “This’s before the ceremony. Can’t have your wedding robe lookin’ like this in the photos, sugar. People’ll talk.”

He chuckled, soft and low, like he’d just said something harmless, like this wasn’t the most dangerous thing he’d ever done. And your voice — so small and unsure and trembling in a way you couldn’t seem to stop — came out as little more than a breath: “Okay.”

Before you even realized what was happening, his fingers worked the sash loose, slow and careful like he was handling something breakable. The robe slid off your shoulders with the softest whisper of silk and warmth, pooling at your waist before slipping down your hips entirely. Joel caught it in one hand like it was something sacred, something fragile that deserved care — but his eyes…

His eyes didn’t stay on the robe.

He pretended to examine the stained fabric, muttering something under his breath about the fibers and how whiskey sets, holding it like he was doing you a favor — but his gaze lifted a second later, and when it did, it hit you like heat.

Because now you were standing in front of him in nothing but your wedding-day lingerie.

Lace and satin hugged your body, delicate and white and unforgiving, sheer in places where it shouldn’t have been, the garter still snug on your thigh, the tops of your stockings barely visible beneath the hem of the lace. You felt bare. Exposed. Like you’d been unwrapped and laid open just for him.

And Joel — your fiancé’s father, the man who’d kissed your cheek over birthday cake, who’d fixed the broken lock on your apartment door, who’d always called you sweetheart like it was your name — looked up at you then.

His eyes trailed up the length of your legs, slowly, reverently, over your hips, your stomach, the soft line of your chest rising and falling far too quickly.

He didn’t smile.

He just looked.

And in that still, humming silence — where the only sound was the soft rustle of lace against skin and the distant echo of footsteps in some far-off hallway that no longer felt real — you realized with a throb in your chest that Joel had never looked at you like this before.

But he wasn’t stopping.

Not this time.

His eyes dragged over you slowly, reverently, so intensely it made your skin feel too tight, like you were glowing from the inside out, flushed and trembling in nothing but that thin veil of bridal lace that barely counted as clothing. His mouth parted, just slightly, like the words were trying to catch up with the way his thoughts had already unraveled.

“Well,” he drawled at last, voice low and breathless with disbelief, a wry edge of admiration curling around every syllable, “hell, darlin’... I didn’t even know they made underwear like that.”

You gasped — soft, startled — and instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself with trembling hands, but there was barely anything to cover. The silk and lace clung to you like a whisper, translucent in places it shouldn’t be, tight across curves he was now seeing for the very first time, and the heat in his eyes made your knees threaten to give out.

Joel dropped the robe without looking, the silk puddling soundlessly at his feet, forgotten, like it was meaningless compared to the vision standing before him. His voice dipped deeper, reverent but laced with something unholy, something so filthy it made your pulse stutter.

“Shit, honey…” he whispered, gaze flicking down again, breath catching as he took you in from head to toe, “…this lace don’t even cover your pussy, does it?”

You froze, stunned, lips parted in a silent gasp, your body prickling with heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how the words hit you — low and wicked, like something molten pooling behind your ribs.

He shook his head slowly, as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing, as though the sight of you — flushed and trembling and wrapped in lace that did nothing to hide the soft, sacred shape of your body — was more than his tired, aging heart could bear. His voice, when it came, was hushed and aching, like it had to claw its way up from somewhere deep in his chest. “You look like heaven on earth,” he murmured, almost broken by it, like saying the words out loud wounded him in some unspeakable way. “Like somethin’ God himself made just to fuck with me.”

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

Your arms were still crossed tightly over your chest, but your hands had slackened, your fingers curled uselessly against your skin as if even they had surrendered to the weight of his gaze. Your lips were parted in shock, your mouth dry, and your heart was pounding so hard you swore he could see it in the way your collarbone trembled beneath the thin thread of satin. You didn’t know if you should run — throw on the robe, end this before it went any further — or reach for him, admit what your body had already betrayed.

Joel stood then, slowly, without a word, and took the few steps toward you with the calm, deliberate steadiness of a man who had made up his mind.

You didn’t move when he reached you.

Didn’t protest when his rough, warm hands slid gently over your wrists, guiding your arms down and away from your chest, until they hung limply at your sides and you were bare before him in a way you had never been before.

His gaze dropped immediately, and there was nothing coy about it now, nothing shy or hesitant in the way his eyes devoured the sight of you. His breath hitched audibly when he saw your chest, and his voice, when it came, was low and ragged and thick with hunger.

“Jesus, baby…” he muttered, his voice strained and reverent like he was confessing a sin, “I can see your fuckin’ nipples through that lace.”

The way he said it — not vulgar, not joking, but stunned, ruined, like it was a miracle he didn’t deserve to witness — sent a ripple of heat straight through your spine. You felt like you were on fire, like your skin was glowing beneath his gaze, like you were something holy being blasphemed.

“Joel,” you warned, or tried to, though your voice cracked under the weight of your own trembling.

Your brows furrowed, your breath shallow, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Because his eyes were still fixed on your breasts, on the way the sheer lace hugged the swell of them, your nipples peaked and visible through the delicate floral embroidery, the faint rise and fall of your chest growing sharper with each second his gaze remained. And Joel — your future father-in-law, the man who’d always carried himself with the kind of unshakable dignity only age could bring — just looked.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say sorry.

He just kept looking at you like he’d never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in his life — like the sight of you, soft and trembling in white lace that barely clung to your skin, had cracked something open in him so deep and buried he no longer remembered how to pretend it wasn’t there.

And then, in a voice so calm and so casual it could’ve been mistaken for small talk, he murmured, “Now you can’t blame an old man for admirin’, can you?”

The way he said it — low, warm, with the faintest flicker of amusement curling in his chest — made your stomach flip. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like you were the one being silly for acting like he hadn’t just devoured you with his eyes.

His hand rose, slow and unhurried, and settled against your hip — broad and warm, his thumb brushing bare skin where the lace ended. The contact was electric, your breath catching in your throat as you gasped softly, your eyes snapping up to his.

“You wear this for him?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, gaze trailing from your mouth to your breasts again like he couldn’t help himself. “This pretty little set?”

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even think. Not with his hand on you, not with his voice all low and close like that, like a secret being whispered in a confessional.

“Bet he can’t even fuck ya right,” Joel muttered, more to himself than to you, like the words had slipped out from somewhere dark and unchecked.

“Joel,” you said, eyes wide, voice trembling, every part of your body pulsing with heat and something dangerously close to arousal.

But he didn’t back away. Didn’t apologize. Just looked at you harder, darker, like he wanted to pull every secret from your lips one by one.

“Am I right?” he asked, his thumb pressing slightly into your hip, his voice rough now, frayed around the edges. “Answer me.”

“He’s—” you stuttered, struggling to find breath, to find balance. “We—”

Joel leaned closer, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek, close enough that your body instinctively tilted toward his like gravity itself wanted to betray you.

“What?” he asked again, quieter this time, more intimate. “Tell me, baby.”

You swallowed hard, lashes fluttering, unable to meet his gaze. “We’re waiting,” you whispered, cheeks burning. “I… I’m waiting for marriage.”

Joel stilled completely, his hand still on your hip, the silence stretching like a rubber band between you, pulled taut with something unspeakable.

“Is that right?” he said, his voice rasping out of him now — not mocking, not surprised, but so deep and low it made your thighs press together without thought.

And then, with a smirk so slow and sinful it felt like a hand dragging down your spine, he murmured—

“Wearin’ nothin’ but that little lace set… nipples hard and pussy barely covered… waitin’ for marriage?” He laughed under his breath, eyes glinting with heat as his thumb stroked over your hipbone again. “Sugar, you don’t look like you’re waitin’ for anything at all.”

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat before you could push them out, your body so tense it ached. “It’s true,” you whispered finally, barely able to look at him, your eyes darting toward the door, the hallway, the window — anywhere but the furnace of his gaze — “Joel… you should go. You have to leave.”

The reality of it struck you all at once — how easily someone could walk in, a bridesmaid, your mother, Luke, God forbid — how they’d see you like this, half-naked in white lace with your robe discarded, flushed and trembling in front of a man who wasn’t your groom but your fiancé’s father — and yet your feet didn’t move, your body didn’t pull away, your hands still resting lightly against his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt like he was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“Ain’t no one been in here?” Joel asked as the pad of his finger tapped once against the thin lace stretched over your cunt — then again, firmer this time — and your knees nearly gave out, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your entire body shuddered, the contact so sharp, so intimate, so forbidden you couldn’t breathe.

Your arms flew up, instinctive, desperate for balance, and gripped his shoulders for support, fingers digging into the fabric as your forehead dropped forward against his chest, your body swaying against his like it was trying to find safety in the very place it should’ve run from.

“No,” you said shakily, head turning slightly against him, your voice catching somewhere between shame and pleading. “I’m—Joel, I’m—no one’s.”

He stilled.

Everything in him seemed to go quiet, like your words had struck something sacred.

“Christ,” he breathed, low and reverent, his hand still cupping you through the lace, fingers twitching against the heat of you, “you mean to tell me…”

You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your cheek, could hear the raw edge of restraint unraveling in his voice.

“And you’re gonna let Luke be the first?”

You flinched, eyes fluttering shut as guilt and desire tangled painfully in your chest. “He’s my fiancé,” you said softly, almost defensively, even though you couldn’t lift your head from Joel’s chest, even though your body was pressing closer to his with each heartbeat. “We’re… we’re getting married.”

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, his fingers dragging gently over the soaked lace between your legs, not quite touching, just tracing, feeling, memorizing.

His voice came softer now, but no less devastating.

“And still… he ain’t the one you’re tremblin’ for, is he?”

“I—” you tried to speak, to form a protest, a thought, anything — but your words were swallowed before they ever had the chance to live, devoured by the press of Joel’s mouth crashing down onto yours.

Warm, demanding, his lips slanted over yours with the kind of hunger that had clearly been simmering just beneath the surface, patient and quiet until now. His tongue swept into your mouth before you could process the heat of it, before you could decide whether to stop him, and his hands — large, calloused, far too steady — came to cradle either side of your face as though this were something sacred, something earned.

You gasped into him, the kiss knocking the breath from your lungs, your palms pressed flat against his chest at first as though you might push him away, but the moment was already slipping too far beyond your control. You were drowning in the taste of him, in the scent of whiskey and cologne and Joel, in the feel of his body against yours — broad, solid, unwavering — and before you could stop yourself, your lips parted further beneath his, soft and needy, a quiet sound escaping your throat as your hands curled into the front of his shirt and you kissed him back.

Joel groaned into your mouth, a deep, wrecked sound that came from somewhere low in his gut, and when he pulled back just an inch, just long enough to drag in a breath, his eyes were black with something feral.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice rough with triumph, like he’d just uncovered a truth he’d been aching to confirm. “Little virgin with a mouth like sin… wearin’ lace for your weddin’, but kissin’ me like you’re starvin’ for it.”

His hands dropped then, feverish and impatient, fumbling with the buckle of his belt as you stood frozen, breathless, dazed beneath him, your lips still tingling, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted to escape your body.

“A virgin,” he rasped, eyes dragging down the length of you like a man unwrapping a forbidden gift, “but still a fuckin’ whore for me.”

You whimpered — barely audible — but you didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Because every inch of your body was betraying you, soaked and trembling and swaying toward him like gravity itself had changed direction.

Joel moved fast, years of control finally unraveling as he gripped your waist and guided you backwards, turning you effortlessly, and before you could register what was happening, you felt the soft brush of velvet behind your knees.

You bent instinctively, breath catching in your throat, and he pressed you down onto the couch — the same pale satin loveseat where your robe had been draped just minutes before — your spine arching as your knees folded beneath you, your chest bracing against the cushions.

Everything moved too quickly and yet not quick enough, your thoughts spinning, your skin burning, the cool air kissing your bare thighs as your position shifted, hips raised, your lace-covered ass now exposed, tilted up toward him like an offering.

You heard the clink of his belt dropping open.

And Joel — standing behind you now, belt unfastened — stared down at you with an expression so dark, so wrecked with lust and disbelief, you could feel the weight of it without even turning around. His breath came heavier now, the air between you thick and humid with something that felt like sin and smelled like cologne and sex, and when he finally spoke, it was little more than a gravel-coated whisper, ruined and reverent.

“Look at that fuckin’ view…”

The words made your spine arch involuntarily, heat crawling up your neck and pooling between your thighs, the lace of your panties so damp it clung to you like a second skin. You turned your head, looking back over your shoulder, your voice small and trembling, barely able to make its way past the knot forming in your throat.

“Joel… what are you doing?”

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. Just stepped forward, one hand settling heavy and possessive on the curve of your ass, his voice low and casual, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“Gonna fuck you, sweetie.”

Your mouth fell open, a breath escaping so sharp it felt like a wound.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice cracking from the inside out, but you didn’t move — didn’t pull away, didn’t protest, didn’t stop him — and that alone told him everything he needed to know.

His palm came down fast.

The crack echoed softly against the suite walls, sharp and sudden, your body jolting from the contact as you yelped in surprise, eyes fluttering shut from the sting that bloomed across your skin.

Joel’s hand returned immediately, smoothing over the flesh he’d just struck, warm and steady, grounding you through the burn.

“Gotta be quiet, angel,” he murmured, his voice rich and amused, thick with the kind of heat that made your toes curl. “Don’t wanna spook the wedding planner. She’ll come knockin’ if she hears you squealin’ like that.”

And then, with a patience so unholy it made your head spin, he lifted his hand again — and brought it down once more.

The second smack was firmer, more confident, and this time, he watched with a hunger so intense it bordered on reverence as a soft red bloom appeared across the curve of your ass, glowing beneath the sheer lace.

He exhaled like a man in prayer.

“Fuck…” he whispered, dragging his thumb along the edge of the mark, watching the skin warm and swell beneath his touch. “Look how pretty you blush for me.”

You whimpered, your cheek pressed against the cushion, fingers curling into the fabric as your body burned with shame and need, trembling under his hands, soaked through and aching for more.

“Should be sweet,” he murmured, almost to himself now, like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do, like it hurt him in all the wrong, delicious ways. “It’s your first time, ain’t it? Should be slow. Should be gentle…”

He paused above you, the solid weight of his chest hovering just shy of your back, his breath warm and steady against your ear as he whispered like he had all the time in the world, like this wasn’t happening in the bridal suite moments before your wedding. “…But you bent over so easy for me, angel,” he murmured, the heat of his words seeping into your skin like smoke, “didn’t even need to be asked — now I’m thinkin’ maybe you don’t want it sweet.”

You whimpered his name, the sound spilling from your lips before you could stop it, trembling with the need clawing its way through your chest. “Please, Joel,” you whispered, voice raw and soaked in shame and longing.

His lips brushed your ear, low and indulgent. “Please what, baby?”

You hesitated only for a breath, the humiliation of the words curling in your throat, but it was overtaken by need, by the aching, throbbing emptiness that only he could fill. “I want you to fuck me,” you said finally, your voice cracking under the weight of it, tears slipping down your cheeks now, mascara probably smeared, dignity long gone, “please, I—I need it so bad.”

Your hand moved before your thoughts could catch up, fingers reaching between your thighs to drag the drenched lace of your panties to the side, desperate to give him access, to offer yourself up in the most obscene, pleading way.

But Joel moved faster.

He stepped in, growling something low in his throat, and pushed your hand away like you were doing it all wrong. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the soaked panties and yanked them down with deliberate slowness, dragging the sticky fabric over your thighs, your knees, until it slipped free completely and left your bare pussy exposed, glistening and trembling beneath his gaze.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, his voice gravel-edged with hunger and reverence, “not to the side, baby — I wanna see all of it. Want nothin’ in the way of this sweet little pussy. S’too fuckin’ pretty to be hidden.”

