"mi-ye-la"

hellooooo i reblog 18+ fics, photos and whatnots so if you not comfy or you're a minor then bye bye 👋 | Ya gurl is 24 years young ;) | multi-fandom but mostly LADS, Genshin, Enhypen:D CURRENT OBSESSION: JJK Gah Satoru and Suguru can end me and I'll thank them

[mhyela]

Me: "I'm back from my social media break, let me see what my twitter feed is up to."

My twitter:

YOU GUYS ARE SO SICK 😫

WHAT IF I (s)CREAM

WHAT ARE YOU GUYS GOING TO DO HUH??

THESE MULLET EDITS ARE GETTING OUT OF HAND (im joking pls make more 🥹)

(also i did not see any Zayne mullet edits in my feed, pls send me some through my DMs, comments or reblogs :D)

[satrs]

Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [..."would you be open to writing the lads men mocking your moans?" ] ¡! ❞

A/N; sowrryyy that I took so long luv :(( This also turned into sum rambling ig, oopsiii! regardless, still hope u enjoyyy^^

XAVIER

Your back arches against the mattress, fingers frustatingly tangled in the sheets while a breath, broken and uneven slips from your lips.

Xavier's kneeling between your legs, still fully clothed except for the shirt he shed somewhere he couldn't care less about right now. His hands are warm and firm on your thighs, holding them open as his mouth hovers just barely above your dripping heat.

"You really can't help it, can you?" he murmurs, voice low and dark with amusement, voice fanning right against puffy clit. "All I did was touch you, and you're already a mess as it is."

You shudder when his fingers slide slowly up your inner thighs, barely grazing your aching cunt.

He's doing it on purpose, of course he is.

Whimpers and wails of pleases escape you and a rush of blood hurries to your cheeks at his intense gaze, boyish grin already saying it all.

"Do you hear yourself right now?" he taunts, inching closer. "P-p-please, Xav'—"

He spurts it out in a high-pitched mock of your voice, smirk firm on his lips as he plants a sharp kiss just above your clit.

You jolt, hips twitching up with a choked cry, thighs twitching around his firm grip.

"Hushhh," he teases, running his tongue over his teeth as his eyes scan your clenching hole. "You're so loud, angel. If you want me to do something, you better keep quiet."

His mouth finally dips lower at your eager nod, licking a slow stripe up your folds, and your moan rips out of you before you can even think about biting it back.

"Mhmmm, like that Xav'! L-love— o-oh!"

At that he chuckles, kitten licks adoring your clit as his teasing glare digs holes into your eyes. "Can't help yourself, hm? What did you say? 'L-loveeee it, Xav'?"

He flattens his tongue against your clit and sucks, hard, and your cry is near-pornographic. Your thighs tremble, and he grins wider, eyes never leaving your face as two fingers slide into you, curling just right.

"Ohhh, there it is again," he croons, dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, voice mocking.

His fingers thrust harder, wrist slapping against your clit with each ruthless curl of his until your back arches clean off the bed.

"Oh, you liked that, huh?"

"M-mhmm!— Js' like that, Xav'!"

"'f course you do." he muses, "You're so damn easy, you know that?"

Yeahhh, you know. You also know that he loves that about you.

ZAYNE

"There she is."

His voice is a husky purr right against your neck, his cock burried deep inside you, twitching agains your gooey walls with each breathless whimper of yours.

You try to push his hips away at his brutal thrusts, his hands moving quick to pin your wrists above your head.

"My darling wife," he murmurs, tilting his head, eyes drinking in every shiver that runs through your body, smirk twitching up his lips as he agnles his hips just right, robbing a devastating whimper from you. "always so noisy. Cute."

Fuh—fuck! Zayne, m'—"

"What, darling? You're gonna- gonna c-c-cum?"

"Nghhh, Zayne! Q-quit it!"

"Quit it? Huh."

He pulls out just an inch and rolls his hips in slow circles, light coal colored trail of hair teasing your aching clit when suddenly his smug snicker meets your ear.

"But you sound like you're enjoying it, darling."

You writhe beneath him, arching into the friction when his grip tightens around your wrists. "O-ohhh—!"

"Mm-mmm. Quite vocal today, are we?" He tsks, tone so cruely mocking you can't help but sob in embarrassment.

"'Z-Zayne, please—just—just wanna— nghhh! wanna—'" you're a mess, voice echoing in a breathy whine. "'Can't take it no more!"

You choke on a whimper as he grinds his swollen tip delicously against your g-spot, watching your every expression twist with a big fat smirk on his face.

"Now now", he speeds up, pelvic creating a mind-numbing friction to your pulsating clit, low growl indicating that he himself is barely holding onto a thread, "What happened to my composed little darling, hmm?"

His beefy arms make quick work to throw your legs lazily over his bread shoulders, your back arching as he leans down, cock sliding even deeper into you.

"R-right there! Zayne, fuh—fuck!"

Your legs jerk at his sharp thrust, his sheer, raw girth still managing to leave you gasping and panting every damn time. And once you clench that thight pussy of yours around him like a vice, trapping him so deep inside you, he looses it.

"Gods above." It's just a breathy whisper but you know he's frantic now, chasing so desperatly for your loud sobs and cries as one strong hand slides down to smack and grab a handful of your ass as if to ground himself.

"The neighbors are gonna complain either way, so why not give them something worth whining about?"

RAFAYEL

Youre nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crecent marks in their wake as your sweat-slick body trembles, thighs shaking atop of his.

Rafayel keeps his face close to yours, coral eyes heavy-lidded and lips curled in a devilish grin every time you whimper right against his kiss-swollen lips— and fuck, do you moan a lot.

"H-hahhh, js' listen to you," he hums low, voice coated in sweet honey. "Feelin' good, yeah?"

You nod frantically, lips pursed as you try to keep a moan from escaping your lips much to his displeasure.

His hips roll up into yours with a sharp plap! resounding, and your head falls into the crock of his neck, your muffled moans dim against his skin.

And he's not having it.

Slender fingers catch your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his, placing a teasing smack! to your ass as a warning.

"Ah-ah. Eyes on me, darling. Wanna see the look on yer' face when ya' sing so pretty f' me."

"N-nghhh! Raf', don't— h-hahhh!" Your whimper is loud, body twitching under the heat of his voice, and he just laughs, a piercing pound following suit.

"Ahhh, that's the one," he mocks, grin never flattening.

"'Nghh, ahhh—!' That's your favorite one, isn't it?"

Oh if only you could wipe the sass of his face.

"No can do, cutie. The sass is built in."

"Stoppp," you whisper, blood pumping loud in your ears as reality sinks on you that you just said this out loud, hand flying out to free your jaw from his grasp.