You heard the soft rustle of fabric as he folded the panties once, then again, and without ceremony — like it was the most casual act in the world — he shoved them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stepping back to take in the sight of you, bent over for him, lace bra hugging your chest, your ass bare and soft, and your pussy so slick it shone in the low light of the room. “She’s leakin’, baby. Soakin’ the fuckin’ air.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, your cheeks burning, your lip trembling, and when your eyes met his, you saw something wild and dark, something feral that had been buried under years of restraint and was finally, violently free.

Joel’s eyes dropped again to your cunt — pink, swollen, dripping — and he let out a low whistle, shaking his head like he was seeing something too good for this world. “Look at that,” he whispered, his thumb brushing along the curve of your ass, just shy of where you needed him most. “She’s just beggin’ to be filled, ain’t she? Never been touched, never been fucked, and already actin’ like she knows who she belongs to.”

His hand moved then, slow and reverent, fingers grazing your folds with barely-there pressure, teasing the slick mess between your legs. “You hear that?” he murmured, almost in awe as your body answered him with a wet, needy sound. “She’s talkin’ to me, baby. Cryin’ for it. She wants me bad — this pussy knows who she wants first.”

His fingers pressed deeper between your thighs now, soaked and shameless, and the way he touched you wasn’t rushed or careless, but slow and possessive — like he’d already decided that this part of you belonged to him, no matter who was waiting outside with a ring. He leaned in again, his mouth grazing the side of your jaw as he murmured low against your skin, every syllable thick with heat and power, “Tell me, sweetheart… did he ever taste you?”

Your lips parted, breath trembling, and it took you a moment to respond, because even now, as you knelt there in nothing but lace and sin, your body already given over, the shame still clung to your voice like it didn’t want to be spoken. “Yes,” you whispered finally, eyes fluttering closed, “he has.”

Joel’s hum was deep and thoughtful, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm as he circled your entrance with one thick finger, teasing you without mercy. He didn’t sound jealous, but rather contemplative — like he was trying to figure out how to rewrite every memory your body had ever known. And then, after another breathless pause, his voice dropped even lower, almost gentle now, as he asked, “And you ever suck him off, baby? Ever get that pretty little mouth of yours wrapped around his cock?”

Your cheeks burned, throat tightening, and you nodded once, eyes already glassy, tears hot beneath your lashes. “Yes,” you squeaked out, barely audible.

Joel exhaled slowly, like the sound of your voice had settled deep in his chest. And when he spoke again, it was with a reverence that made your stomach flip. “Then I reckon this tight little cunt’s still untouched,” he said, fingers spreading you open now, deliberately exposing the soft, slick heat he hadn’t even begun to take. “You’re gonna be tight, angel. Might hurt a little when I stretch you open.”

You shook your head hard, hips pushing back against his hand without even meaning to, your voice breaking apart on a moan. “I don’t care,” you gasped, the words dissolving into desperation, “please, Joel… I need it, I need you.”

The moment you said it — the moment that last piece of resistance crumbled — he moved like something primal had been set loose in him. His belt hit the floor with a low clink, and then you heard it — the sound of fabric shifting, his breath catching, the soft curse under his breath — and you turned your head, just barely, to see it.

Joel’s cock — thick, flushed, the tip already leaking — was heavy in his hand, larger than anything you'd ever taken, long and wide and veined in a way that made your knees shake. He looked down at you, still kneeling, still trembling, and the expression on his face was unlike anything you'd ever seen on him before — not protective, not amused, not even hungry — but possessive, like the sight of you below him, spread and waiting, had finally answered something inside him that had been restless for years.

Your eyes went wide, lips parting, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out — honest and stunned and burning hot. “You’re… you’re so much bigger than him.”

Joel’s brows lifted, his expression faltering for a moment like your soft little confession had caught him off-guard, and then his mouth curved into something dark and triumphant, a grin that held no humor, only heat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice soft but curling with something almost cruel. “That right, angel? My shy little girl just saw my cock and realized she’s been settlin’ for less all this time?”

Your face flushed deeper, but you nodded, thighs pressing together with need, your body already aching for the stretch.

Joel’s hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, dragging the thick head through your folds, collecting your wetness and coating himself in it like it was something sacred. He let out a low groan, deep and reverent, as he whispered against your spine, “You’re about to learn what it means to be filled proper, baby — gonna ruin you so good, you won’t remember how he ever made you feel, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”

With one hand wrapped tight around the base of his cock, guiding himself with a precision that bordered on reverence, and the other braced firmly on your hip, his fingers digging into the soft swell of your flesh, Joel positioned himself behind you like a man about to sin so deeply he didn’t expect to walk away clean. He dragged the thick, leaking head through your folds one last time, gathering the wetness that clung to your skin like honey, before lining himself up at your entrance, pressing forward with a slow, relentless roll of his hips that knocked the breath straight from your lungs.

The moment his cock breached you — that first, unbearable stretch of thick muscle forcing you open for the first time — your mouth dropped open in a silent scream before the sound tore free of your throat, a strangled cry that buried itself in the pillow beneath your face as your fingers clawed at the cushions like you were trying to anchor yourself to something, anything.

Joel groaned above you, loud and ragged, like your cunt had knocked the air straight out of his chest, his breath hitching as he sank deeper into you, inch by devastating inch, until the full weight of his cock was buried inside your trembling body. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice ruined and low, “that’s my good girl, takin’ it like she was fuckin’ made for it — Jesus Christ, this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she don’t wanna let go.”

Your thighs trembled, your toes curling, your eyes filling again with tears as you sobbed into the pillow, the fullness so sharp it hurt, a stretch so wide and foreign it felt like your body couldn’t possibly take it — and yet, the heat, the pressure, the weight of him made your entire body burn with something dangerously close to bliss.

He gave you barely a second, just enough to gasp for breath, before his hips drew back and slammed forward again, not with violence, but with intent — each thrust deep and punishing, like he’d waited long enough and now he needed all of you, needed to fuck you through the pain and into something filthy and perfect and his.

You screamed again, voice shaking, body arching up to meet him as he fucked into you, deep and fast and so much.

“Fuck,” you cried, the sound punched out of you, every word breaking on a moan as your body fought to keep up with the brutal stretch.

Joel leaned over you then, one arm bracing beside your head, his chest pressed flush to your back, his mouth at your ear as he growled, “That good, angel? You cryin’ on my cock ‘cause it feels that fuckin’ good?”

You could barely speak, could barely breathe, but you nodded helplessly, tears streaking your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess, your pussy stretched around the thickest cock you’d ever felt in your life — and Joel, old enough to know better, too far gone to care, only fucked you harder.

Joel was relentless now, driving into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs, each thrust impossibly deep, thick, and brutal, the sound of his hips slapping against your soaked flesh echoing through the bridal suite like a hymn made of sin. You were sobbing by then, not from pain but from the overwhelming stretch, the brutal pleasure that had overtaken your body like wildfire, every nerve lit up, every breath punched out of you, your throat raw from crying his name like it was the only thing you knew.

And then, without warning, he pulled you back — hard — one strong arm wrapping around your waist to wrench you upright until your back collided with his chest, your spine arched against the heat of him, your ass pressed flush to his groin, his cock still buried to the hilt inside your fluttering cunt.

He was still fully dressed — the open front of his suit brushing your bare skin, the crisp fabric harsh against your softness — and the contrast only made it filthier, more obscene, like you were some trembling little bride mounted by a man who hadn’t even bothered to take off his jacket before ruining you.

His hand slid up, slow and steady, until it wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, just holding — possessive and firm, a collar of ownership as he leaned down to growl in your ear, his voice thick with the sound of his own unraveling.

“Gonna cream all over this virgin fuckin’ pussy, baby,” he groaned, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching against your walls with every brutal thrust. “Gonna fill you up so deep, you’ll be walkin’ down that aisle with my cum drippin’ outta you.”

The new angle was dizzying — every stroke hitting something deeper, rougher, worse, dragging cries from your throat that didn’t even sound like words anymore. Your legs trembled violently, muscles going slack as the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, white-hot and blinding.

“I—I think I’m gonna—Joel—” you gasped, voice choked, your head falling back against his shoulder as your thighs began to shake uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he rasped, fucking into you harder now, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to make your toes curl. “Come on, baby, give it to me — wanna feel this sweet little cunt clench when she lets go — fuckin’ knew you’d come all over my cock.”

And you did — with a scream so loud it barely sounded human, your pussy clamping down around him in waves, your entire body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, soaking him in heat and slick and something filthy and pure all at once.

Joel cursed behind you, a deep, raw sound of something breaking loose inside him, and his rhythm faltered as his hands gripped you tight, dragging you down hard on his cock one final time.

“Fuck—Jesus, I’m gonna—shit—” he growled, voice splintering as he shoved himself impossibly deeper, grinding his hips against you as his cock pulsed violently inside your pussy.

And then he came — hot and thick and overwhelming — spilling deep inside you in heavy, pulsing waves, each thrust slower now but just as deep, his breath hot and ragged against the side of your neck as he held you still, as if your trembling body could take any more. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, not squeezing now but resting there like a vow, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the place he’d claimed. Your insides fluttered around him, spasming weakly as his cock throbbed within you, every thick drop of his cum flooding your aching cunt, the sensation so warm, so full, so all-consuming, it felt like your body wasn’t your own anymore — like it belonged to him now, marked and filled and known.

You couldn’t speak.

Could barely breathe.

The heat curled through your chest like smoke, leaving you dizzy and dazed, your limbs too heavy to move as the wet, messy slickness dripped slowly from between your thighs.

Joel panted behind you, his mouth still close to your ear, his free hand still groping greedily at your breasts like he wasn’t finished, like he needed every last inch of you under his palms even after emptying himself inside you. And then, without warning, his mouth descended to your neck, kissing along your pulse point, soft and slow, then dragging lower — your shoulder, the curve of your back, the lace strap clinging to your flushed skin — every kiss a brand, every press of his lips a silent admission.

“Fucking perfect for me,” he rasped, the words spoken so quietly it felt like a confession, not meant for anyone but your skin.

Your legs gave out the moment he loosened his hold, and you collapsed onto the couch in a daze, your breathing shallow, mascara smudged, hair clinging to the sweat on your face, the inside of your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks. Joel stood, finally withdrawing from your soaked body with a low groan, his cock wet with your slick and his cum, and for a long, quiet second, he just looked down at you — completely undone, flushed and leaking, back arched against the velvet couch cushions like a vision he’d spend the rest of his life remembering.

He tucked himself back into his slacks with slow, practiced movements, the suit wrinkled now, his shirt untucked and his belt hanging loosely from the loops, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about his appearance. He was thinking about you — about what he’d just done — about the way your body still shook for him.

Then he bent down, breath still uneven, and slid one arm beneath your back, the other beneath your knees, pulling you gently until your hips were right at the edge of the couch and your legs were dangling over the side, parted just slightly from how loose and ruined you were. His large hands cradled your thighs as he looked between them, his expression dark and reverent, and he used both thumbs to part your folds, exposing your swollen, slick cunt — raw, red, flushed from the stretch — and the thick, creamy mess of his cum already beginning to spill from you.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice cracking with awe and filth in equal measure, “look at that... she’s still full of me, baby. Still fuckin’ leakin’.”

He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile.

He just stared.

Joel leaned in again, no longer rough or wild, but slow, calm, tender, and pressed his mouth to yours with a softness so at odds with the filth he’d just whispered into your ear that it made your stomach turn with something dizzying. You whimpered into the kiss before you could stop yourself, lips parting beneath his without hesitation, and your fingers reached up to find the soft waves of his curls, threading through them like you needed him closer — like you needed him inside you again.

But just as his tongue swept into your mouth and your thighs shifted instinctively to pull him back between them, there was a knock on the door.

Sharp. Semi-urgent. A voice just outside that made your entire body lock up.

You gasped, eyes going wide, body tensing under his hands, panic flashing across your face as you turned to him in alarm, your mouth already open with a breathless, what do we do?

But Joel — calm, unbothered, still warm from the high of fucking you — only smiled, kissed your cheek once more, and moved like a man who had nothing to hide. He reached down, smoothing your sweat-slicked hair away from your face with one broad palm, and then reached for the discarded robe on the arm of the couch, holding it out with practiced ease.

“Put this on, baby,” he murmured, his voice so quiet and so casual that you almost forgot to be afraid. “C’mon now, just like that.”

Your hands trembled as you slipped the robe over your shoulders, the silk clinging to your still-damp skin, the warmth of his cum still sticky between your thighs, seeping down slowly as you stood there dazed and wide-eyed, heart hammering as Joel calmly walked to the door.

He opened it with a quiet click.

You couldn’t see much — just his body blocking most of the entrance — but you could hear the voice that followed, light and affectionate.

“Hey, honey,” Joel said, his tone so casual it made your head spin, “I was just checkin’ on her.”

And then Tess walked in.

Your future mother-in-law.

She entered the room smiling, holding a small clutch and wearing heels that clicked softly against the tile. But her smile faltered the moment she saw your face — the smudged makeup, the dampness still clinging to your flushed cheeks, the robe wrapped haphazardly over your trembling frame.

“Oh, honey,” she said, brows knitting together as she crossed the room, her voice full of concern, “your makeup’s a mess… what happened?”

You froze. You couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t speak. Could only look at Joel.

He let out a soft sigh, the kind that sounded burdened and weary, and stepped beside you like he’d been coaching you through a meltdown. His voice was soft, warm, careful — the voice of a father figure handling a delicate girl on the verge of collapse.

“Poor thing started cryin’ while we were talkin’,” he said gently, his hand brushing your shoulder like he’d been comforting you this whole time. “Think the day’s just gotten to her a bit. I was tryin’ to calm her down, but it’s all hittin’ her at once.”

Tess was already moving toward you, one hand reaching to grab a tissue, the other pulling her compact from her clutch.

“Oh, Joel,” she said with a little laugh, smacking his arm as she passed, “you always get her so emotional. You really gotta stop with all your big speeches before the ceremony, honestly.”

She was smiling, teasing, already wiping gently under your eyes, fussing with your hair, smoothing the fabric of the robe over your bare shoulders — and she didn’t suspect a thing.

But you could still feel Joel’s hand ghosting against your back.

Still feel the ache deep inside you.

Still feel the slow, hot trickle of his cum leaking from your pussy and onto the inside of your thigh.

And when he caught your gaze from across the room — his expression unreadable, calm, smug, and maybe even a little proud — you realized something awful.

You were still his.

And he wasn’t done.

🕊♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

maybe i am deranged and disgusting but i am free xx hope yall enjoyed

[enhaflixer]

enhypen x f!reader - breeding kink + overstim

ENHA HARD HOURS 18+ MDNI okay so there is cockwarming, belly bulging, lots of dirty talk, and a bit of a lactation kink in sunghoons one and a daddy kink in jakes i think maybe sunghoon and jungwon take the cake for making me drip on this one honestly idek what i was thinking writing this one it was brain empty hands typing.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

Heeseung has been on edge all fucking evening.

It starts at dinner—his eyes glued to you the entire time, watching the way your sundress flutters around your thighs, the way you shift in your seat, completely oblivious to how wrecked he already is.

Then at home—the way you walk around the apartment, still wearing that same pretty little dress, still teasing him without even trying.

And now?

Now, you’re bent over to pick something up off the floor, the hem of your sundress lifting just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of soft, bare skin.

And Heeseung snaps.

His hands are on you before you even realize he’s moved—gripping your hips, grinding his cock against your ass, letting out a deep, breathy groan that’s been building inside him all fucking day.