"Stop?" Rafayel echoes in mock shock, trapping your hand in his other. "But you're clenching so tight around me every time I say it, baby."

And when he starts pounding into you in earnest, all rhythm and wicked precision, the sounds you make are nothing short of obscene.

You whimpers echo over and over again as his fat mushroomy head prods at your cervix with sharp percision, stretching your exhauted cunt far beyond her limits.

"See?", his mouth is a hair's breath away from yours, a light snicker brushing your face as his eyes take in the drool forming at your mouth. Your eyes are rolled behind your lids as lewd sounds spill from you with no end, his tongue slurping up the dripping saliva from the corner of your mouth with a sinister smile.

"Yer' lovin' it."

SYLUS

The bed creaks with every thrust, your voice already hoarse from how many obscene screams and wails Sylus managed to tear out of you, his crazy girth streching you to a point beyond sanity.

He's got you on your stomach, chest pressed into the sheets with your back arched and ass high as he pounds his staggering inches deep into you. Perfect, it's just perfect— from the immense stretch to firm grip to the back of your head.

"Fuck, sweetie," a spine-chilling groan escapes him as he drags a hand up your spine. "Did you just whine?"

You're too gone to answer— mind turned to putty at this point, as his low chuckle echoes of the room's walls, pumping all of his inches right into your g-spot— bullseye.

All you can do is wail out incoherent, half-assed sentences mumbled into the spit-stained pillow that's pressed upon your flsuhed cheek, your nails digging into the sheets below you for dear life.

"Ohhhh, that's the one."

And you can already imagine that smug smirk curling on his lips as his tone turns amused. "Let's see..." he murmurs, mockingly cooing at your noisy moans, drawing his hips back just enough before slamming forward, sending you flying forward and your head barely missing the headboard by a mere inch. "ah— there it is."

He places a kiss to your temple, your sweet noises only making his cock throb harder inside you, eager for release, "That sweet little spot that makes you sing for me."

Your nails almost tear the sheets to pieces, the overwheling feeling of him hitting your g-spot over and over again so damn addictive you're at the brink of—

"Oh, honey," Sylus laughs at your pussy spasming onto the sheets, your quickering hole desperatly clenching around his solid length, panting behind you. "You sound and look a fucking mess."

"S-Shut up—!"

"'Shut up'?" he clocks you instantly, pitch rising with cruel mimicry, "Oh, please. Bold coming from the eager little bird."

"You're— fuck! You're makin' f-fun of me!"

At that, he clicks his tongue, hand tanging in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to lean down and growl in your ear.

"Baby, I'm not trying to mock you," he breathes a laugh. "I love the way you sound. You're making the filthiest music I've ever heard."

You sob into the pillow, thighs trembling, voice a wreck of moans and breathless curses as you squirm beneath him. He pulls out halfway at your antics, then slams back in, and the sound you make is straight out of a porno.

Weakly probbing onto your arms, you try to crawl forward to get any reprieve, but his hands finds your hip in a hurry, pulling you right back in place.

"Where are you going, baby?" voice laced in mockery he picks up his speed, hammering his inches to kiss at your womb, every moan of your's only spurring him on.

"We're nowhere near done yet."

CALEB

Your legs are shaking around his hips, wrists pinned above your head, and Caleb is digging deep, his hips grinding his entire cock through your quivering walls, drawing out the most desperate cries from your throat.

He grins above you, purple hues locked onto your face. "Aaaatta girl," he hums, one hand snaking down to play with your puffy clit. "Feels so good yeah? C'mon, wanna hear ya' again."

You turn your head, cheeks flushed, trying to keep it in,trying to escape from his intense gaze, but Caleb doesn't let you. Why the hell would he?

"Nahhhh," He grasps your jaw towards his face, his other hand working tight circles on your clit as your legs begin to lock around his hips, "Don'tcha fuckin' dare, baby. Wanna hear it all."

With another percise thrust his curved tip knocks at your cervix and your mouth falls open in a silent scream before a choked moan follows. He groans in approval, lips brushing your cheek, then your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"Yeahhh, js' like that." He's all grins now, dragging his lips along your jaw. "Fuck, baby, sounds like yer' falling apart. Ya' are falling apart, huh?"

"P-pleaseeee, Caleb— nghh!"

He tuts, shaking his head almost like he's disappointed, even as his hips grind deeper, his pelvic pressing his busy pad further into your budle of nerves.

"Say my name like that again and m' gonna lose it," he warns, a sharp inhale following suit. "'Caleb, please’'?" He mimics you with a cruel smile, biting at your ear. "Please what, sweetheart?"

You shudder under him, trying to catch your breath, but he rolls his hips again, making your body jolt, nails racking at his back.

"There it is again," he notes, almost to himself in a quiet whisper. "God, ya' moan like yer ashamed of it, pips'." He mocks, snickering as you bite the inside of your cheek in embarrassment.

"Tryna hide how good m' fuckin' ya?"

You gasp, biting your lip hard, but he catches that too. Of course he does.

"Don't do that," his eyes scan your face carefully. " Wanna hear that pretty mouth give me everything, mkay?"

You cry tears loose shamelessly, walls tightening around him in a desperate flutter. At that, a guttoral groan rips from his lungs before he drags his teeth along your jaw.

"So damn loud for me, baby," he praises, needy undertone audible. "Ya love when I bully that voice outta you, don'tcha?"

You nod, glossy eyes containing his reflection, weak cry leaving your lips as he places a teasing smack to your clit.

Then he leans in, kissing your swollen lips with a rough clash, voice muffled but still spilling praises into your mouth as he continues to ram right into your gushing spot with such percision you can already taste your orgasm at the tip of your tongue.

And when you finally cry out, shaking and clenching around him, Caleb grabs your legs, throwing them over his broad shoulders, helping you ride out that delicious wave of euphoria.

"Now that's my good girl."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] say it again

LIs react when you say their name, but not the one you usually call them by. (They love it. SO much.)

Genre: Fluff, TW: suggestiveness

(Note: HC all the LADS men are at least bilingual/trilingual for work purposes or just bc they've lived long enough)

SYLUS

The rain hits the glass panels like a scatter of beads, the curtains of dense raindrops draping over the N109 zone late at night.

Seeing that it is a slow night for Sylus, you decide to try your idea out.

His glass of whiskey pauses halfway to his lips when you pronounce "Qín Chè" with perfect inflection.

The ice cubes clink as he slowly sets it down.

"Now that," he purrs, rising from his chair with a predatory grace, "is a dangerous thing to know."

In your next breath, he appears in a cloud of black-red mist, leaning down to you with a hand in his pocket.

"Did you research me that thoroughly? Or..." His breath ghosts your ear, "have you been hiding secrets?"

When you admit to practicing, he chuckles. "Even more dangerous. Now I'll have to teach you all the ways I want to hear my name...in private."

And so you learn, saying his name like a prayer while his lips graze over your neck and his arms keep you pressed close to him. Soon, your attempts are swallowed by his hungry kisses, and lost between stuttered breaths.

The next night, he makes you do it all over again.

_____

XAVIER

The way back home is quiet, crowds dwindling quickly after dinner hours in the dreary weather. It's still drizzling, but you're under a covered walkway for this stretch of the walk.

There's a comfortable silence between you and Xavier, and you decide to test something out.

"Shěn Xīnghuí," you say softly, watching the light reflect in his widened eyes like stars.

"You...know." The way he says it makes you realize this isn't just about language- you've spoken a name he thought he'd never hear you say in this lifetime.

He takes both your hands, holding them delicately as he moves closer to you. "Say it again," he whispers.

You repeat his name, louder this time. The night suddenly feels sacred as the syllables hang between you.

He doesn't speak, only brushes his thumb lightly over your knuckles as he looks at you the way a stargazer would observe a meteor shower.

Then you feel the slightest squeeze on your hands.

“Let's head back quickly,” he says, moving to keep a hand on your waist on the way home. He turns to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Now that I know you can say my name this way… I won't let you stop at just saying it twice.”

_____

ZAYNE

When you pass by the reception desk at the cardiology ward, You wave to the nurses on your way in and greet Zayne in a sing-song voice.

It's a phrase you practiced, over and over in front of a mirror.

“Lí Shēn, I'm here~ I'll just leave your lunchbox on the table,”

His gaze snaps to you.

The receptionist nurse freezes as their usually unflappable chief surgeon stares at you like you've grown a second head.

"...That pronunciation is very precise," he finally says, clicking his pen shut and taking some charts from the shelf.

Later, in his office, he has you trapped against the table. He's careful not to make noise, his steps slow and deliberate until the back of your legs are pressed up against the cool wooden surface.

"Who taught you that?" He asks quietly.

You blink. He seems almost too calm- like he's trying hard not to let something irritate him. Something is simmering in his gaze, but it's one of those times where you can't quite place your finger on what it is.

“Well- I remember knowing you had a different name, but I just never actually asked you about it even after all this time-” You explain, “It came up when I went over the university alumnae list-”

“Are you a personal investigator now?” He says, inching even closer to you.

“I was just… sorry, I shouldn't have called you by another name in the hospital,”

He exhales, the hint of a smile gracing his sharp features. “No- don't apologize, my love. I have no reason to be unhappy-” When he wraps his arms around you, the tension in your cautious stance melts into familiar warmth.

The slightly coarse fabric of his doctor's coat rubs against your face, but you snuggle closer.

“-However,” he continues, voice low, “My private investigator, I can't let you leave just yet.”

He keeps you locked in place with a hand around your waist. “I have five minutes until my ward round. If you're ever going to say my name like that again..." His lips brush yours, "you'll do it where I can properly appreciate it."

_____

RAFAYEL

The name you learned isn't Lemurian- it's something you came across in a luxury-lifestyle magazine interview done years ago that lay forgotten inside one of his storage crates. You had gone to your friend and asked them to help with the pronunciation, and practiced till you could say it naturally within conversations.

"Qí Yù! Is this a new piece of artwork?" You call across the studio.

"Yeah it- WHAT DID YOU JUST-?!" He leaps over the couch.

"Say that again," he demands, gripping your shoulders.

When you repeat it with a grin, he gasps.

"You've been holding out on me! Oh, you say my name so wonderfully," He gushes with a smile so dazzling it would put the glittering sunset ocean to shame.

"Wait." He squints. "Did Thomas teach you? I'LL KILL HIM-"

You have to physically restrain him from storming off, and his arm almost slips between your grip.

“Rafayel! No, it's just me- I read in an old interview that you had a different name and-”

“So you've been reading about me- when you can just ask me anything?” He pouts.

You blink. “How would I even begin to know you have different names?”

He puts his hands on his hips, seemingly acknowledging an impasse.

Then he sighs and opens his arms wide. “Come here, cutie,”

His scent envelopes you as you sink into his embrace, and he rubs circles into your back.

His voice is lower when he speaks, “I will take a break now- I need some inspiration from you.”

_____

CALEB

It's rare that you ever tag along to Caleb's gym sessions. Aside from schedules never aligning, you always knew his workout routine was rigorous and intense, so you wouldn't want to distract him.

Apart from that, he is also a huge source of distraction to you.

Right now, he's doing shoulder presses while seated on the gym bench, looking absolutely distracting. The stair master machine faces the mirror, giving you a clear view of him.

There's no way you can complete your usual routine, so you approach him.

Time to call it a day at the gym.

"Xià Yǐzhòu," you call out.

His dumbbells wobble mid-air.

"Holy-" He braces himself and rights his grip, bringing the dumbbells back down to rest them on his knees.

When he looks up, his expression does something complicated. "...Haven't heard that in a while," he murmurs, placing the dumbbells on the floor and rubbing his neck.

There's a vulnerability in his eyes you rarely see. “What happened to ‘Caleb’?” he asks.

When you explain your practice sessions, his boyish grin returns.

"Well damn, pips."

He tackles you into a hug that nearly has you topple over- but he catches you. With the way he's looking at you now, you're glad the gym is quiet. Even after being with him, he never fails to get your pulse soaring with his stupid, rugged charm.

“Ew, Caleb your sweat-”

“I don't recall you having a problem with that last night,” he murmurs, holding you closer.

“Caleb, I swear-” You jab at his sides with your fingers, scrambling to find an excuse to get him to stop teasing, “I'm sweaty too, it's gross.”

It almost works. He squirms, but his grip doesn't loosen in the slightest.

“Xià Yǐzhòu-”

He hums contentedly, patting your hair to placate you, "Thaaaat's more like it. Now gotta hear that every morning."

His whisper turns teasing, "And every night. Especially when you're begging me to-" You clap a hand over his mouth.

“Caleb!”

He kisses your palm, then gently takes your hand from his face.