“Fuck, angel,” he hisses, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers gripping tight, keeping you in place. “You have any idea what you’ve been doing to me?”

You gasp, startled, hands clutching at the dresser in front of you for balance.

“Hee—”

“Walking around all day in this little dress,” he murmurs, one hand sliding down your stomach, dipping between your thighs, fingers grazing the soft skin just above your knee. “So short, angel. Barely covering anything. Did you wear this for me? Hm? You trying to make me lose my fucking mind?”

You feel his cock pressing against you, already so hard, already straining against his sweats.

And then—just to tease you, just to hear you whimper.

His fingers inch higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, tracing lazy circles up the inside of your thigh.

You shiver, biting your lip, trying to ignore the way your breath shakes beneath his touch.

“Ah, angel,” he breathes, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, slowly, teasingly bunching it up.

Then, voice drenched in something dark, something hungry, something desperate.

“Bend over for me. Right now.”

You do.

Because how could you not?

Your body melts into his touch, your hands gripping the dresser, your back arching slightly as heeseung pushes your dress up around your waist.

And when he sees you like this—your ass bare, your thighs trembling, your slick already coating your inner thighs from how badly you’ve wanted him all day—

He groans, low and deep, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Jesus, baby—”

Then, in one slow, deep movement,

He slides his cock inside you.

You gasp, your body tensing, your fingers gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white.

Because he’s so fucking deep.

Because he doesn’t ease into it.

Because he fills you up all at once, burying himself inside you in one smooth, deliberate thrust, stretching you open, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach.

Heeseung?

He moans.

Loud. Breathy. Wrecked.

His fingers dig into your hips, his chest heaving, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he breathes through the feeling of being so deep inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice shaking, his hands sliding up your back, keeping you pressed firmly against the dresser.

“You’re already sucking me in, angel. You want this that bad? Hm? Want me to fuck you stupid?”

You whimper, nodding desperately, already too lost in the pleasure to answer properly.

That’s all he needs.

Heeseung grins, voice dripping with filth, his hips snapping against yours as he starts fucking into you—deep, slow, grinding thrusts, pressing his cock as far inside as he can go.

His hands slide under your dress, gripping your tits, squeezing, rolling your sensitive nipples between his fingers, making you moan louder, making your body arch for him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his lips dragging over your shoulder, biting down lightly. “Made for me. Made to take my cum. Gonna breed you, angel. Gonna fill you up so good you won’t need this dress anymore—gonna have my cum dripping down your thighs instead.”

When you clench around him at his words, Heeseung gasps, his pace stuttering, his fingers flexing against your skin.

“Shit—you like that, angel? Like when I talk about stuffing you full?”

He lets out a deep, filthy groan, his hips snapping faster, thrusting into you rougher, his breath ragged against your neck.

And then—his hand slides down, pressing against the bulge in your stomach, feeling the way his cock fills you up.

“Feel that?” His voice is low, husky, wrecked. “That’s me, angel. That’s where I’m gonna fucking fill you up.”

And then—as his thrusts turn erratic, as his breath catches, as his entire body tenses against yours.

He spills inside you.

His moans turn into soft, shaky gasps, his fingers dig into your hips, pressing you back onto him, making sure you take all of it.

And when he finally comes down, when his breath slows, when his forehead rests against the back of your neck,

He still doesn’t move.

He stays there, still deep inside you, still keeping his cum tucked inside where it belongs.

And then, so soft, so teasing, so unbearably filthy,

“Better not let a drop go to waste, angel. That dress was short enough already.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠

You’ve been bothering him all week.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

You did it in the kitchen— wrapping your arms around him from behind while he cooked, pressing your cheek to his back, whispering, “Baby, don’t you wanna give me a baby? One with your pretty eyes and my smile?”

You did it on the couch— climbing into his lap while he was watching TV, grinding against his cock through his sweats, murmuring against his lips, “Isn’t that what good husbands do? They give their wife whatever she wants?”

You did it in bed— naked, stretched out on top of him, licking the shell of his ear, dragging your fingers down his stomach, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jaw.

“Fuck me full, Jay. Please, please, please—right now, right now, right now.”

Jay had been so fucking patient.

Just smiling, shaking his head, gripping your waist and kissing you deep, groaning as he held back.

But now?

Now, you’re doing it again—laying in bed, tangled up in his arms, whispering filth in his ear like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Please, baby,” your voice is sweet, breathy, teasing, your fingers trailing down his chest, your nails scraping lightly at his abs. “Please fill me up. I want you to make me a mommy, Jay. I want you to fuck me so deep that it sticks, want you to pump me so full of your cum I can’t even think, wanna be so full I can feel it dripping down my thighs—”

And Jay snaps.

One second, he’s laying there, listening, gritting his teeth, gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles turn white.

The next—he has you flipped onto your stomach, pinned beneath him, his hands grabbing at your hips, yanking them up, shoving a pillow under you, spreading you open for him.

His chest is rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths, his jaw clenched tight, his voice low and wrecked and dangerously strained.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You whimper, breath catching, fingers clutching at the pillow.

“Nope.”

And then you wiggle your hips back against him, your soaked cunt pressing against his rock-hard cock, teasing, taunting.

Jay loses it.

His hand flies to the back of your neck, pressing you down into the mattress, holding you there as he grinds against you, slow, deliberate, letting you feel exactly how hard you’ve made him.

His voice is low, dark, dripping with something dangerous.

“You’ve been begging for it all fucking week,” he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. “You want me to fuck a baby into you that bad, sweetheart?”

You whimper, pressing your ass back against him, nodding frantically.

“Yes—yes, please, Jay.”

And then—without another word, without another second of teasing.

Jay slams into you in one deep, brutal thrust.

You scream.

Your entire body jerks, your fingers claw at the pillow, your eyes go wide as he stretches you open, stuffing you full in one smooth motion, pressing so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking throat.

Jay moans.

Loud. Deep. Wrecked.

His fingers dig into your hips, his head dropping forward, his chest pressing against your back, his breath shaky and hot against your ear.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice raw, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking tight—”

And then he pulls back—just a little,

Before he fucks you.

Hard.

His pace is brutal, unforgiving, every snap of his hips forcing sharp little gasps from your throat, making your body jerk up against him, making you completely fucking helpless beneath him.

“You begged for this, baby,” he pants, his hand slipping under your stomach, pressing against the bulge in your belly, feeling himself inside you. “Begged for me to fuck you stupid, begged for me to breed you—so take it.”

You whimper, moaning brokenly, eyes rolling back as he fucks into you harder, deeper, rougher.

And when you start shaking, when your walls clamp down around him so tight he nearly fucking chokes.

Jay groans, wrecked and desperate, his cock twitching inside you.

His hand slides up, presses down against your stomach again.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasps, pressing harder, his voice shaking. “You’re gonna feel me inside you for fucking days.”

You whimper, body trembling, legs shaking, pleasure ripping through your body so intensely you feel like you might break.

And Jay?

Jay laughs, breathless, teasing, completely obsessed with the way you’re falling apart under him.

“Oh, baby,” his voice is soft now, gentle, dripping with something possessive and tender and absolutely filthy.

“You’re gonna look so fucking pretty carrying my baby.”

And then, with one final, deep thrust, pressing as far inside you as he can go,

He spills inside you.

His moans turn into soft, broken little gasps, his hips still rolling, still grinding, still fucking his cum deep inside you, making sure you take all of it.

But he doesn’t stop.

Because when he feels the way your walls flutter around him, still so tight, still so warm, still sucking him in,

He groans, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you in place.

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice soft, teasing, completely fucked-out.

Then he pulls back and slams into you again.

“You wanted me to fuck a baby into you, didn’t you?” His voice is wrecked, strained, dripping with lust. “So let me make sure it fucking sticks.”

𝐒𝐢𝐦 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧

Jake has been suffering.

For months.

Maybe even longer.

The obsession started out innocent enough—little thoughts, little fantasies. At first, it was just an idea that curled up inside his brain whenever he looked at you. You, swollen with his baby, glowing, carrying the life he put inside you.

Then, it got worse.

It became a need.

A deep, aching, primal fucking need.

It was in the way he touched you—his hands sliding down to press warm and firm over your lower belly whenever he pulled you against him at night. The way his lips would linger there, soft and reverent, before murmuring “Wouldn’t it be nice, baby?” against your skin.

It was in the way he looked at you—his brown eyes dark and full of something dangerous, something obsessed, something close to unraveling every time you wore one of those tiny little dresses that clung to your body just right.

It was in the way he spoke to you.

Whispered things in public, just loud enough for you to hear.

“You’d be such a pretty mommy, you know that? I’d take such good care of you.”

“Bet you’d look so fucking good carrying my baby. All full of me, round and soft, showing everyone who you belong to.”

“You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me put a baby in you, fill you up just right, pump you so full you couldn’t even think about anything else.”

You just laughed.

Ruffled his hair, kissed him deep, tugged him by the belt into the bedroom but never let him finish inside.

Always made him pull out.

Always left him aching, desperate, completely wrecked.

Tonight, you’re done making him wait.

So you plan it.

You wait for him in bed—the room bathed in warm, flickering candlelight, wearing the tiniest, most delicate nightgown you own.

Wine red.

Thin straps barely clinging to your shoulders, the silk soft and sheer, dipping so dangerously low over your chest that your nipples are just barely hidden beneath the lace trim. The hem short enough that it barely covers the curve of your ass.

Your nails are painted the same deep shade, your toes, your lips—all matching, all designed to drive him insane.

And when Jake walks in—tie loosened, dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, hair already messy from running his fingers through it all day.

He stops in his tracks.

Dead fucking silent.

Like his brain just short-circuited.

His eyes drag over every inch of you,from the curve of your thighs, to the lace hanging off your skin, to the way you spread your legs just a little, dragging your fingers up your own thigh like you’re already waiting for him.

And then?

Then, you say the words.

“I stopped taking my birth control.”

Jake physically shudders.

Like a full-body tremor, a violent, wrecked little reaction, his hands clenching into fists, his pupils dilating so fast you swear you see them blow out completely black.

“What?” His voice is already wrecked, already hoarse, already breaking.

You tilt your head, smiling slow, lazy, teasing.

“I stopped taking my birth control, daddy.”

Jake fucking whimpers.

The sound that leaves his mouth is pathetic.

Absolutely wrecked.

His knees actually buckle, his hips twitch forward, his breath leaves him in sharp, ragged gasps like he’s already about to come just from hearing those words.

“Oh my fucking God—baby, please, please.”

He’s on you in seconds.

No hesitation.

His hands are all over you, grabbing at you, pulling you into his lap, grinding against you so hard it’s almost bruising. His mouth is everywhere,your neck, your collarbones, your chest, his breath shaking against your skin as he gasps against your lips.

“Say it again.” His voice is low, rough, dangerous. “Say it again, baby, tell me I can finally fucking breed you.”

You lick into his mouth, slow and teasing, dragging your fingers through his curls, gripping the back of his neck, whispering the words right against his lips.

“I stopped taking my birth control, daddy. Breed me. Fuck a baby into me.”

And Jake fucking breaks.

His hips buck up into yours so hard you feel his cock throbbing through his pants, his moan coming out high and whiny, completely fucking gone.

“Oh, f-fuck, oh my God, baby.”

His fingers fly to his belt, unbuckling it so fast that he nearly fumbles, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

When he finally gets his cock free, when he presses the leaking tip against your folds, dragging it through your slick.

His whole body shudders.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dripping.” His voice breaks. “All for me? Huh? All for daddy’s cock?”

You whimper, shifting against him, rubbing yourself over his length, making him suck in a sharp, ragged breath.

“Fuck, baby, you’re already making a mess. You want it that bad, huh? Want me to pump you so full you’ll be dripping for days—”

And before you can even answer—before you can even fucking breathe, Jake slams into you.

Hard. Fast. Deep. Brutal.

You scream.

Your back arches, your hands claw at his shoulders, your body trembles from the sudden stretch, the overwhelming fullness.

And Jake?

Jake moans.

Loud. Choked. Completely fucking destroyed.

“Oh my God, baby—fuck!”

His hips jerk, his fingers digging into your waist, his forehead pressing against yours as he gasps for air.

And then he starts moving.

Fast.

Rough.

Completely feral.

“Gonna breed you, baby,” he pants, his voice cracking, shaking. “Gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll feel it for weeks—”

“Gonna fuck you till you can’t even stand, keep stuffing you with my cum until you can’t take anymore,”

And when you whimper, when your walls flutter around him, when your body shakes with the force of how deep he’s fucking you.

Jake snaps.

His hips stutter, his hands tremble, his moans turn into wrecked little whimpers.

“Oh, f-fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come, baby, take it, take all of it,”

And then, with one final, deep, messy thrust, pressing as far inside you as he can,

He spills inside you.

And it doesn’t stop.

Jake is still moaning, still rutting into you, still grinding his cock as deep as it’ll go, his breath shaky, his whimpers high and needy as he fucks his cum deeper.

And then—his voice, soft, trembling, completely wrecked. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop, baby. Hope you meant it.”

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 (beware)

Sunghoon always pulls out.

Even when he’s panting against your skin, moaning your name, fucking you so deep and slow that you can feel every inch of him drag along your walls—he never lets himself go completely.

Even now, with you clenching around him, nails scratching down his back, his glasses fogging up from how deep he’s breathing, you know he’s still planning to pull out at the last second.

That’s why you decide to ruin him.

You drag your hands up his back, pulling him closer, pressing your lips to his ear, whispering sweet and filthy.

“Cum inside me.”

Sunghoon’s entire body locks up.

His hips stutter, his breath catches, his hands dig into your waist, holding you so tight you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

His voice comes out wrecked, hoarse, completely caught off guard.

“W-what?”

You tilt your head, letting your lips drag along his jaw, teasing, soft, sinful.

“I want you to cum inside me, baby. Fill me up. Give me everything.”

His eyes snap down to your tits immediately.

They’re bouncing every time he thrusts, slick and glistening with sweat, nipples hard and begging for his mouth.

Just like you knew he would,

Sunghoon loses it.

He grabs at them immediately, groaning as his fingers dig into the soft flesh, squeezing, kneading, pushing them together, watching how they spill through the gaps in his hands.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out, palming them roughly, sucking in a sharp breath. “You look so fucking good, baby. So soft,”

His head dips instantly, latching onto one of your nipples without hesitation.

The second his warm tongue flicks against the sensitive peak, you let out a soft moan, arching into his mouth, letting him bury his face between them.

“You love sucking on them, don’t you?” you murmur, fingers tugging his hair, keeping him there. “Bet you’ll love them even more when they’re bigger.”

He groans into your skin, sucking harder, tongue swirling, lips wet and messy.

“Bigger?” His voice is breathless, muffled against your tits, moaning between every word.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, raking your nails down his back, gasping when he nips at you. “They’re gonna get huge when you put a baby in me, Hoonie. Heavy. Sensitive. So full.”

Sunghoon whimpers.

Actually fucking whimpers.

His hips jerk forward on instinct, thrusting into you deeper, his breath getting shakier, more uneven, more desperate.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you purr, rolling your hips against him, watching the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw clenches, the way he moans around your nipple. “Watching them get bigger just for you. All full with milk, leaking—”

Sunghoon gasps, moans so deep it vibrates against your skin, sucking harder, needier, sloppier.

“Fuck.” he chokes out, switching to your other nipple, latching on immediately, sucking so hard you swear you feel his tongue everywhere.

“You’d drink it for me, wouldn’t you, baby?” you whisper, watching the way his cock twitches inside you. “When they’re too heavy, when they ache, you’d help me, right? Suck it all out? Just like you’re doing now?”