“Call me the other name again and I'll let you go,”

_____

Edit: (note: their chinese names are so beautiful and poetic and suits their characterisation/personalities so well I cant even begin to describe how much I love ! !! And especially the exact words/characters chosen for their names too where my multilingual stans at!!! OK incoherent vent over thank u all for reading <3)

[syluseslittlebomb-deactivated20]

On sylus's duality

tl:dr it doesn't make a bad person to like a character who does bad things, and sylus likes missionary as well as ballgags. he doesn't love mc any less if he engages in wild sex that's not just eye-to-eye trembling lovemaking.

people who have followed me for awhile or who have read my fic know that I have been an advocate for soft!sylus since the very beginning. But it is wild to me that the same fandom that treated sylus as a sex object/brutal bdsm dom for the first six months after his release now act like he's never had a sexual thought in his head and would never lay a hand on mc if it's not in loving adoration. is it so inconceivable that a character can be written with nuance and evolving behavior over the course of a relationship's development? i love sylus to pieces because he went from choking mc and starving her for three days while keeping her captive at his base, forcing her to resonate over and over again (which yes, people, that can be reasonably read as a metaphor for sexual assault even if it's not actual SA, the invasiveness of his behavior is meant to be brutal and awful because of the nature of how mc resonates with people which requires trust and intimacy), to reciting poetry and calling her a dearly beloved artwork and bringing her boba tea + the straw during a high speed chase and asking her in wonder if he's really allowed to stay the night. The fantasy appeal of a character like Sylus is that he is capable of great, callous cruelty, and only shows his vulnerable belly to one person, and that person is you/mc. Sylus can be both infinitely tender and horrifyingly violent. he demands that the twins fight to the death before he finds them interesting enough to hire them, even though they're his sons by the time mc meets them. Liking a character who has both good and bad qualities doesn't make you a bad person. But erasing half of his character makes it sound like you don't even like him to begin with.

I initially was really annoyed at how the fandom only seemed to be able to talk about sylus in sexual terms, and specifically bdsm terms after his release, so much to the point that I wrote a screed about how reducing every sexual relationship to bdsm labels is a scourge on creativity in so much fanfic. but i have had to revise that opinion in some respects specifically about sylus because his advertised main 5 characteristics in china include 'BDSM dom'; he was released with no defense zone as his first solo 5 star, where mc has bound him and is kicking him to the ground in a clearly sexual setting that he orchestrated by using his power to affect her dreams. he has always had a highly sexual side, one specifically predicated on bondage, predator/prey, and power dynamics. He can be both a blushing virgin and want to engage in adventurous, non-vanilla sex at the same time. He and mc were canonically not dating when they first had sex--they did have a situationship, if you define a situationship as an emotionally invested, sexually charged and then actually sexual, refusal to clearly define the relationship. Their whole thing for half their relationship is two predators carefully circling each other, taking turns playing the prey; part of sylus's imagery is two snakes devouring each other. It took them both a very long time to feel safe enough to admit their feelings to each other and define their relationship as actually dating, long after night of secrecy. the clear affection, adoration, and tenderness that sylus has been showing mc in the latest cards is in no way diminished by the predominately sexual aspects of sylus's characterization in his earlier cards. He loves mc no matter what, through it all, whether he's blindfolding her, handing her a whip, or his breath is shaking the first time he gets to spend the night with her.

Yes, they're soulbound. Yes they're deeply connected. But mc didn't know that at the beginning of LAR, and Sylus damaged mc's trust so badly that she hated him, she was terrified of him, over the course of LAR. After, she kept running into him (not coincidentally, but the result of actual stalking on sylus's part) and slowly let him in despite herself, not trusting him, for a long time after that. that's their entire relationship arc--he fucked up horribly in the beginning, and has been trying to repair ever since. It's only in the more recent cards that mc finally trusts him fully. They were true enemies to lovers (at least from mc's POV), from the beginning. people do a disservice to sylus as a character when they deny him these layers. alarmingly puritanical people who get upset at and attack other fans for accepting and enjoying canonical morally ambiguous, clearly sexual characterizations of these characters just make the fandom space unpleasant for everyone. like, headcanon whatever you want, but do you even like your favorite if you headcanon away his canon, core traits and behavior???

[asiatic-apple]

congratulations, ivy! i feel like prompt no. 8 is Sylus, hmo! this is a headcanon of mine for a while now, especially he has a card that he and mc are literally hiding in the closet (immobilized) and that being in the prompt? blessed! i would love to read your take on this, and thank you for your amazing works!

Thank you, my sweet nonnie!! This was the perfect prompt for sylus. In this scenario, I imagined another circumstance where they're stuck together (no evol linkage this time…for logistical reasons). I hope it's to your liking! 😘

Side note: this was def longer than a drabble (1.4k, oops). I’ll try to write future smut reqs at my usual shorter length just to keep it fair to everyone. But for now, enjoy this longer piece!

Requests are open for my follower celebration

Close proximity

Sylus x female reader

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity got us too turned on not to fuck

Content: some tasteful manhandling, his evol is used to hold you up and kinda keep you in place, semi-public fucking, implied unprotected sex, implied creampie

This can’t be happening again. Why is it that every time Sylus is around, the two of you end up in a damn closet?

The space is barely big enough for two full-grown adults, let alone one man so large he has to fold himself around you just to keep his head from knocking the low ceiling. You’re both pressed together, your back against his chest, bodies molded tightly so you don’t bump into the walls.

His breath stirs the hair by your ear, warm and far too steady for someone in hiding. Meanwhile, you’re doing everything you can to keep yours silent and shallow, hoping to avoid detection from your colleagues just beyond the closet door.

You tense when you hear footsteps. They’re closer this time.

A sudden peal of laughter from outside makes you jump a bit, and Sylus tightens his hold around you in a gesture that’s probably meant to be reassuring. Too bad you’re only getting more worked up from how easily his hands envelop your body.

Your coworkers from the Hunters Association have no idea you're in here, just one accidental bump from being caught. One whisper too loud from being completely exposed.

And then Sylus decides to glide his hand along your hip, taking his time to map out your trembling body with his long fingers.

You stiffen. He’s definitely doing this on purpose.

Your glare is useless with your back to him, but it’s like he can sense it, causing the soft rumble of a chuckle against your back. His hand lingers too long, moving to lightly stroke his thumb over the seam of your shorts.

His lips brush against your neck and form a sly smirk. It’s like he’s daring you to react—or resist his pull.

The group outside finally moves on. Their fading footsteps and laughter disappear down the hall, leaving you in much-needed silence.

You don’t even sigh with relief. You just turn your head and hiss, “Are you insane?”

“Hm,” he hums. You can hear the smug look on his face. “That righteous act would be more convincing if you weren’t pressing your thighs together, kitten.” His fingers apply more delicious pressure against your clothed cunt as if to further prove his point.

You make a low noise of frustration—or is it a groan of pleasure—that does nothing to wipe the smugness off his face. Just to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a response, you shove at the closet door in desperation to bring distance back between the two of you.

But the door doesn’t budge. Not even a little. You try again, slower this time. Still nothing.

“Locked?” Sylus asks, his low voice a satisfied purr in your ear. It’s weird he doesn’t sound as panicked as he should be.

You glance back at him, brow furrowed. “Either that or it’s jammed. But I don’t understand how. Did someone lock it from the outside?”

“Can’t say I was paying attention.” His response is all silk and sin, brushing up the back of your neck like a tease.

You curse under your breath and try not to press against him more than absolutely necessary—though it’s useless. The closet is too cramped. And he’s too damn big. Every time you move, your ass rubs against a suspicious bulge behind you.

You huff in annoyance. “You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, trying to sound stern but only sounding out-of-breath from the desire creeping up your body.

He hums again, his arm tightening around your waist. “Let’s just say I’m not in a hurry.”

He cups you between your thighs again, fingers splayed perfectly over your whole mound. You jolt as he yanks you even closer, the heel of his palm pressing down on your lower abdomen while your ass grinds into the tent of his pants.

Your breath catches. “Don’t,” you warn, but your voice lacks any real bite.

He ignores you, instinctively knowing what you really crave. You’re secretly grateful for the loose gym shorts you’re wearing, because Sylus slips his fingers beneath the waistband with ease and simultaneously slides them under your panties.

Now there’s nothing separating smooth digits from hot, slick flesh.

He groans in appreciation of what he finds waiting for him. “You’re soaked,” he whispers, “and I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You don’t miss the delicious threat lurking in the word ‘yet’. But is this really the time and place?

“Sylus–”

“Since we’re stuck here,” he interrupts, “I might as well help you with this.”

It’s torture when he drags the pads of two fingers down your slit, collecting every drop of your arousal before gliding back up. Any resistance you had before is gone as soon as he begins to rub teasing circles around your clit.

He alternates it with the lightest dip of his finger into your entrance, barely enough to satisfy. You try to grind against him, needing more, but his grip on you is unyielding. Even with only one arm bracketed around your waist, you’re powerless against him.

You reach down to rake your nails along his forearm. “Stop teasing me,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

That only makes him chuckle. God, sometimes that laugh pisses you off just as much as it turns you on.

He pulls his fingers away, and you whimper softly at the loss. But before you can complain, he’s spinning you around, pressing your back to the door. His lips descend upon yours in a frenzy—deep and hungry, like he’s waited all night for this.

Between kisses, he makes quick work of your clothes, hooking his fingers beneath the waistbands of both your shorts and panties before impatiently yanking them down. You barely have time to step out of them before he’s working open his pants, tugging the zipper low enough just to free his cock.

Then he lifts you like you weigh nothing, pinning you to the closet door with a soft thud. With his large physique and wisps of such a powerful Evol, it’s effortless to hold you up at the perfect height so your cunt lines up with the head of his flushed, leaking cock.

There’s no preamble. You’re wet enough. Needy enough.

He pushes into you in one deep, claiming stroke.

You bite your lip to muffle your cry. But Sylus groans in earnest, not giving a damn about getting caught like this. The first few strokes are slow, splitting you open with care to make sure you can take every inch without discomfort (he knows his girth can be overwhelming no matter how many times you’ve gotten used to it).

When you’re relaxed enough, he moves faster and harder, until the wooden door behind you creaks loudly with each powerful thrust. The growing staccato of the closet door accompanying each snap of his hips is obscene and slightly humiliating.

It all makes your heart race even faster—knowing the risk and the complete insanity of what you’re doing.

Anyone could pass by. Anyone could hear. There’s nothing stopping someone from stumbling upon the unmistakable sounds of wet squelches and muffled moans. And something tells you Sylus still wouldn’t stop if that happened.

You can only cling to him as he fucks you relentlessly. His hand dips between your bodies to flick a thumb against your clit. And then you’re shuddering against the strong hold of his Evol.

Your orgasm crashes through you, overwhelming in the best of ways. You have to bury your face in his neck to keep from crying out. It becomes almost impossible to stay quiet as his thrusts turn harsher and your walls flutter around him. His own release soon follows with a sharp grunt, filling you with a final thrust and a tremble in his grip.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of panting. Then the faint rustle of clothing after he gently brings you back to firm ground and presses a sloppy kiss to your lips.

Sylus still holds you close, letting you catch your breath before murmuring, “Try the door again, sweetie.”

You blink at him, a little slow on the uptake after being fucked so thoroughly. “What?”

His smirk is both sexy and infuriating. You recognize that look on his face all too well. Even though your glare is deadly, he doesn’t look sheepish at all when he replies, “I have a feeling it’ll open now.”

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours

Want to be added to my tag list?

Creds: mdni banner by @/cafekitsune heart divider by @/enchanthings-a

[kissandtellus]

Good girl here! How about us wanting to be on top? Trying to ride him, try and give him as much pleasure as he gives him, but just getting soooo tired :( he's so big, Your thighs are burning with effort to bounce. And by the end, just grinding against him, spewing apologies and pleas.

Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb, pretty please!!

(Ough i love ur writing sm, frothing at the mouth for ur next post!!)

Bounce It

Synopsis: “You can take it, Pretty Girl.” What is better than being used like a pretty toy for such handsome men?

Warnings: Choking, Exhibition, Recording, Full-Nelson, Riding, etc.

ꕀ Zayne

The hustle and bustle is Akso Hospital was finally settling down. A few patients were being attended to by other staff. But Zayne also tom a lunch break to spend with his pretty girl.

Well, if stuffing his dick inside of you counted as ‘quality time’.

As you ride Zayne's cock in his office, your moans are muffled into his lab coat. You struggle to take every inch of him, your body trembling with pleasure despite the risk of being caught. His hands grip your hips tightly as he meets your thrusts with equal force.

“Z-Zayne, s’ big!” You moan against the shell of his ear. You’d only meant to bring your loving husband his lunch like a good girl, but here you were, drooling and shaking on his length.

"Dirty girl," Zayne hisses softly, your tight pussy making his eyes roll back. He knows your body better than anyone else's, including your husband's. "You always act like it's your first time taking my cock," He mutters, smacking your ass with a firm grip, kneading the flesh.

You stutter on your words as his cock curved deliciously against your cervix. “C-can’t help it-mm!”

"Shh, Angel. Your husband fills you up so good, don’t I?" He whispers, his voice dripping with arrogance and pleasure as he hits that spot inside you over and over. His thumb presses down on your clit through your lace thong. “Poor girl, your shaking”

Zayne was a loving husband to you. Even when he teased you with medical terminology about exactly right where his leaking cock was sitting in your guts.