His hips snap forward so hard you cry out.

His grip on your tits turns bruising, his moans completely fucked, completely broken, completely desperate.

“Oh my fucking God,” he gasps, pulling back just to stare at them, glossy with his spit, flushed and swollen. “You’re trying to fucking kill me,”

You laugh softly, dragging your fingers through his damp hair.

“Not my fault you get so horny for my tits, baby. Just imagine how they’ll look when you fuck a baby into me.”

Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, desperate groan, his eyes glued to your chest, hips moving faster, harder, deeper, his forehead pressing against your shoulder.

“You really fucking want it?” His voice is shaky, breathless, barely even there. “You want me to breed you, baby? Fill you up?”

“Yes, Hoonie,” you whimper, moaning his name, pulling him closer. “Want you to fuck me so full I start leaking. Want you to suck it out when it’s too much. Want you to make sure I stay full of your cum every single fucking night–”

Sunghoon snaps.

His hips slam into you harder, his moans turning high, breathless, broken.

“Oh my God, oh my God—I’m gonna fucking cum!”

His cock twitches, his entire body tenses, and then he’s spilling inside you, deep, hot, thick, endless.

His moans turn into soft, gasping whimpers, his hands trembling against your chest, still cupping your tits, still squeezing, still sucking softly at your flushed, sensitive skin.

You whisper in his ear, wrecked, sweet, teasing.

“You’re still sucking on them, baby,” you murmur, dragging your nails up his spine, making him shudder.

His hips twitch, still pressing into you, still rocking his cum deeper inside you.

“You wanna go again?” you whisper, breathless, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “We still need to make sure it doesn't leak.”

Sunghoon lets out a wrecked, broken moan, his cock already getting hard again.“Fuck—we’re not stopping.”

𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐨𝐨

Sunoo has been glowing all week.

Ever since you both agreed to start trying for a baby, he’s been softer, more affectionate, more eager to touch you at any given moment. His hands wander constantly—over your stomach, your waist, the dip of your spine, up under your shirt when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. Every night, he holds you just a little tighter, whispers just a little sweeter, kisses you just a little longer.

Tonight, he’s above you, warm and solid, his lips trailing soft, lingering kisses over your cheek, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder. His hips move slow, deep, rocking into you like he’s savoring every second.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. “Still can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

Your arms wrap around his back, fingers dragging over the smooth expanse of skin. His body shivers beneath your touch, his breath hitching as his rhythm falters for just a second.

“It’s real,” you whisper, pressing your lips against his temple. “You’re gonna fill me up so well, baby.”

A soft moan spills from his lips, a quiet little gasp that has you clenching around him. His hands tighten against your waist, gripping you like you might disappear.

“You really want that?” His voice shakes slightly, like he’s holding himself back.

You nod, brushing your lips against his ear. “Want all of you, Sunoo. Want you to give me everything.”

His movements grow more deliberate, more fluid, more desperate. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he lets out a shaky breath.

“You’re gonna be so pretty carrying my baby,” he whispers. “So full, so soft. I’ll take care of you, you know that, right?”

Your heart clenches, warmth blooming through your chest. You kiss him, slow and deep, letting him feel just how much you want this, how much you want him.

His pace quickens. He’s always been so careful, so sweet, but this is different. He’s lost in you, breath ragged, fingers flexing against your skin. Every thrust has him sinking deeper, pressing harder, like he’s trying to mark you from the inside out.

“I can’t stop,” he gasps, voice trembling, lips brushing over yours with every desperate exhale. “You feel too good, baby. I need—”

His voice breaks into a soft moan, the words fading into nothing as he presses deeper, holding you tight, completely and utterly lost.

Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him buried inside you. He shudders when he feels it, his whole body tensing, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Give it to me, baby,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Make me full.”

Sunoo chokes on a breath, his moan turning into something high and sweet, completely wrecked. His hands tremble as he grips your thighs, pressing himself as deep as he can. His hips stutter, then still.

Warmth spreads through you as he spills inside, filling you up just like he promised.

But when you shift beneath him, when your walls flutter around him just right, he lets out a soft, helpless little whimper.

His cock twitches. His fingers dig into your skin.

“You’re still hard, baby,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “You wanna keep going?”

A small, breathless gasp leaves his lips, his body trembling above you.

“You feel so good,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can stop.”

He shifts slightly, hips pressing forward again, sinking deeper, still so sensitive, still shivering from his last orgasm. A soft, gasping moan spills from his lips, his fingers curling around your waist.

“You said you wanted everything,” he breathes, voice shaking, forehead pressing against yours.

His hips roll forward, slow but insistent.

“Let me give it to you.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧 (BEWAREEEE)

Jungwon was trying to get some work done.

But no—you were being a spoiled little brat, sitting in his lap, cockwarming him like it was nothing, wiggling every few minutes, sighing dramatically while he pretended to ignore the way your walls squeezed around him every single time you shifted.

He tried.

Tried so hard to keep his focus, to type, to pretend that he wasn’t throbbing inside you, to act like he wasn’t just barely holding it together, until you spread your legs.

Until you dragged one of his busy hands off his keyboard, guided it down between your thighs, pressed his fingers against your swollen, needy clit.

His entire body tensed, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his fingers twitching against your heat.

“Baby.” His voice was low, warning, already strained. “What do you think you’re doing?”

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear, breath hot, desperate, completely ruining him.

“Jungwon, please,” you whined, shifting slightly, feeling his cock press even deeper inside you. “Just give me a baby.”

His fingers tightened on your waist, his breath came out in a slow, sharp exhale, and his laptop screen went black as he slammed it shut.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, gripping your hips, pulling you down fully onto him, forcing a gasping moan from your lips.

But you didn’t care.

Didn’t care that he was fed up, that his patience had snapped, that he was trying so hard to stay in control.

Because your brain had already turned to mush, because you were so full, so stretched, so perfectly stuffed with his cock that you could feel him pushing against the walls of your stomach.

You wanted more.

“I wanna get pregnant again as soon as I give you one baby,” you gasped, your fingers trailing down your stomach, pressing against the bulge that was forming there, where his cock was stretching you open so perfectly.

Jungwon’s eyes snapped down to where your hand rested over your belly.

His cock twitched inside you, hard, needy, responding to every single word that fell from your mouth.

“You’re already stuffed full of me, and you’re still talking?” he growled, rolling his hips forward, sharp, deep, making you whimper.

But you wouldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

“I wanna be pregnant all the time,” you babbled, completely gone, rocking yourself onto him, feeling every inch drag along your sensitive walls. “I wanna push out quadruplets just so you can fuck me full again right after. Wanna—wanna be dripping with your cum all the time, Jungwon, wanna be permanently wet for you, wanna plug myself up with your cock so none of it leaks out—”

Jungwon sucked in a sharp breath, groaning deep in his chest, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he gritted his teeth.

“You don’t know when to shut up, do you?”

You shook your head, whining, rolling your hips, your own hand slipping between your legs, pressing against your clit, rubbing messy little circles as you shuddered.

“Won’t stop,” you gasped, tilting your head to whisper against his jaw. “Not until you fuck me hard enough that you push your cum in so deep I'm sticky inside. Not until I’m so full I start leaking just from walking. Not until I have no choice but to plug it back in with my fingers because I can’t let a drop go to waste—”

His hands clamped down on your thighs, locking you in place, his breathing ragged, his entire body trembling beneath you.

“Keep talking,” he ordered, voice rough, barely restrained, something almost unhinged.

His hips snapped up into you, deep, sharp, over and over, your body jerking from the force, from the overstimulation, from the heat building inside you so fast it was making you dizzy.

But you still wouldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

“Jungwon—oh my God, Jungwon, I wanna be pregnant so bad, I want all of your babies, I want to always be full, always be leaking, always— Fuck me so hard you'd turn one baby into triplets wouldn't you?”

His pace turned brutal.

No more teasing. No more patience. No more self-control.

“You wanna be fucked stupid, huh?” he growled, pulling you forward, pressing you flush against his chest, his voice hot and sharp in your ear.

You nodded frantically, sobbing out broken little moans, still rubbing at your clit, still rocking onto him, completely fucking insatiable.

“I’ll make sure it takes,” he muttered, grinding up into you, so deep you could feel him pressing against your stomach again. “I’ll fuck you so full you won’t even be able to think about anything else—”

His hands slid back down to your belly, pressing against the bulge, feeling where he was stretching you open.

“You feel that?” he groaned, digging his fingers into the soft flesh there, pressing against himself inside you.

Your body tensed, toes curling, every muscle trembling.

“That’s where I’m gonna pump you full. Right here, baby. That’s where I’m gonna make you a mommy.”

You let out a shattered cry, body clenching around him, pleasure crashing over you so violently your vision went white.

“Jungwon, oh my God, oh my God, I wanna be breastfeeding to newborns while you’re still fucking a third one right back into me, fuck i wanna be so full with you all the time my pussy permanently tastes like your cum please,” you babbled

He moaned, loud, ragged, desperate.

With one final, deep, ruthless thrust, pressing as far inside you as he could go, he spilled inside you.

Thick. Hot. Filling you completely, just like you begged for.

His fingers dug into your hips, his breath hitched, his body trembled beneath you, his lips parting in a wrecked little gasp.

But you weren’t done.

Couldn’t be done.

Would never be done.

You shuddered against him, whimpering, clenching around his cock, feeling the mess dripping out of you, feeling the heat of his release spreading through your stomach.

But it wasn’t enough.

Never enough.

“You can’t let any of it go to waste,” you panted, brain completely melted, fingers curling against his chest. “Jungwon, please, please.”

His head snapped up, eyes wild, hair damp, chest rising and falling in sharp, heaving breaths.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, shoving his fingers inside you, pushing his cum back in.

Your breath caught, body jerking, a high, wrecked sob escaping your throat.

“You wanted it, baby,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing, dripping with something possessive. “Wanted me to breed you, right? You’re gonna take every last drop.”

His lips brushed against your ear, his fingers sliding deeper.

“I won’t stop until you’re carrying my baby.”

𝐍𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐤𝐢

Riki doesn’t know when to stop.

Or, more accurately—he knows, but he doesn’t care.

He likes pushing you past your limits, watching you squirm, watching your body tremble from the sheer amount of pleasure he’s forcing you to take.

Right now, you’re under him, barely coherent, already so spent, so weak, so fucking wrecked, but he just grins down at you, completely unbothered, completely unaffected.

“You crying already, sweetheart?” His voice is smooth, teasing, so infuriatingly calm despite the way you’re falling apart.

You whimper, shaking your head even though tears are slipping down your cheeks, your entire body trembling beneath him.

Riki just laughs, soft and taunting, dragging his fingers down your stomach, feeling how your muscles twitch under his touch.

“Too bad,” he hums, adjusting his grip on your hips, tilting them up just slightly, making you feel every inch of him. “I’m not done yet.”

You let out a wrecked sob, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your mind too foggy, too overwhelmed, too overstimulated to form words.

His lips curl into a slow, lazy grin, fingers pressing against your trembling thighs, feeling the way they shake beneath his touch.

“You can take more,” he murmurs, his tone mocking, saccharine sweet, but underneath it, there’s something darker, something hungrier.

You try to shake your head, try to beg, try to push him away, but he just tuts, clicking his tongue.

“You say that,” he smirks, dragging a finger down your cheek, wiping away a tear, then bringing it to his lips, sucking it off like he actually enjoys the taste of your desperation. “But your body’s telling me something else.”

His hips snap forward, rough, slow, deep, forcing another gasping cry from your lips.

Your back arches off the bed, your head falling back, your breath leaving you in ragged, broken little sobs.

“Fuck, that’s pretty,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts, watching the way you squirm beneath him.

His fingers trail down, brushing over your sensitive clit, pressing down just slightly.

You flinch violently, a wrecked whimper leaving your lips, your thighs snapping shut on instinct.

Riki just grins, grabbing your legs, forcing them open again.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he murmurs, voice mocking, condescending, so fucking entertained by how wrecked you are. “None of that. You wanted this, remember? You wanted me to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. How am I meant to fuck a baby into you if you’re behaving this way, honey?”

You shake your head frantically, breath catching, words slurring together as you try to plead with him.

“N-no, Riki—”

He tilts his head, eyes dark, completely unfazed.

“Sweetheart, I don’t remember giving you a choice.”

His fingers rub slow, lazy circles over your clit, his cock pressing even deeper, making your entire body jerk, making you cry out, making you twitch uncontrollably from the overwhelming sensation.

Tears slip down your cheeks, your breath coming in sharp, gasping sobs, your body trembling. He laughs, breathless and taunting, voice dripping with amusement.

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging his tongue along your jaw, pressing hot, teasing kisses against your throat. “You look so fucking good like this. Can’t even fight it anymore, can you?”

Your hands grip at his arms, weak, useless, just barely managing to keep hold of him as your vision goes hazy.

He leans in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and dark and impossibly cruel.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he whispers, dragging his tongue along your earlobe, his fingers circling your overstimulated clit with cruel precision. “Give me one more.”

You let out a shattered cry, your body arching, shaking, breaking, pleasure tearing through you so violently it feels like you’re coming apart at the seams.

Your vision blurs, white-hot heat flooding through your veins, waves of ecstasy crashing over you so hard you swear you stop breathing.

Riki just grins, his voice soft, teasing, drenched in satisfaction.

“See? Told you you could take more.”

Your body twitches, trembles, shudders against him, your limbs limp, your mind blank, completely and utterly spent.

Riki clicks his tongue, watching the way you struggle to even keep your eyes open.

“Not passing out on me yet, are you?” His voice is mocking, amused, but underneath it, there’s something almost… affectionate.

“You can sleep when I’m done.”

-

TL: @ziiao @beariegyu @seonhoon @naurwayyyyy @somuchdard @ijustwannareadstuff20 @ddolleri @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @zzhengyu @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4 @starniras @wonuziex

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

꒰ঌ ໒꒱. ） WHAT ARE YA LOOKN’ AT ?

－ℱ）paring : anaxa, phainon, aventurine, aglaea, mydei x f!reader

－ℱ）warnings : nsfw/smut, creampie, scissoring with aglaea, c*mplay, man handling, size kink, nipple play, boob obsession, hair pulling, chocking, biting and dumbification in aglaea’s part!

－ℱ）synopsis : they keep staring at your tits? (mdni)

－ℱ）note : not proof read!! header is a doujinshi and you can find it on X from : sakuranotomoru !!

( 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐗𝐀 )

You noticed it again.

The way Anaxagoras kept staring. His gaze, sharp and unashamed, lingered far too long on your chest—tracking every small movement, every shift of fabric that strained against your curves. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet.

You finally snapped. "Why do you keep staring at my chest?"

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, a slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "Because you make it impossible not to."

You huffed, crossing your arms—a mistake. The motion only pushed your tits together, and his gaze flickered lower, dark with amusement.

"Anaxa," you warned, but before you could say anything else, he moved.

He was fast, deceptively strong despite his slender frame. His long fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you forward until you were flush against him. The heat of his body was unmistakable, his breath fanning over your ear as he whispered, "You expect me to resist something so tempting?"

His hands found your tits, cupping them through your clothes, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, shivering under his touch.

"You do this without even realizing," he murmured, voice thick with hunger. "Walking around, teasing me… and now you're acting so innocent?"

Your protest died on your tongue when he pushed you back against the nearest surface. His lean frame pressed against yours, long fingers tracing down your waist before yanking your clothes aside.

"Let me show you exactly what you’ve been doing to me."

Before you could respond, he spread your thighs, his fingers teasing at your soaked cunt. He chuckled, soft and mocking. "Already so wet," he mused. "Was it the way I looked at you? Or were you hoping I’d do this all along?"

You whined, barely able to process anything before he lined himself up—his cock hard, thick, pressing against your entrance.

"You can take it," he murmured.

Then he thrust in, deep and unforgiving, stretching you open with a force that made your back arch.

You never should’ve asked.

A sharp gasp left your lips as Anaxa buried himself to the hilt, stretching your pussy wide with a single deep thrust. His cock was thick despite his slender frame, filling you in a way that made your body tremble.

"Fuck—so tight," he groaned, voice smooth but edged with hunger. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as he pulled back just enough to slam into you again.

Your back arched against the cold surface beneath you, your nails clawing at his sleeves. He barely seemed fazed, eyes locked onto your tits as they bounced with each harsh thrust.

"Look at you," he murmured, breathless but still smug. "Taking my cock so well, yet you had the nerve to question why I was staring?"

You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a choked moan when his hand slid up to your throat. His fingers wrapped around it, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, to remind you of how easily he controlled you.

"That’s it," he whispered, tilting his head. "Let me hear you struggle to speak."

His free hand cupped your tits again, slender fingers rolling your nipples between them, tugging and pinching until you whined. The sharp pleasure mixed with the tight grip on your throat sent waves of heat pooling between your legs.

"Your pussy’s clenching so tight around me," he noted with a breathy chuckle. "Do you like being handled like this? Having me choke you while I fuck you dumb?"

A desperate whimper escaped you as he thrust even harder, cock dragging against your walls in a way that had your body tensing, aching for release. He wasn’t gentle. Every movement was calculated—deep, rough, unrelenting.

His thumb flicked over your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. "Come on," he coaxed, voice dropping lower, silkier. "Be a good girl and come for me."

His fingers tightened slightly around your throat, cutting off just enough air to send you spiraling. Your vision blurred, pleasure crashing through you as your pussy clenched around him, spasming with the force of your orgasm.

Anaxagoras groaned, hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for you to gulp in a breath before he slammed into you one last time, spilling deep inside with a sharp, shuddering moan.

For a moment, all you could hear was your ragged breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure still making your body tremble.

Then, his lips brushed over your ear, and in that same smooth, teasing voice, he murmured, "Still wondering why I was staring?"

( 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍 )

You could feel his gaze before you even looked up. It wasn’t the kind of glance someone tried to hide—Phainon wasn’t subtle like that. No, he was outright staring, heavy-lidded eyes locked onto your chest with a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

"You're doing it again," you muttered, shifting under his attention.

"Am I?" His voice was all amusement, but his golden eyes didn’t waver. "Can you really blame me when you're presenting such a perfect view?"

Before you could huff out a response, his fingers were already on you, tracing the curve of your breasts through your clothes. He wasn’t hurried—he never was. Phainon enjoyed taking his time, savoring the way you shivered at his touch, the way your breath hitched when his thumb ghosted over your nipple, teasing it through the fabric.

"You make it too easy for me," he mused, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. "So responsive already. I haven't even gotten you bare yet, and you're already squirming."

Your hands gripped his forearms, unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. "Phainon—"

"Shhh, let me enjoy myself," he purred, his other hand sliding under your top, fingers warm as they brushed against bare skin. "You have no idea how much I think about these." He gave a slow, appreciative squeeze, his smirk widening as you gasped. "Soft, perfect—exactly how they should be."

You whined, heat flooding you as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to make your thighs press together. He noticed, of course. He always did.

"That desperate already?" He chuckled, letting his other hand drift lower, tracing the waistband of your clothes. "I barely touched you, and you're getting wet. You must love this even more than I do."

His knee nudged between your legs, spreading them apart before pressing up just enough to make you feel the friction. "I bet I could make you come just from playing with these pretty tits," he murmured, pinching just a little harder, loving the way you shuddered. "Should I prove it?"

His cocky smirk told you he already knew the answer.

Your breath hitched as Phainon’s fingers rolled your nipple again, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every little reaction. His knee between your legs pressed up, adding just the right amount of friction to make you squirm.

"You’re so sensitive," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "I wonder—if I sucked on them, would you moan for me? Or would you try to keep quiet, knowing how much I’d tease you for it?"

You barely had time to process before he tugged your top down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He made a satisfied sound deep in his throat, blue eyes darkening as he took in the sight.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. "You were made to be touched like this, weren’t you?"

You gasped when his mouth replaced his fingers, hot and wet as he sucked one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue flicked over the peak before he bit down just enough to make your hips jerk against his thigh. He chuckled against your skin.

"See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to breathe against the damp skin. "I could spend all night here, playing with you, tasting you, making you beg." His fingers tweaked your other nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips. "And judging by how soaked you already are, I wouldn’t even have to touch your pretty pussy to get you off."

Your hands clenched in his clothes, your body burning under his attention. He was relentless, sucking and teasing until the heat between your legs grew unbearable.

"Ah, but I’d be cruel if I didn’t reward you for looking so fucking pretty like this." His hand finally dipped lower, slipping beneath your waistband. The moment his fingers found your soaked cunt, he groaned.

"Fuck. You're dripping," he murmured, rubbing slow circles around your clit before dragging his fingers through your folds. "So wet, just from me playing with your tits. Maybe I really should make you come like this—without even touching your needy little pussy properly."

He pressed two fingers inside you anyway, stretching you open as his mouth returned to your nipple, sucking greedily. His free hand teased your other breast, fingers tugging and rolling the stiff peak as he set a slow, devastating rhythm inside you.

"Come for me like this," he murmured against your skin. "Come while I’m sucking on your tits, and then I’ll give you my cock, since I know that’s what you’re really craving."

Smug bastard. But with the way he was touching you, you wouldn’t last much longer to argue.

( 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 )

Aventurine’s purple eyes had been on your chest for the last five minutes, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Lounging back, one arm draped lazily over the couch, he smirked as his gaze flicked between your face and the swell of your tits.

"You always this much of a tease, or is today special?" he mused, tilting his head.

You huffed, crossing your arms—not that it helped. If anything, it only pressed your tits together, and judging by the way his smirk deepened, he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

"Mm, cute," he murmured, reaching out. He didn’t ask for permission—Aventurine never did. His fingers traced along the curve of your breast, slow, deliberate, like he was mapping out a winning play.

"Fuck, you’re soft," he murmured, squeezing lightly before his thumb brushed over your nipple. Even through your clothes, the touch sent a shiver down your spine. He grinned. "Sensitive too. No wonder you were trying to cover up."

Before you could retort, he tugged your top down, exposing you to the cool air. He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with something deeper than amusement.

"Now that’s a jackpot."

His mouth was on you before you could think to protest, hot and greedy as he sucked a nipple between his lips. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak before he bit down, just enough to make you gasp.

"Yeah," he murmured against your skin, voice low and smug. "I knew you’d like that."

His other hand palmed your other breast, fingers rolling and teasing until your back arched. He played with you like he had all the time in the world, like this was some high-stakes game he was guaranteed to win.

When his hand dipped between your legs, his grin turned downright wicked. "Already soaked?" His fingers traced over your clit, teasing but not quite giving you what you needed. "And I haven’t even given you my cock yet."

He pressed two fingers inside you, slow but firm, stretching you open as he sucked harder at your nipple. Your fingers twisted in his hair, your body burning under his touch.

"Bet I could make you come just like this," he murmured, thrusting his fingers deeper. "Tits in my mouth, my fingers stretching you open—yeah, you’d look real pretty falling apart for me."

And with the way he worked you over, teasing and relentless, you knew he was right.

Your breath hitched as Aventurine sucked another deep bruise into the soft flesh of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His fingers inside you curled just right, dragging against that spot that made your thighs tremble.

"You're not even trying to hold back," he mused, pulling away just enough to watch your expression. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking into you slow and deep. "Cute. Thought you’d put up more of a fight."

"Shut up," you gasped, hips rocking into his hand, desperate for more.

Aventurine chuckled, his free hand pinching your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. "Oh? Didn’t sound very convincing." He tugged a little harder, making your breath stutter. "Maybe you should beg properly if you want me to give you what you need."

Your pride warred with your desperation, but the way he was playing with you, teasing every sensitive part of you with practiced ease, made it impossible to stay quiet. "Aventurine—please."

"Please what?" His fingers pulled from your pussy, dragging your slick over your clit before retreating entirely. "C’mon, sweetheart. I know you can say it."

You whined, frustration curling in your gut as he went back to palming your tits, rubbing your saliva-slick nipples between his fingers but giving you nothing where you needed it most.

"I want your cock," you finally admitted, breathless.

His smirk widened. "Now that’s what I like to hear."

He sat back, undoing his belt with an easy flick of his wrist. The moment his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, your mouth went dry.

Aventurine caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had to meet his gaze. "You gonna be good for me?" His cock nudged against your slick folds, not pushing in yet, just teasing. "Or do I have to work you up even more?"

You shuddered, already feeling dizzy from how much he’d teased you. "I’ll be good—just fuck me already."

"Mm, good answer." His hands found your hips, fingers digging in as he finally thrust inside, stretching you open with one slow, deliberate stroke.

Aventurine groaned, his head tipping back briefly before his gaze locked onto your tits again, watching how they bounced with each roll of his hips. "Yeah," he muttered, thumbing one of your nipples. "This is exactly where you belong."

( 𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐀 )

Aglaea’s touch was always deliberate. Never rushed, never careless—just the perfect balance of control and indulgence. Right now, that control was turned entirely on you, her cool fingers dragging over your bare chest, pausing to roll your stiff nipples between her fingers with calculated precision.

"You look so pliant like this," she mused, voice smooth as ever. "I wonder—were you always this weak to being touched, or am I simply that skilled?"

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent response. Your head felt hazy, warmth pooling in your belly as she continued to toy with your tits, alternating between firm pinches and slow, teasing circles.

"Already slipping, are you?" Aglaea’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk, her gold eyes sharp with amusement. "And here I thought you had more to offer."

Her words should’ve embarrassed you, but the way she kept playing with you—never giving you enough to satisfy, only enough to make you crave more—had your mind melting too quickly to care.

"Speak," she commanded, fingers twisting just right, making your back arch. "Tell me how it feels."

Your breath hitched. "S’good—"

Aglaea tsked, shaking her head. "Articulate."

You tried again, but with the way her thumbs were brushing over your swollen nipples, your tongue felt heavy. Your thighs rubbed together, desperate for more friction, but she only chuckled.

"Mm. Thought so." She dipped a hand between your legs, pressing her fingers against your dripping cunt. "You're soaking. And all I’ve done is play with your tits."

Your hips jerked, but she didn’t move, keeping you right on the edge.

"How predictable," she murmured, finally sliding two fingers inside, slow and deep. "So easily reduced to this. A soft little thing, eager to be filled but barely capable of forming a sentence."

Her other hand never left your chest, teasing and rolling your nipple in tandem with every thrust of her fingers. Your mind fogged up further, thoughts slipping away with every precise movement.

"You’re taking me so well," she mused, voice low and sweet. "But I think we can empty that little head of yours even more, hm?"

And with the way she was working you over, it was only a matter of time before you gave in completely.

Aglaea watched you with that same calm amusement, her fingers still buried deep inside you, teasing, stretching, keeping you just on the edge. Every slow thrust was deliberate, her other hand never ceasing its attention on your chest, pinching and rolling your nipples like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

"You're already struggling to keep up," she mused, tilting her head. "I wonder—how much more can you handle before your mind turns completely to mush?"

You whined, hips bucking against her fingers, desperate for more. Words were hard to string together, your body pliant and open under her touch.

"Mm. Perhaps we should push a little further." She withdrew her fingers, ignoring your pathetic whimper at the loss, and instead, shifted herself closer, positioning her body against yours.

Before you could even register what she was doing, you felt the smooth press of her soaked cunt against yours. Your breath stuttered as she hooked her leg over your hip, rolling her hips forward, making sure you felt everything.

"Look at you," she murmured, her golden eyes dark with something deeper than amusement. "So dumb and needy, just from a little playing. And now you get to grind against me properly—if you can even keep up."

You gasped as she moved, the slick heat of her cunt rubbing against yours in slow, languid strokes. Every grind sent sparks up your spine, the sensation of her wet folds pressing into yours too much and not enough at the same time.

"You feel that?" Aglaea purred, her fingers returning to your breasts, playing with your swollen nipples in time with her movements. "Every little shift, every drag of my clit against yours—ah, you’re shaking already."

Your thighs trembled as you tried to match her rhythm, but your body was too wrecked, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of her taking her time with you, dragging you closer to the edge at her pace.

"Mm, poor thing," she sighed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Already too fucked out to do anything but take it? That's fine. You don't need to think—just let me use you to get myself off."

Her pace quickened slightly, the wet slide of your cunts rubbing together filling the space between you. Every shift sent more pleasure flooding through you, your brain completely melting under her touch, her voice, the way she played with your body like it belonged to her.

"Go on," she murmured, her lips grazing your jaw as she pinched your nipple hard enough to make your breath catch. "Cum for me, like the dumb little thing you are."

With the way she was grinding against you, the stimulation to your clit, the way her hands and words completely unraveled you—you had no choice but to obey.

Aglaea’s smirk deepened as your body tensed, thighs trembling, a broken moan slipping from your lips as the pleasure crested. The wet friction between you grew even slicker as you came hard, your walls clenching around nothing, back arching into her touch.

"That’s it," she murmured, rolling her hips through your orgasm, not slowing down in the slightest. "Just like that. So easy to unravel, aren’t you?"

Your breath came in short gasps, your body still shuddering in the aftermath, but Aglaea wasn’t done with you. Before you could fully register it, her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat.

"You’re not done yet," she chided, her voice still smooth, still composed—but there was an edge now, something sharp and possessive beneath her usual amusement. "Did I say you could stop?"

Your whimper was cut off as she leaned in, lips dragging along the sensitive skin of your throat before her teeth sank in, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. The mix of pain and pleasure shot straight to your core, and your hips jerked, grinding up into her as she bit deeper, claiming you in a way that made your head spin.

"Mm, such pretty sounds," Aglaea mused, licking over the fresh mark she’d left before her teeth found your shoulder next, sinking in just as deep. "You take everything so well, don’t you? All it takes is a little tug on your hair, a little bite, and you’re already falling apart again."

She pulled your head back further, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes were half-lidded, hungry, her lips swollen from the marks she was leaving on your skin.

"You’re going to give me another one," she purred, her hand trailing back down to your chest, fingers pinching and rolling your overstimulated nipples, making your breath stutter. "You’re going to cum again, right here, rubbing that dumb little pussy against mine."

Her pace quickened, her own breaths coming heavier now as her clit dragged against yours, the wet slide between you turning downright obscene. Her grip in your hair tightened as she leaned in, biting down on your lower lip this time, sucking it into her mouth before pulling away just enough to murmur—

"Be good for me and cum again, or I’ll keep going until you can’t think at all."

With the way she was using you, the way she played with your body like it was hers to control, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

( 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐄𝐈 )

Mydei’s eyes had been on your chest for a while now. He wasn’t even pretending to be subtle about it, his golden gaze flicking down every time you shifted, every time your top dipped just a little too low.

"You’re not very discreet," you teased, folding your arms beneath your tits, knowing exactly what that would do.

His smirk was slow, calculated. "Why would I be? You’ve been parading them in front of me all night."

Before you could snap back, he was already moving. One step closer, his gloved hand reaching out, fingers tracing the curve of your breast over your clothes. A deliberate touch, slow and indulgent. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and even through the fabric, the sensation sent a shiver up your spine.

"See?" he murmured, tilting his head. "You react so easily. Did you want my attention this badly?"