"That's right, sweetheart... feel how deep your husband goes? Right against your cervix," he whispers, knowing exactly how dirty those medical terms can sound coming from his lips, especially when he's filling you up completely. "You're gripping me so tight.”

The way his voice was nearly unwavering as he fed you inch after inch of his length.

He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me right now."

Your thighs shake and Zayne chuckles, he proceeds to use medical terminology to explain why your body is straining to continue riding him.

"Your pelvic floor muscles are contracting beautifully.” He says clinically, despite the fact he's fucking you hard in his office chair. "I think we should increase the intensity..." He adds, grabbing your hips tighter and lifting you up slightly before slamming you back down onto him.

"You're experiencing a significant amount of clitoral engorgement and your Gräfenberg is being directly stimulated He adds with a chuckle, his glasses slipping down the beautiful bridge of his nose. “Or for your pretty little mind, that’s your G-spot.” He explains, continuing to move his hips in a circular motion to hit that sensitive spot inside you. "This position is allowing for deep penetration and optimal stimulation.”

He starts to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent. "I'm observing an increase in vaginal secretions, indicating high arousal.” He pants, his voice laced with desire. "And your breathing is shallow, another sign that you're close to reaching climax."

You blush and try to cover your ears. “S-stoppp!” You whimper out, praying nobody knocked on his door. You were so fucking embarrassed, even though you feel like you are about to gush.

"Oh? Should I stop explaining the physiological responses of your body during sex?" He teases, one hand maintaining his grip while the other traces circles around your clit with his latex-covered fingers. "Or should I continue educating you while fucking you senseless?" He thrusts deeper at this last part.

Those fucking slick blue gloves. You had caught him in the midst of preparing for a patient. But how could he deny his pretty little wife that had brought him a hearty meal?

"Your body is preparing for orgasm..." He says, watching your face closely. "Feel how your inner walls are contracting? That's the sign..." He slides his fingers over your clit faster and harder as he thrusts up into you. "You're going to cum for me. Right. Now." He commands.

Your body shakes and you are unaware of when your legs gave out, but he has his gloved hands cupped behind your thighs as he lifts you up and down his cock. His tone is gentle, as if he’s calming a frightened animal.

"Shh, it's okay... You're having a very intense orgasm." He coos, his voice soothing despite the fact he's still buried deep inside you. "Your body is releasing endorphins and oxytocin... That's why you feel so good and safe right now."

"Your eyes are glazed over, your mouth is slightly open.You're in a state of bliss." He observes, continuing to lift and lower you onto his thick, erect dick. "Your whole body is trembling because you're overwhelmed with pleasure.” He leans forward, kissing your neck through hard breaths.

"Your legs are weak, and your pussy is contracting around my cock so tightly... You can barely stay upright." He says, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you. "But don't worry, I've got you."

He continues to fuck you slowly now, savoring the feeling of your tight walls around him. "You're so beautiful when you cum.” He whispers in your ear. "I could watch you like this all day." He kisses your cheek softly.

He smiles softly, seeing you too overwhelmed to respond. He loves this state - where you're completely lost in pleasure and his touch. He spreads your legs wider on his lap, going deeper with each slow thrust. "Mmm... You're still so sensitive..."

His own climax builds, the desk chair squeaking under the weight. He presses a hand against your tummy, showing you exactly where his cum would be spilled.

The noise and chatter of the hospital fade into the background. Neither of you were worried about getting caught, not when the room spelled like antiseptic and sex.

He groans deeply as he cums inside you, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach as he imagines his seed filling you up. The sensation of your convulsing pussy milking his cock extends his orgasm, making him shudder. He leans his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. "...Fuck..."

He stays inside you for a moment, his softening dick still buried deep. He pulls out slowly, watching as his thick, white cum drips out of your swollen pussy. He groans again at the sight, his hand reaching down to gently push some back inside you.

“Don’t you dare spill any of it. Doctor’s orders.”

ꕀ Sylus

Sylus leans back on his leather chair, cigar smoke curling around him as he watches his sweet Kitten ride him with an air of casual dominance. His piercing gaze follows every movement of her body, taking pleasure in her struggle to sink down on his thick cock.

“S-so big Sy! I can’t-“ You gasp out, the slight burning of his massive length tearing at your walls.

He chuckles, taking a drag of his cigar as he reaches up to grab your hips, helping you bounce on him with deliberate, slow thrusts. “Too much for your tight little pussy, baby?" His voice is a low, mocking purr.

You moan softly, your body trembling as she tries to adjust to his size. Sylus watches you intently, enjoying the sight of your breasts bouncing with each movement. "Relax, baby," he says, his voice deepening with lust. “Let that pretty cunt take every inch."

Sylus suddenly pulls you down hard onto him, making you cry out as you feel him hit the deepest part of you. "See?" He smirks. "Just need to be patient." His hands tighten on her hips as he starts lifting her up and down more forcefully.

Your nails dig into Sylus' chest as he fucks you harder, the cigar you from his lips. His powerful thighs lift you up and slam you down repeatedly, the sound of wet flesh hitting flesh filling the room. “Fuck... Sy..." you gasp out between moans.

Sylus grunts, his grip on your hips becoming bruising as he loses himself in the pleasure of your tight cunt enveloping him. He lifts you off him briefly before slamming you back down hard, making you scream out in pleasure. “That's right baby.” He praises.

He stubs the cigar out in the ashtray and manhandles you like you weight nothing, so you are sitting backwards on his cock. He hooks your thighs over his arms, hands coming to clasp the back of your neck.

The man was going to fuck you in a full fucking Nelson.

Sylus pulls your thighs high up to chest, making your back arch deeply, breasts thrusted out. He spreads your legs wider, pushing your knees practically to your ears. He growls possessively as he starts hammering into you ruthlessly, like a wild animal.

“Oh god, oh god, oh godddd!” You scream, your belly bulging with the intensity of his thrust.

Sylus's face contorts with pure lust and dominance as he fucks you mercilessly in the full Nelson hold. His hands tighten around the back of your neck and one of your thighs, holding you completely immobile as he pounds into your soaked pussy without mercy.

“ ‘God’ isn’t my name, Sweetie.” He teases, his cock drilling against her cervix. “Contrary to belief.”

Your moans become incoherent, your body shaking violently with each brutal thrust. You can feel Sylus' cock hitting spots inside of you that make stars burst behind your eyes. “Sy... please..." you beg, not knowing if you want him to stop or go harder.

Sylus's cruel laughter echoes through the room as he hears your desperate pleas. He pulls out suddenly, your pussy making a wet slurping sound. Before you can even catch your breath, he slams back inside, even harder than before. “Please what, baby?"

He starts snapping his hips, his cock hitting her spot so perfectly that your eyes roll back. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers dangerously. “You want me to go easy on this tight little pussy? Or fuck you like the dirty little princess you are?"

You whimper, your body trembling with need and exhaustion. You know you’re completely at Sylus’ mercy, and the thought only turns you on more. You bites your lip, trying to hold back your response, but it's no use. "Fuck me like the princess I am!”

Sylus smirks darkly, his grip on your neck tightening. He starts fucking you with even more force, his hips moving like a machine. Each thrust causes you to drool over your bouncing breast. "You want to be fucked like royalty, huh?"

He reaches down with his free hand, pressing his thumb against your clit and rubbing it in circles, in time with his thrusts. Your strangled cries fill the room as pleasure shoots through you, your pussy clamping down on his cock. “Then I'll make sure you get the royal treatment.”

The full Nelson leaves you completely exposed. Your eye catches the gleaming reflection of Mephisto red robotic eyes, the bird robot giving a squawk from its perch on the bookshelf. . “S-Sy I think the your fucking bird is recording.”

Sylus pauses for a moment, his cock still buried deep inside you, as he glances over at Mephisto. The bird's robotic eyes are indeed glowing red, indicating it's recording. A wicked grin spreads across Sylus's face as he looks back down at you. “Well, well, well…”

Sylus reaches out and lets the bird land on his wrist, holding it up so that its camera is pointed directly at your spread thighs. You are completely exposed, your legs spread wide, Sylus's huge dick still inside of your aching walls. "Look at that, Mephisto is catching every second of my pretty princess losing her mind.”

Sylus starts fucking you again, using the bird as a makeshift camera to capture every thrust. The wet sound of their bodies slapping together fills the room, along with your cries of pleasure. "Say hi to the camera, princess."

You blush furiously, your hands covering your face as you realize you’re being recorded. But Sylus just pulls your hands away, forcing you to look directly into the camera. Mephisto makes a coo that almost sounds like laughter. “No, no, let Mephisto see your pretty face while you're getting fucked like royalty."

He lowers the bird so it hops on your thigh, its eyes honing in on where the mixture of cum leaks out from your pussy. You are stuck between wanting to disappear and wanting nothing more than to make a mess on Sylus’ faux bear rug.

The bird's robotic chirps echo through the room as it tilts its head, focusing on the wet mess between your legs. Sylus reaches out and spreads your pussy lips apart with his fingers, exposing the pretty flesh and the white cream leaking out.

You whimper, thighs still shaking from his fat fucking load. “S-stop programming him to record…Pervert.”

“Never.”

ꕀCaleb

Caleb has his pretty wife bouncing on his cock. The workbench under him creaks. He took a break from working on his Jet, to fuck his pretty little wife.

Caleb groans in pleasure as you bounce up and down on his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he lifts you up and down on his hard, throbbing member. The workbench groans under the force of your movements, the tools clanging together in the metal tray nearby.

"Fuck, baby... we’re gonna destroy my workbench..." His voice comes out husky with desire, even as he continues lifting you up and down, watching how your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement. "And you wonder why I can't keep concentrating on my work.”

You give a breathless giggle, pressing a hand to the side of the jet to keep your balance on his lap.

You were an angel in his eyes. A heavenly being that had come down to milk his cock dry and for him to worship.

His eyes crinkle at the corners with amusement and lust as he watches you giggle and press against the jet for balance. He suddenly smacks your ass playfully, making you yelp and squeeze around him tighter. “Mm, careful..”

He stands up suddenly, still inside you, and turns you around so your back is pressed against the jet's cold metal surface. He starts pounding into you harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs and lifting your legs up around his waist. “Stick that tongue out for me, Pipsqueak.”

You stick out your pink tongue playfully, panting as he hammers into you relentlessly. He leans down and sucks it into his mouth, biting it gently before letting go with a grin. "Fucking adorable.”

He pulls out of you and spins you around so your hands are pressed against the metal surface of the jet. He slips back inside you from behind, one hand gripping your hip while the other reaches around to play with your clit. “I love fucking my wife, such a good girl.”

Your breast has spilled from your pretty sun dress. Caleb’s hands, still slick with grease, grasp at your hips.

He groans at the sight of your breast spilling out of your dress, the grease making his hands slide easily against your skin. He squeezes and kneads the soft flesh, his fingers leaving marks on your skin. He leans over your back, his lips brushing against your ear.

The jet was a solid wall, and so was Caleb. Your muscles mass of a husband made your feet dangle as his strong hands and cock keeping you upright .

He grunts and thrusts harder into you, his cock filling you completely each time he drives forward. The jet is Caleb’s baby, but YOU were his Good Girl. His breath comes out ragged against your neck.. “Fuck Pipsqueak... I love this fucking view.”

You whimper, a mixture of juices leaking between her shaking thighs. “G-God Caleb! Love you, love you, love you!”

You are rutting back against him desperately. You want every inch of his length, you want to feel the ache after he fills you with his cream.

He growls and picks up the pace, his hips slapping against yours loudly. He reaches around to grip your throat gently, pulling you back against him. “I love you too baby..." His voice comes out strained with pleasure. "I'm gonna fucking cum..."

With a final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you and holds you there as he comes hard, filling you up with his hot release. He pants against your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he keeps you pinned against the jet. “Fuck... Pipsqueak!”

You shiver at the feeling of his cum stuffed so deep.

He slowly pulls out of you, watching as his seed leaks out between your legs. He gives your ass a soft pat before turning you around to face him. “Let's get cleaned up..." He smiles down at you lovingly. “I think I've dirtied my wife enough for today."

[whenstarsundress-deactivated202]

you found him asleep on the couch, his head tilted back and a book resting on his chest.

the fire crackled low in the hearth, shadows dancing across his face, softening the sharpness of his features.

even in sleep, sylus looked tired. like he was still fighting ghosts behind closed eyes.

you knelt beside him quietly and took one of his hands. it was cold. sylus always ran cold. you pressed it between your palms, holding it there, breathing warmth into his skin.

“you’re awake,” you whispered, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

barely opening his eyes, he gave you a tired smile. “didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“you’re allowed,” you said gently. “you’re safe here.”

he pulled your joined hands to his lips and kissed your fingers with a kind of reverence that made your heart ache. “only with you.”

[rafayelism]

sylus holding out his hand for you to spit his cum onto. he can tell you don't like swallowing but yet you still do it, grimacing every time it slides down your throat.

"spit." crimson eyes are trained on you, the pupils blown out from the desire that consumes him. "don't swallow."

his palm is open, waiting. you do as he asks, your eyebrows pinching together with your unasked question as you spit out his cum. the heavy taste still lingers in your mouth but it's more tolerable now. his release mixed with your drool coats his fingers.