You swallowed hard, heat curling low in your stomach as he palmed your breast fully, fingers squeezing just enough to make you bite back a sound. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear.

"Go on," he purred, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Ask me properly."

Your pride kept your mouth shut for all of two seconds before his fingers pinched your nipple through your top, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Mydei—"

"Mm. That’s not quite begging, but I’ll allow it."

He wasted no time tugging your top down, exposing you fully to his gaze. His pupils dilated, golden eyes dark with something deeper than amusement. His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your nipple before his lips sealed around it, sucking hard.

Your back arched as he lavished attention on you, his other hand kneading your other breast, fingers rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips. He groaned against your skin, like he was savoring the taste of you.

"Perfect," he muttered, pulling back just enough to admire the way your nipple was slick with his saliva. "And already so worked up."

His hand drifted lower, fingers slipping past your waistband, finding your soaked cunt with ease. He hummed, amused. "So wet, and I’ve barely even touched you here. Seems like your tits really are your weak spot."

His fingers pushed inside you, stretching you open, fucking into you slow and deep. You barely had time to adjust before his other hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

"Let’s see how dumb you can get for me," he murmured, tightening his grip as his fingers sped up, working you open until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled his cock free, hard and leaking against your thigh, you didn’t even have the chance to beg—he was already lining himself up, the thick head pressing against your entrance.

"Take it," he ordered, his voice smooth but firm as he sank into you, stretching you inch by inch. His fingers flexed around your throat, his other hand pinching your nipple hard as he bottomed out.

A guttural groan rumbled from his chest. "Fuck. Look at you, stuffed full of my cock." His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make your walls flutter around him. "So good, so tight—like you were made for this."

He set a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours, his hands never straying—one wrapped firmly around your throat, the other still teasing your breasts, fingers rolling and pinching, making sure you felt everything.

"You’re going to cum for me," he murmured, voice low and commanding. "And when you do, I’m going to fill you up—leave you dripping with my cum, just to see how pretty you look all messy for me."

With the way he was fucking you, his cock hitting deep, his hands keeping you right where he wanted, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. And neither would he.

Mydei’s golden eyes were sharp, watching the way your body reacted to his every move. His hand never left your throat, keeping you at just the right edge of breathless, as though he was savoring the control, the power he had over you.

"You look so small under me," he murmured, his voice smooth, but the satisfaction in it was unmistakable. "Like you were made to be filled."

You couldn’t help the way your body trembled under his touch, his words stirring something deep within you. The way he seemed to relish in the way your body barely fit him, the way his cock stretched you more than you thought you could handle, had your mind spinning.

"Can’t even take it all, can you?" he teased, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat, his other hand gliding over your chest, gently pressing against your tits. "How cute. You’re barely able to take the size of me, aren’t you?"

You moaned, half-dazed, as he fucked into you with slow precision, every inch of his cock filling you, making you feel stretched beyond what you thought was possible. It was so much, too much, and yet it felt perfect.

Your thoughts grew more hazy, every thrust making your head swim, your body instinctively arching back into his. The sensation of him inside you, of him keeping you right on the edge, made it so hard to focus.

"Such a dumb little thing," Mydei murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to bite your neck, marking you, claiming you. "Don’t even know what to do, do you? Just here to be fucked by me, to take all of me and fall apart for me."

You could only nod, body completely at his mercy. Words were slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him. The way his cock filled you, the way he teased your body, leaving you weak and unable to think properly.

"You’re mine now," he whispered in your ear, his voice dark with something possessive. "Just a little thing for me to fuck, for me to use until you’re so dumb you can’t even remember your own name."

You couldn’t deny it. His size, his dominance, the way he made you feel so small, so completely under his control—it was all consuming. You were already losing yourself in him, and part of you didn’t care to fight it.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[holeforzenin]

My best friend got me a bunch of silly stickers today and this is all I can think of :3

Toji trudges through the front door, the exhaustion from a 12-hour shift hanging off him like dead weight. He drops his keys in the bowl by the door and lets out a deep grunt as he kicks off his boots, broad shoulders stiff and brows furrowed from weariness. His plain tee is clinging to his chest from sweat and heat, and his hands are rough and grease-smudged—he looks every bit of the exhausted, grumpy old man you’re always teasing about him being.

But when you peek around the corner with a grin on your face and a thick sheet of different sparkly stickers in your hand, something softens in his eyes.

“Don’t even start,” he mutters, walking to the couch with a low sigh and plopping down like a felled tree. “I’m dead. Don’t got the energy for your—”

You’re already in his lap, legs draped over his thick thighs as you straddle him, the worn fabric of his jeans warm beneath you. His hands instinctively settle on your hips even as he groans, head leaning back against the soft cushion. “What are you doing, huh?” he grumbles, one eye cracked open as you peel off a star-shaped sticker and press it gently to the sweaty swell one of his beefy bicep.

You giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth where his scar is. “You looked like you needed a little sparkle”.

He exhales through his nose—something between a laugh and a sigh—and lets you do your thing like always. Let’s you press little hearts onto his pecs, cartoon animals on the sharp cut of his collarbone, even a cute cat right in the center of his sternum. His eyes flutter closed while you work, muscles softening under your touch.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, his voice sounding calm and lazy.

“You love it,” you hum, smoothing a glittery cat onto the curve of his shoulder.

“Mm. Love you more,” he mumbles, cracking an eye open again to look at you—it’s genuine, a little dazed, like you’re the only soft thing in his rough world. “You keep me sane, y’know that?”

You lean down and kiss him again—this time slower and more tender, your fingers resting against the sticker-covered expanse of his chest. “And you let me turn a grumpy old man into a human sticker book. We’re even”.

“Oh you’re sooo lucky you’re adorable,” he mutters as he pinches your cheek before dragging a heavy palm up your back, holding you close to his chest like he never wants to let you go. “Real lucky”.

[simonz-angel]

jackin off nerdy!loser!college partner simon riley

his pen falls, fingers going limp as your lips press against his. he’s soft, pliable beneath your fingertips, arching into your every feathery touch, panting into your mouth messily.

your notebooks lay open and abandoned, paper ticking softly with the chill of wind that passes through the open window. and simon’s chin hitches, tongue pressing and threading around yours sloppily, inexperiencedly.

and when you’re fingertips dip beneath the thin material of his stretchy joggers, he’s gasping in a broken moan, the angry tip of his cock leaking in a pearly mess of precum.

“you’re mine, simon,” you breathe into the open shell of his mouth, tongue swiping his bottom lip, tasting him up on your tongue. your fingertips disappear into the scratchy, sandy curls that frame his pretty cock, hand fisting up around him so suddenly he chokes. “say it.”

his big brown eyes peer up at you dizzily, a haze blurring his usual intense stare. he’s panting, hair disheveled, glasses cocked crooked over the bridge of his nose. “i-i’m yours, i’m yours, yes..”

he’s whining, hips reeling up off the floor as you wrist flicks, pulling the skin of his cock taut before you’re smoothing your hand back down. you watched over him, free hand digging up into the short of his blonde hair, pulling his drooping head back to get a real look at him.

you’d must admit, he was a pretty, pretty boy. the dripping honey of his eyes encapsulated with his sparkling blonde lashes, crooked nose dented in on the sides with his glasses, his pretty pink lips lathered in a lewd mixture of your saliva. and he panted hot, open-mouthed against your face, staring up at you with some dumbed down look.

“when you ace me through this semester, baby, you’ll get the real thing, ‘kay?” you pout down at him, bringing one of his hands beneath your skirt. n when his fingertips skim over the wet fabric of your panties, your desperate pussy clenches, stomach rolling with his hesitant touches. “until then… “

[satoruxx]

you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.

your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—

"what are you doing up, pretty?"

your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.

as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.

"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"

his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.

your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.

"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."

you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.

"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."

"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."

"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.

"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."

"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."

he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."

you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."

"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.

but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.

his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.

"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.

"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.

"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"

the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.

and yet...

"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."

when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.

"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."

[fushiguho]

✰ crashing out over boss!nanami frustratedly pulling you into his office to punish you have a word with you about your inappropriately short, pinstriped skirt for the third time this week.

cw ass + pussy spanking

“sir, may i ask what this is about?” you grouse, freeing your arm from his tightening grasp as he closes the door behind you. “you could’ve called my desk.”

in a few long strides, he’s settling into his swiveling, leather chair, an enervated sigh dragging from his lips. one of his polished loafers rap against the sleek floor, something of a scowl pulling at his hardened face. the room dissipates into an eerie silence, nothing but the monotonous hum of the air conditioner resounding off the frigid, glass windows.

“hands by your side.” is all he murmurs, stoic and mean.

you huff an incredulous breath. “what?”

“i said hands by your side. please.”

scoffing, you roll your eyes, muttering your discontent below your breath as you drop your hands to your side. just as he thought, the entirety of your palm extends past the pleated hem of your skimpy little skirt, deeming your attire an inappropriate violation of dress code.

wordlessly, his narrow eyes rake over your body, cock swelling at the sheer amount of exposed skin. he lets off a humorlessly breathy laugh. in his eyes you might as well be nude, sauntering around the office in a blouse that gives way to the shape of your breasts and a skirt that does little to hide the color of your pretty laced panties.

after some thought, he eventually grumbles. “do you… like pissing me off? does that get you off?”

coyly, you shrug, fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt in a vain attempt to make it appear longer. absentmindedly, the tips of your sleek, pointed heels dig into the tiled floor, your gaze falling away to avoid his. it’s rude, you know it is, but how are you supposed to maintain the eye contact that he so often demands when he looks at you like… that.

“look at me.”

and you do, peering up almost instinctively from the tiled floor to observe the way he tilts his head in thought, swallowing you whole with those low, authoritative eyes, his gaze perilous. a ponderous finger smooths over the stubble adorning his cheek, conjuring up the ultimate punishment for such a salacious crime.

“come here.”

now, you’re bent over his warm, burly lap, that pinstriped skirt hiked above your reddened ass while a big hand smooths over your prickling skin. thwack! you squeal, body shuddering from the force of the impact, an electrifying heat swirling deep in your core. thwack! this time you’re biting down on the inside of your cheek, swallowing the moan that threatens to pry your lips apart.

“how long must your skirt be to be considered appropriate?” the timbre of his cold, demeaning tone makes your stomach sink.

you swallow thickly, cunt aching. “f-fingertip length.”

thwack!

“again.”

“fingertip! fingertip length, fuck.”

nanami hums in what can only be described as satisfaction as you writhe against his lap, hips pushing into the air while he disciplines you the best way he sees fit. a hand is smoothing over your sore, achy skin, nimble fingers curiously skimming the soddened fabric of your panties.

a pretty little sound is leaving your gaped mouth when he mindlessly pushes them aside, baring your warm, sloppy cunt. he laughs in his disbelief, taken aback by the several, sweet gossamers of arousal that stretch between your lips and the cotton of your panties. so much for learning your lesson.

another hand his forcing your skirt further up the fat of your ass, the striped fabric bunching around your waist. the soft pads of his fingers are brazenly spreading you apart, putting that poor, sopping pussy on display and for him. nanami watches as your desperate hole tightens around nothing, wordlessly begging to be touched, fucked.

“ridiculous.” he mutters, yet his fingers are circling over your swollen clit once. twice. “you’re getting off on this, huh? oughta’ spank her too.” leaning down to whisper into your ear, nanami smiles something wicked. “look at you humping yourself on my hand like that… you want me spank that pretty pussy, don’t you?”

you’re nodding, pleading, begging as you nastily arch into his touch, shamelessly rutting your aching cunt against the hand that paws at you. god, you are just so fucking pretty and utterly desperate. bent over like such a whore, whining for him to punish you or fuck you or finger you. it doesn’t fucking matter.

a loud gasp is parting your lips when the tips of his fingers land against your pretty cunt with a lewd plap! your arousal clinging to the pads of his digits, splattering almost obscenely and staining his freshly pressed slacks. plap! plap! plap! your entire body is shuddering from the electrifying impact, a shameless moan spilling past your lips.

“god, you’re ridiculous.” nanami laughs, his breathy chuckle sinister in bass as he pulls your wet panties back into place before smoothing your skirt down. “you have an hour to go home and change your clothes. we’re done here.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s forcing you off of his lap and sending you on your merry way, but not without his handprints adorning the fat of your ass and the fleeting memory of his fingers teasing and spanking your cunt and you’re the ridiculous one?

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

rafe x pouge!reader trying to have sex but their kid keeps interrupting

❛ GETTING DISTRACTED DURING SEX ❜

pogue¡mom¡reader . . . dad¡rafe cameron

You’re pressed tight against Rafe in the quiet of your bedroom, the heat of his bare chest under your hands sending a thrill through your body.

His lips are on your neck, hot and deliberate, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that makes you bite back a gasp. Your fingers trace the hard lines of his shoulders, nails digging in just enough as you tug at the waistband of his boxers, the air heavy with the desperate edge of a moment you’ve been chasing all day.

The kids—your six-year-old twins, Ellie and Max, and the two-year-old, Luca—are finally asleep after an exhausting evening of tantrums, bedtime stories, and one spilled cup of milk.

This is your first chance to be alone, and the need for each other is palpable, crackling in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much,” Rafe murmurs, voice low and rough, vibrating against your skin as his hands slide under your tank top, fingers grazing the curve of your waist, possessive yet careful.

You arch into him, breath hitching, your lips brushing his jaw as you feel him, hard and ready, pressing against you through the thin fabric.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-desperate, your hands fumbling to push your shorts down. “That’s all we’ve got before someone wakes up.” His chuckle is dark, promising, as he helps you, his fingers quick and eager, the heat between you spiking fast.

You’re just starting to lose yourself in him, your body melting under his touch, when a small, plaintive voice cuts through the haze. “Mommy!” It’s Ellie, her footsteps pattering down the hall, the bedroom door creaking open before you can even react.

You freeze, Rafe’s hands stilling on your hips, both of you holding your breath as your daughter stands there, clutching her stuffed bunny, eyes bleary with sleep.

Rafe’s head drops to your shoulder, a frustrated sigh escaping him as you pull back, heart still racing. “Ellie, baby, what’s up?” you ask, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of her, smoothing her messy hair. Your skin’s still flushed, your body screaming for Rafe, but you force a calm smile.

“Bad dream,” she mumbles, lip trembling. “Monsters again.” You glance back at Rafe, who’s sitting up now, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“No monsters, kiddo,” he says, voice softer but with that familiar edge. “We checked, remember?” He swings his legs over the bed, tugging on a t-shirt, and you shoot him an apologetic look as you guide Ellie toward the door.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” you say, taking her hand, your body still buzzing with unspent desire. You mouth sorry to Rafe, who just smirks, leaning back on his elbows like he’s already plotting how to pick up where you left off.

It takes longer than you’d like—Ellie needs a story, then a hug, then a promise to leave the hall light on.

When you finally slip back into the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click, Rafe’s waiting, sprawled across the bed, eyes locking onto you with that same hungry glint.

“She good?” he asks, voice low, already reaching for you as you climb onto the bed, your heart kicking up again.

“Yeah,” you whisper, straddling his lap, your hands finding his chest, the heat of him reigniting that ache inside you. “Where were we?”

You lean down, kissing him, slow and deep, his hands sliding up your thighs, pulling you closer until you can feel him again, the tension snapping back into place like no time has passed.

You’re just about to tug his boxers down, your fingers grazing the waistband, when the baby monitor crackles to life.

Luca’s wail pierces the air, sharp and insistent, and you both go still, the moment shattering. Rafe lets out a low, incredulous laugh, his head dropping back against the pillow. “You’re shittin’ me,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

You can’t help but giggle, even as your body protests, the interruption almost absurd. “My turn,” you say, starting to slide off him, but Rafe catches your wrist, pulling you back.

“Nah, I got it,” he says, rolling out of bed, adjusting himself with a grimace. “Kid’s got my timing, I swear.” He grabs a pair of sweatpants, glancing back at you. “Stay right there. We ain’t done.”

You flop back against the pillows, half-laughing, half-sighing, your body still thrumming with need. The house is quiet again, save for Rafe’s low, soothing voice through the monitor, calming Luca with a murmured,

“Easy, buddy, you’re good.” You close your eyes, trying to hold onto the spark, but the weight of the day tugs at you, the constant interruptions a reminder of your life now.

When Rafe finally slips back into the room, closing the door softly, you’re propped up on your elbows, watching him. He looks tired but determined, his eyes glinting with that relentless drive you’ve always loved.

“Luca’s down,” he says, crawling over you, his lips hovering over yours. “Now, where were we?”

You smile, pulling him down, your kiss hungry, desperate, his hands less patient now, tugging your tank top over your head as you fumble with his sweatpants. The need is sharper, more urgent, and you’re just about to give in completely, his weight pinning you to the mattress, when—

“Mommy, I need water!” Max this time, his voice muffled but insistent from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable thud of his little feet.

Rafe freezes, a low laugh rumbling in his chest as he presses his forehead to your collarbone. “We’re cursed,” he mutters, and you laugh, the sound bubbling up despite the frustration coursing through you.

“I’ll go,” you say, still giggling, pushing at his chest. “Get him water before he wakes Ellie.” You slip out from under him, grabbing a robe and tying it around yourself, your body still tingling, your heart pounding from the nearness of him.

As you head down the hall, glass in hand for Max, you hear Rafe flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan. You settle Max quickly, his sleepy request for “just one sip” turning into a negotiation about leaving the cup on his nightstand.

When you finally return, Rafe’s waiting, propped against the headboard, one arm behind his head, his eyes tracking you like a predator. The air shifts, heavy with intent, as you let the robe fall, climbing onto the bed.

“No more interruptions,” he says, voice low, almost a growl, as he pulls you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips. “Lock the fucking door.” You laugh, reaching for the lock, your body already responding to his touch, the promise of what’s coming hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns

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©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ꪆৎ est. 2025

[woolsboutiqueuomo]

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[screampied]

"Just the tip" trope w/ jjk men?👁️👁️

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ JUST THE TIP, GIRL ! ’﹒⺡

ᡣ𐭩 feat. sukuna, choso, nanami, geto, gojo

ᡣ𐭩 total wc. 3.2k

ᡣ𐭩 warnings. fem! reader, mdni, overstim, unprotected, true form sukuna, praise, dirty talk, quickies, dry humping, whiney men, choking, implied breeding, hitting it raw.

࣪. ᨳ GOJO SATORU. ࣪

“princess, you’re killing me,” gojo whimpers, feeling you casually move your hips against him. he’s staring at you, glossed lips just trembling. with two rough hands attached to your waist, he faintly strokes a thumb beneath the fabric that stuck beside your skin. “the tip. please.”

“wait a little,” you hum, making his back hit against the softly padded pillow. gojo grunts, the smooth part of your panties glissading back and forth on his length. his boxers was lazily pulled down, and he was all exposed…all warm. you felt a tiny veiny poke through, skimming against your entrance and you giggle before leaning up close to his ear. “oh sorry, did you say something? i can’t understand when you mumble, baby.”

gojo lightly throws his head back, grabbing a chunk of your ass before his right thigh bounces in utter anticipation. “f-fuck, don’t whisper in my ear like that,” and his voice was so shaky—he starts to pant frantically, just imagining being inside of you again. “you fuckin’ heard me.”

“remember who’s on top of you,” you tease, pressing a kiss near the corner of his mouth. for a split second, you heard gojo gulp, bright blue irises meeting your gaze. now that made him hard. shivers run all over his body the moment he feels you wrap a hand over his shaft, staring to realign yourself. “but fine, lie back…princess.”

soft puffs of breath escape past his mouth as he stares at you, a near smirk stretching against his pink lips. “bratty girl. quit talkin’ ‘n just ride me, how about that.”

“for all i care, you can just get yourself off,” you snicker. after you speak, gojo immediately shuts up the moment his leaky tip just barely hovers beneath your slick entrance.

with a clenched jaw, he presses his lips shut, a soft whine running past his lips to moment you start to jerk. “lot of mouth for how needy you are to be inside, ‘toru.”

“s-shut up,” he grumbles, and it’s cute. the attitude in his voice. the slight rasp to it, even the adorable flush that crept onto both sides of his temples.

gojo craved more, his mouth started to heavily salivate just imagining being inside of you. pumping you full of thick inches for the umpteenth time. “god, i just— i need you. know i said the tip but i just want you.”

you pepper a kiss near the corner of his mouth, and his first reaction was to kiss back ; he misses, making him cause himself to dreadfully whine.

lips forming a sweet desperate ‘o’ he leans back before gripping your hip tightly. you whisper, slowly sinking down into his length. “you can never make up your mind,” you purr, and the silk that ran against your voice.

“say one thing then you want another,” you continue, and he leans into your touch. he grows hard inside you, warmth swallowing you entirely.

gojo’s ears perked at the sound of your voice, the softness air that danced against his earlobe from your breathe.

he couldn’t help but pant, awaiting to have you sunk all the way down to the base. “you keep whinin' everytime i don’t give your lips any attention,” and for a brief moment, gojo’s eyes meet yours again, he feels so hot. you talking to him in such a sweet way like that only makes him feel ten times hotter. “you want a kiss?”

“i … i wanna kiss ‘n pump you full at the same time,” he says in a single breath. the hold you had on him was so heady.

gojo can’t stop himself from feeling all over your body, he felt giddy. in the best way possible. the way your cunt gradually went down on him. you made sure to take your time just to tease him a bit more. gojo’s pout doesn’t take long to make an appearance on him. “just…touch me… just want a taste of my girl while s-she’s on top.”

but the moment you were all the way down…

you felt his dick stretch you out for how many times again, you suppress a moan. leaning in, you squeeze gojo’s lips together playfully—bringing him into a sloppy kiss. his favorite kind of kisses.

the kind where your tongue would slide against his in such a messy way, he’d suck on yours before moaning right into your mouth. a single make out session with gojo was enough to make you pulse through your pulled to the side panties.

“i’m n-not gonna last with you grinding against me like that,” he whimpers, nearly having the wind being snatched out of him the moment you start up a rhythmic grind. “ride me jus’ like that,” he’d pant, and as you tantalizingly ghost a hand up his abs, you intentional make him shudder within your hold.

gojo pauses, grabbing your wrist. with a swift lick of his lips, he uses another hand to spank your ass, another to make your hand wrap around his neck. “choke me. choke me while y-you ride me, baby. please?”

. ᨳ NANAMI KENTO.

“i don’t want you to overwork yourself, sweetheart,” nanami says in a hushed tone. in the midst of you having your hands kneading through flour, you’re bent over the counter.

“have i,” he started, pausing to kiss near your nape. he was so close you felt his bulge prop up against you, “told you,” he halts again, a hand snaking around your waist, “how pretty you look in sundresses?”

“no,” you nearly slip off a moan, trying to avert your gaze back towards the bowl that had your hands covered in dough. his touch felt so good, he was gentle with you. nanami sneaks a kiss near the corner of your neck before you gasp. he pants your legs just a bit before kissing down your back. chastely. “the food, baby.”

nanami huffs, softly ghosting a thumb beside the exposed skin near your back. “you’re an amazing cook sweetheart, but ‘m hungry for something else,” and his words were so warm, smooth and all. the moment he murmurs tender in a soft voice against your ear. it was enough to make you immediately throb. “i want a little of your attention, just…a little.”

“okay,” you mutter, gnawing on the skin of your lip once he hurriedly moves your panties towards the side. a dripping soaked mess, nanami couldn’t help but stare for a bit. he was already insanely hard. his touch, it was so sensually smooth. with a single hand on your hip, you let off a sweetened mewl once you suddenly feel the throbbing tip of nanami’s dick glide against your folds. “k-kento, fuck.”

“missed bein' inside my wife,” he rasps, and he’s so pushed up against you it makes him dizzy. nanami eases his was inside, stretching you gingerly before you left off a sweet whimper. “you always know how to bend over for me like a good girl,” he purrs, bringing another amount of kisses towards the back part of your neck.

his breathing becomes unsteady and irregular, the thin fabric of your sundress, he has a firm grip on it. “was…was gonna give you the tip but i just wanna pump you full, sweetheart,” and you bite your lip, feeling the tips of his fingers brush against your ass. “give you.. a baby or two.”

nanami had you leaning forward, your hands were still in the bowl of ingredients before he hesitates. his voice cracks, pitching high for a concise moment. for the first time, you were hearing a needy nanami. “will you let me stuff you full? tell me in that pretty voice of yours.”

his words, it struck right into your heart and in the process—right between your legs. you felt sticky, a bit moist just from nanami grinding up against you. whenever it came to you, he just couldn’t contain himself.

“y-yes, please kento,” you’d whimper out, feeling two big hands of his caress your ass. he groans, so thick and big…yet so tender with the way he relaxed himself inside. such gummy walls hugging him so tight and close, it makes his jaw tense in a thirsty manner. “just fuck me, baby. i want you so bad.”

“wanted you more,” he whispers. a stroke of his, lightly shoving his hips into you—you gasp, nearly dropping the dishes. “s-sorry, honey. might wanna hold on. ‘s gonna get a bit messy,” and as he says that, a soft chortles flies past his lips. nanami teasingly runs the cold band of his watch down your back, watching you cutely squirm. “but i’ll clean you right up, i love when my sweetheart’s a little nasty.”

ᨳ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

ironically enough, you’d be the one asking sukuna. he’d have the snuggest grin on his lips, buff arms crossed towards his chest whilst you straddled him.

“speak, girl,” and you suddenly grow shy, being propped up on the king's lap. his voice was a deep pitched low, fully stirring you up from the inside. sukuna cups your chin, making it hard for you to avoid his gaze before he murmurs. “tell me what you most desire, little concubine.”

“i want…” you start to speak before trailing off. his gaze, it was never not intimidating. for a split second, you could just about make out a mere small smirk lingering against his lips. sukuna brings a hand toward your waist, softly stroking your skin before you intake a sharp breath. “i want to feel you f-from the inside, ‘kuna. just the tip, please?”

“awwww,” he purrs, and he’s sat manspread. his grip he had on your hip, the way his fingers tenderly strokes beneath the thin straps of your panties. needless to say, it had you soaked.

“just can’t get enough, huh? was last night not enough to satisfy you?” and he takes pride in the pout that goes against your lips. “go ahead then. show me how needy you can be.”

his words had such smugness to it, you whimpered with such exasperation. eagerly springing his length out, not wanting to waste anymore time. sukuna stares at you, a low grunt slithers past his lips before you’re just hovering over his fat tip.

it was glistening with pre-cum, you let off a soft coo, making his tip swipe and smear all over your glistening folds. “s-sukuna, i want you. i want more.”

“greedy girl,” he snickers, and you suddenly felt small. being sat on his lap, his frame was so big. a lot bigger and broader than you. sukuna’s base was hefty, it jolted against his leg the moment you pushed yourself forward. he leans in as if he was about to kiss you. instead, he cups your grin again, multiple eyes staring right into the depths of your soul before whispering out a husky, “no one’s stopping you, princess.”

you moaned, his words was enough to get you dripping like a faucet between your legs—how embarrassing…

within moments, you sink down a bit further, and he’s huge. you feel his dick reach everywhere, such thickness it has your mouth salivating. “f-fuck, ‘kuna,” and his ears perk at the sound of your voice. the bitter sweetness to it. you were always so whiney, growing quiet every few seconds to hear the squelches your pussy made in retaliation. huffing and puffing, your eye-lids grew heavy, he was insanely packed. you felt him everywhere, and once you finally sat down against his base, you pull him into a hug. “so.. so big, stretching me.”

“…oh, don’t tell me that’s all,” sukuna grumbled cheekily, feeling your frame. he creates a fake pout, unreservedly mimicking the pout you had on your own face earlier. “you said just the tip but you can barely handle a few inches, concubine.”

he chuckles darkly, watching your cute face fall. you try to pivot your hips but not even seconds later. you end up making a mess on his lap, bundles of nerves sending you shockwaves. sukuna smiles, bringing a kiss towards the corner of your mouth. “hm. looks like someone needs more training,” and with a sly eyebrow raise, he brings you towards his chest, petting your hair. “if you can barely handle the tip, what makes you think you can handle both of my cocks, princess?”

ᨳ SUGURU GETŌ.

geto would be occupying himself with something, you’re doing nothing but of course—straddling his lap. not a single thought in your mind.

he doesn’t mind it, he enjoys feeling your body all propped up against his. he takes the opportunity to gently snake an arm around your waist, holding you close. although, at this particular point you’d be basically cockwarming him.

“just the tip, you say, suguru,” you utter with a mere hint of sass on your tone. he smiles to himself, your back facing his chest. he’s so warmish, his body heat nearly radiates off of you. skin to skin, it forever felt so intimate. despite the two of you doing nothing but just staying still. “you just wanna fuck me.”

“princess, i wanna hold you and fuck you. ‘s a difference,” and his voice was a bit hoarse—it was unintentionally attractive. he’s sneaking a plethora of kisses down your neck, giving your collarbone a soft suck before he reaches down between your legs. “spread these for me, don’t be shy.”

such thickness to him, it made you swallow, recollecting your thoughts…speaking of thoughts, as mentioned earlier…

your brain was empty. all you could focus on was how stretched you were getting. you were soaking his shaft down to its full supreme—and the last thing you expect is for geto to start rubbing mean circles against your clit. your body’s initial reaction was to lean back against him, and he chuckles, cooing out a, “ooooh.”

“s-suguruuu, fuck,” you’d sniffle, feeling the rotation of his palm creating a circulation motion. he was always so good with his hands. while being stuffed full, he had a free hand maneuvering all sorts of shapes over your folds. “feel so full, jus’ fuck me already.”

“say pretty please ‘n i’ll consider it, baby.”

“you heard what i sai—”

“girl, don’t try me.”

you moan, feeling him spank your cunt at your abrupt sudden brattiness. as your head slumps back against geto, he caresses your entrance before grabbing ahold of your hips. “let’s try this again, yeah?”

through clenched teeth and a cute pout, you huff out a, “…pretty please, suguru.”

he chuckles, and you shudder at the brief sensation of his throbbing mushroom tip just sensually dragging against your core. you gnaw on your lip, digging your nails into the thin fabric of his shorts.

he adores your body language, how adorable—your back arches, and you can barely hold still. all due to his touch, his words, and even the warmth of his breath colliding against your skin.

“good girl. ‘s more like it,” he whispers, and you couldn’t hold in your moans the moment he starts to make you bounce on his cock. you’re a mess, head still leaning back against his cheek, geto faintly wraps a hand around your throat. “should hear how silly you sound for me. whiney girl, fuck…”

and that’s when a hand of his roams up your body, feeling near your chest. he gives your perky nipples a soft pinch and you whine, feeling yourself continue to grow hotter and hotter between your legs. “want attention here too, baby?”

pathetically, you nod, still taking inch after inch inside of your gummy walls. “course ya do,” he teases, sneaking a kiss near the inside of your neck again. “but before we do that,” and you feel your hips come to a terse stop. you pout, feeling two hands of geto’s rapidly stop your hips, and he pulls you closer so he could speak.

with a hand gently caressing near your throat, another prying your legs open for him once more…edging you, he says, “we gotta work on those manners. not gonna let a brat cum on me, sorry princess.”

ᨳ CHOSO KAMO.

“baby,” he says in a sweet, drowsy murmur. choso has you laid flat down. while trailing and skimming a few fingers down your spine—he makes your tummy meekly press right into the cushioned mattress.

“i wanna.. i wanna try something,” and as he’s speaking, you grow quiet, enjoying the hot touch of his fingers. “remember when you asked to see how fast i could last with jus’ the tip in you?”

“mhmm.” you oblige, teasingly hum as a response. you could hear the near shakiness coming from his voice. albeit, you couldn’t particularly see his gaze, but you’d bet money he was just staring right at your body…specifically, from the waist down.

choso kisses his teeth, and you hear a bit of shuffling, “okay. ‘cause, you’re all laid out for me ‘n i just wanna…” he precipitously pauses, feeling you playfully wriggle your ass against him and he groans. “don’t…don’t do that, do tease me.”

“then go ahead, ‘m waiting for you, choso.” you’d titter, awaiting for him to finally come inside—it doesn’t take long.

momentarily, just seconds later…his fat leaky tip was swiftly rubbing against your hole. he starts to pant, long strands of hair running down his back from each particular moment.

he was heavily impatient.

his mind roamed, just a single look at your slick entrance and he’s licking his lips. all he saw was his imagination of loads of his own seed pouring out of your folds.

“nice ‘n warm for me,” he huffs out, clouds of his own breath departing from his lips. choso’s ears, the very tips of them burned with an scorching hot. “always take me so well.”

“f-fuckkk, choso,” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt swallow him easily. he was slow, a single hand attached to your waist.

a soft whimper leaves from choso’s mouth, simply from the way your ass was all pressed up against him. with just a single bit of a hover, he leans forward and he delays his weight just briefly on top of you. “told you, could barely handle just the tip.”

“just lie back ‘n let me give this body the—the attention it deserves,” he grunts, and his stuttering was quite cute.

choso lost all of his composure the moment he was just a few slim inches inside your cunt. squeezing him down so tightly, he watches as his own length gradually disappear between your folds.

“soaking me so good, should be a crime to be this w-wet,” and he nearly finds himself drooling, letting off a cute gasp once he hears that loud squelch. you gripped around him so good, it gave him whiplash … his head spun.

his breathing became erratic, and whenever choso grows out to be excited or far too buoyant than he needed to be, he ends up finishing early. and that’s exactly what he did. a flush goes over his face, as well as with a pout.

“s-shit,” he whimpers, barely even lasting as long as he anticipated. but he couldn’t help it. not with how tightly you maintained a heavy grip on him with your sweetened cunt.

his dick, it had length for sure, and poked against every orifice throughout your sweet cunt.

“wet girl,” he purrs, and starts to ramble to himself, observing his own thick ropes slowly spew outside of you. choso grows curious, using a thumb to swipe some excess of his cum off of your entrance, smearing it against your folds with a weary horny grin before plugging it back in. “my baby’s s-so sloppy.. should pull you close to me ‘n make you taste it.”

[ahqkas]

Do you think you could a reverse of you "attractive things they do without realizing" with the bat boys?

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS YOU DO . . . that make them go crazy ! — part 1

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts, mention of reader’s hair

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

simply attending gala with him

the gala was in full swing, the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling of crystal glasses weaving through the grand hall. bruce wayne stood at the center of it all, the undisputed star of the evening, yet his focus wasn’t on the crowd. it was on you.

you stood beside him, your hand lightly wrapped around his forearm, a subtle yet intimate gesture that spoke things without saying a word. the way your fingers rested there, so effortlessly claiming him as yours, sent a warmth spreading through his chest—a feeling that, for once, wasn’t from the weight of responsibility or the burden of his double life. it was softer, lighter. it was you.

bruce’s sharp eyes, trained to assess every detail in a room, couldn’t help but linger on you. the dress you wore was nothing short of perfection—not that it could have been anything else. he had ensured it. every stitch, every line, every fold of fabric had been crafted with you in mind. he had selected the finest material, rich and smooth beneath the touch, ensuring it draped over your figure with the kind of elegance that turned heads the moment you stepped into a room.

the deep hue of the gown complemented his suit nicely, catching the light in subtle ways, as though it, too, was vying for his attention. the neckline framed your collarbones delicately, and the way the fabric hugged your form made it impossible for his mind not to wander to how well he knew every curve beneath. the gentle train swirled around your heels like liquid, moving with you in an almost hypnotic rhythm, every step making his heart beat just a little faster.

bruce had commissioned it specifically for you, worked with the designer himself to ensure it would fit you like a second skin—tailored to highlight everything he found most captivating about you. it wasn’t just vanity, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the way every person in the room couldn’t help but notice you. no, it was deeper than that. dressing you in the finest fabrics, wrapping you in elegance, was his way of saying what words often couldn’t: you’re extraordinary, and the world should know it.

to you, he wasn’t just bruce wayne, gotham’s elusive billionaire. he wasn’t the brooding vigilante who prowled the night. he was just . . . bruce. and in that moment, he felt more real, more whole, than he had in years.

he tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you, and his lips tugged into the faintest of smiles—a rare expression, softer than most would ever see. the subtle scent of your perfume reached him as you leaned closer to whisper something, your voice a low melody against the backdrop of the room. he didn’t even catch the words; he was too lost in the curve of your smile, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the warmth of your touch radiating through the fabric of his suit.

his thoughts betrayed him, wandering ahead to a quieter moment later, when the gala was over, and it was just the two of you again. but for now, he stood tall, the perfect host, his hand moving to cover yours on his arm. his thumb brushed against your knuckles, a silent gesture of affection and gratitude. he didn’t say it aloud—he didn’t need to—but he was thinking it with every fiber of his being: you’re the most beautiful thing in this room, and you don’t even know it.

seeing you work at his office

bruce leaned back in his leather chair, the polished desk between you serving as the only barrier to his unraveling thoughts. you stood on the other side, flipping through a file with the kind of focus that made his chest tighten, utterly oblivious to the effect you were having on him. the pencil skirt you wore hugged your hips in a way that felt almost sinful, every line and contour designed to torment him. the fabric clung just right, emphasizing the curve of your waist and the sway of your body each time you shifted. and then there was the blouse—white, crisp, and perfectly fitted, the faintest hint of skin peeking where the buttons strained against your figure. it was driving him to the edge.

the sharp click of your heels echoed softly as you moved around the room, your voice calm and professional as you recounted details of a recent meeting, flipping a page in the file without missing a beat. but bruce wasn’t listening. not really. his gaze followed the way your fingers smoothed the papers, delicate but deliberate, and his mind betrayed him. those same hands . . . what would they feel like tangled in his hair, tugging him closer? or splayed against his chest, nails dragging lightly as he pressed you against the wall?

he shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as he tried to force himself back to the present. but it was impossible. the way the soft material of your blouse tucked into that pencil skirt left just enough to the imagination while teasing at everything he wanted to do to you. his mind raced ahead, envisioning the fabric bunched around your hips, your voice losing its composed edge as he silenced every word with his lips

you glanced up at him suddenly, your eyes catching his, and for a moment, his composure faltered. his sharp blue gaze was darker now, focused entirely on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his tongue darted across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“are you almost finished?”

“just a few more minutes.”

his thoughts raced ahead, imagining the way your name would sound falling from his lips, low and rough, as he pulled you into his lap. how your soft gasps would fill the room, mingling with the shuffle of papers and the creak of leather as his control finally slipped. bruce’s mind was already plotting, already deciding just how many minutes he’d let you finish your work before he gave in.

DICK GRAYSON

the quiet hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window, the distant sounds of gotham settling into the night. dick sat cross-legged on the couch, his hair still damp from a quick shower after patrol, wearing a loose gray shirt and sweatpants. you were tucked into the corner of the couch, legs pulled up to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, your chin resting on your knees. there was something so effortlessly comfortable about the way you curled into yourself, the soft glow of the lamp painting your features in warm hues.

he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger, caught by the way the corners of your lips curved into a gentle smile as you listened to him recount something ridiculous wally had said earlier. it wasn’t just your smile, though it always had a way of knocking the air out of his lungs—it was the way your gaze stayed fixed on him, warm and attentive, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

“are you even listening?” he teased, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head to catch your gaze more fully.

you laughed softly, a sound that melted into the quiet of the room like it belonged there. “i am,” you insisted, shifting slightly to prop your chin higher on your knees, the movement drawing his attention to the curve of your bare shoulders beneath the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing—his sweatshirt, he realized with a pang of fondness.

“good,” he said, his voice softer now, his lips curving into an easy smile. but he didn’t pick up where he left off. instead, he found himself studying the little things: the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes glimmered with quiet amusement, the small, almost unconscious sway of your head as you rested against your knees.

“don’t stop,” you murmured, your smile widening.

dick chuckled, shaking his head. “i wasn’t sure if my story could compete with . . . well, you,” he said, his tone light but tinged with the kind of sincerity that always made your chest tighten.

“flatterer,” you teased, but the way your cheeks warmed didn’t escape him.

when you arch your back in a chair

he had only meant to grab a drink and check in with you, but the second he entered the room and saw you sitting at the table, all coherent thought vanished. he froze in place, his gaze drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you were leaning forward in your chair, your elbows braced on the table and your back arched just slightly as you studied whatever had your focus. it was innocent—completely unintentional—but to him, it was anything but.

the way your shirt clung to your frame as you bent forward made his mouth go dry, the curve of your back teasing him in ways that had his imagination running wild. his eyes lingered on the dip of your waist, the way the soft fabric stretched just enough over your hips, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering further—thinking about how easy it would be to step behind you, trail his hands down that arch, and pull you closer.

dick swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but it was hopeless. his gaze snapped back to you as if on instinct, and this time, it wasn’t just the curve of your back that had his attention. it was the way your body moved, every subtle shift of your weight making his thoughts spiral deeper. he could almost feel the press of your skin against his palms, the heat of you beneath his hands as he tipped you just slightly further forward . . .

jesus, get it together, grayson, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair and trying to clear his head. but the damage was done, and now every inch of him was on edge, his pulse thrumming in his ears. it wasn’t fair how effortlessly you drove him crazy—how just existing could send his thoughts careening into territory that made him shift uncomfortably in place.

you glanced up suddenly, breaking him out of his haze. “hey, you good?” you asked, your brows furrowing slightly in concern.

the sound of your voice jolted him back to reality, though his heart was still racing. “fine,” he managed, his voice just a little rougher than usual. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite the heat simmering beneath his skin.

but you weren’t convinced. there was a hint of amusement in your eyes as you leaned back slightly in your chair, giving him that knowing smile that always made his knees weak. “you sure?”

dick’s jaw clenched as you shifted again, his gaze flickering down to the curve of your waist before he caught himself. stop it. stop it right now. but then you tilted your head, and that damn teasing glint in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

he took a step forward, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, his face suddenly inches from yours. his voice was low, rough, almost a growl. “you’re making it really hard to concentrate, you know that?”

JASON TODD

adjusting your skirt

jason had been leaning against the doorway, half distracted by his own thoughts, when the sight of you adjusting your skirt snapped his attention to full focus. you were standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the waistband and wiggling it higher on your hips, a casual, innocent motion meant to get the fit just right. but to him, it was anything but casual. his eyes locked on you, darkening as he watched the way the fabric shifted, sliding up the curve of your thighs with each subtle movement.

jesus christ, he thought, jaw tightening as he tried to tear his gaze away. he failed. the small adjustment—the roll of your hips, the way your hands smoothed the material over your figure—felt like it was designed to torment him. he muttered a quiet curse under his breath, barely audible but enough to let his frustration escape.

that little motion shouldn’t have had this kind of hold over him, but it did. the way you moved, so natural and effortless, made his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. his fingers twitched at his sides as he imagined stepping behind you, sliding his hands over yours to help—not that you needed it, but damn if he wouldn’t enjoy it anyway.

you turned slightly and caught his reflection in the mirror, green eyes shooting up to meet yours as if he hadn’t been blatantly staring. “everything okay, jay?”

jason cleared his throat. “yeah,” he said, though his voice was rougher than usual, betraying him. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning heavier into the doorway, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as his gaze flicked down again. “just . . . keep doing what you’re doing.”

you have him a look—equal parts amused and curious—but went back to adjusting the skirt, smoothing it out once more. jason bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay put instead of crossing the room, grabbing your hips, and showing you exactly what that little movement of yours did to him.

this woman’s gonna be the death of me, he thought, his pulse hammering as he pushed off the doorway, muttering another curse under his breath. he needed to walk away before he did something reckless—something that would guarantee you wouldn’t be leaving that room anytime soon.

when you rant to him

jason leaned back on the couch, arms draped lazily over the backrest, but his focus was anything but casual. his eyes were locked on you as you paced the room, hands gesturing wildly while you went off on a rant about something that had you fired up. he couldn’t even remember how the conversation started—it didn’t matter. what mattered was the light in your eyes, the way your whole face animated with every word, and the fire in your voice as you got lost in your thoughts.

there was something magnetic about the way you threw yourself into it, like the world disappeared except for the thing you were so passionate about. it didn’t even matter if he understood half of what you were saying—though he was trying, really, he was—but he couldn’t look away from you long enough to focus on the details. he was too caught up in the way your brows furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, or the way your lips curved when you hit on a point you knew was good.

and that voice. it was captivating, filled with conviction and energy, a side of you that came alive when you cared about something. jason’s heart thudded in his chest as he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

every now and then, you’d glance at him to make sure he was keeping up, and he’d give a small nod, biting back the urge to say something dumb like, i’m not paying attention to your words, but i’m hanging on every second of you. instead, he’d murmur a quiet “yeah,” or “makes sense,” just to keep you talking.

but, damn, the way your whole body moved when you were this invested—it sent his mind places. there was a certain confidence in it, an unintentional sway in your steps as you walked back and forth, your gestures strong but graceful. it drove him crazy in the best way, made him want to grab you mid-rant, pull you onto his lap, and kiss you senseless just to see if that fire would transfer to him.

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[dmitriene]

sending simon riley a pic of your new underwear, except, it's on you, while you lay on the comfortable, cotton sheets of your shared bed, surrounded by the soothing smell of fabric softener, with a sweet, sharp curve to your pretty spine that let's him see the fabric of your lacy, skimpy panties, hiding your plump asscheeks just slightly.

the round swell of your breasts hold up by the frilly, lacy cups, decorated with beautiful patterns and looking right in the camera, your smooth, tender skin calling for him just from the picture alone, making simon feel the drool that builds up in his mouth, a coy, little message with a bright, teasing heart where you ask him if he likes this new underwear pair you got makes his cock chub beneath the pants.

he thinks about your soft, beautiful smile all the week, about this naughty spark in your lidded eyes that looked right in the camera while you took the picture, the small videos you sent him to rile him further, where you twirl, snap the fabric of your panties so it would make your round asscheeks jiggle, his fingers itching to touch, counting days to when he'll come home.

your underwear barely survives simon's homecoming, bra coated in a layer of drool from where he slobbered over your perky, gorgeous nipples, swelling and warming under his twirling, ravaging tongue, your panties sodden with strings of your slick and his precome, soiling the pretty lace, marking you, where his spasming, rudy cock lodged in your split pussy.

pooling and dripping steadily, glistening rivulets of slick that coats every inch of his veiny, throbbing girth, while your body thrashes on the sheets, from the feeling of his coarse hair rubbing against your puffy clit, while simon holds his fingers around your ankles, spreading your legs to carve himself deeper, his spilling tip jutting against your gummy spot.

main masterlist. quidelines.