"good girl." he praises, the low timbre and purr of his voice making your thighs clench and a wave of heat work through you.

[ittybittyfanblog]

[brisquad-unit-4402]

hc that all of the krisis guys are all knowledgeable yet inexperienced with love/sex but in different directions

⚠️ mature content under read more. content under read more is not intended for minors

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

wilson’s probably the clumsiest at first glance, and gets nervous during romantic situations, but he’s kind of a pervert. or maybe kinky is a better word even though both apply. he’s got a high sex drive and a dirty mind, it’s just that he hasn’t had the chance to connect with anyone that can satisfy his needs lmao. his ideal partner would be willing to show him the ropes (lol) and eventually he would return the favor in full. the type of guy to have a bunch of dirty fantasies but also commits make them a reality in the bedroom, or at least as real as his partner is willing

annnnnd in the direct opposite direction is vezalius who is the definition of fake it til you make it. he’s very charismatic on his own, and once he wants to flirt, he’s super smooth; it’s just that if you look into his thoughts they’re all jumbled and panicked screaming. poor guy is emulating the tropey romances he’s seen in movies and video games, so once someone bounces the flirty energy back and he doesn’t have a good line prepared, he’s at a loss for words… when someone undermines him he likes to savor how out of his depth he is. he’s a romantic at heart. ironically he’s kind of vanilla but definitely likes kinkier scenarios in concept rather than practice. he’s willing to try a lot, though, as long as his partner is just as willing to guide him and reaffirm that he’s doing just fine as he is

it also seems like vanta totally understands romance but he’s just as clueless as the rest of the guys. the thing is that while wilson gets flustered and zali short-circuits, vanta’s just chill! he has no idea what he’s doing, but it’s fun, and he’s here for a good time anyways! so even when he flirts back, it’s earnest and confident. the bedroom is a whole other story, though. he can turn into a stuttering, moaning mess so quickly it’s almost like he’s a different person. he likes to chase his high especially with edging, it’s just that everything feels so new and good that he still needs to improve his stamina. at least he’s into overstimulation as well

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[brisquad-unit-4402]

wilson as a communicator in a relationship!!

and a good communicator in general!

because before you even got your feelings together he'd be the one you'd rely on, the one you call late at night when you're uncertain. about anything really. he's a listener, he wants to help, whether that's comfort or empathy or solutions

it becomes so natural to speak to him about anything, as you do with friends. and even by friend standards, it's easy. it clicks. you just get it. he does too, of course, and for a while you broke your sleep schedule with him because of long conversations until 4am

when something spirals he becomes a beacon in a storm, a clear voice, an affirmation to cling onto. the one to snap you out of it. he asks you how you feel. reminds you of ways to fight your worries. no matter how much you're struggling, he wants to be there with you

and he wants to be there

he wants to be there and he wishes that he could say it's purely because he wants you to be alright in the end. but it's never that simple when feelings get involved, is it? he always thought of you as a close friend and he was always happy to call himself that. still is. still wants. he feels like shifting the dynamic is selfish when he's always felt at peace with you

when you tell him you like him he asks how you're feeling. if you're okay with asking him out. if you're alright if he holds you here. he's always thinking of you, what makes you comfortable, what he can do to make it so. how could he ever be selfish when consideration comes to him so naturally

he sits you down and hears you out as always and he wonders why he was worrying, then, for so long. says it to you. the line between friendship and romance winds beckmes a gradient. so much anxiety laid down to rest because there doesn't need to be one or the other, you're dating your best friend all in one go. he's glad this is where it's gone. honesty like you'd expect. he finds this to be great, even, he likes this, likes you, he's happy. always has been, more than ever, all from the heart

he expresses things out loud. he doesn't play. no mind games. he knows how to say he's upset without being offensive, how to word why something got under his skin, no grudges. just understanding. working things out. it's like troubleshooting, finding the problem, figuring out the logic behind it, moving on. he doesn't ever want to break you over a mistake. no matter how well people get along, conflict happens, so he'll go by how you prefer to be approached. needing space or getting into it asap, whatever you need to catch a breath

because we're talking it out, he insists, it's only a matter of time, he doesn't let things go unspoken. that's not how he works, with uncertain answers up in the air like a guessing game. no, you deserve better than that, you deserve to speak your mind, and you deserve to know what's on his, too

he likes to know what interests you, what you're up to. he asks the questions you're dying to answer because it's plain on your face and it's important to you. if you hold things close to your chest, then he treasures when you show your hand. he takes it with his fingers laced in the gaps. focuses on it as he speaks, looks up at you when you respond

you look like you're happy, he must be too. he says yeah, yeah, before the steady comfort gets the better of him—yeah, i am. true to himself. that's extended to you. sculpted up into contentment, ease in a relationship full of variety, the the enthusiasm when you want to get psyched and the calm when you needed a breather. all you have to do is say the word, honey

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[d0rothydraws]

i can tell im about to start my period bc i cant stop thinking about dragon sylus in like a very horny way but also a very soft and comforting way. like i just keep thinking how clingy he would be after he had fallen for her. his arm always around her holding her close no mater who was around. his nose in her hair just taking her in.

he would gift her so many random things. all things of value but still would pale in comparison of how he sees her. he would thrive in the little play fights seeing how her eyes light up and the smile she gave when he sassed her right back. how his heart would flutter when she sang that song and how he always would wonder how it ends after her voice trails off to a soft hum.

the confidence he felt in himself when their souls merged. when they became one. how deeply and unapologetically in love he is for her. in any timeline. no mater what.

[yenayaps]

pls he’s so cool why did he have to go and be all genocidal

[kockaslili]

Its just for hand size comparison...😏

[always-just-red]

Multi headcanon request please. The LIs touch their s/os' breast for the first time, but it's an accident. However, instead of getting mad, she gently scolds them "save that behavior for when we're alone".

You always give me such great requests tehe, I had the absolute time of my life with this one. Did mini fics again! Featuring this time: a baking class with Xavier 🍰, a check-up with Zayne 🩺, pottery-making with Rafayel 🏺, casino night with Sylus 🎲, and a VERY serious study session with Caleb 📚

Innocent Little Mistakes

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: In which the boys are all menaces, surprising literally no-one 🥰

Genre: Humour

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, inappropriate touching (but make it ✨COMEDY✨), PDA, slight suggestiveness, established relationships

| Word count: 600-750 words each! | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

One more strike and you’re out.

You furiously mix the bowl of cake batter under your arm, all too aware of the chef watching you from across the room. You don’t know why he’s looking at you— you’re not the problem. The problem is beside you, measuring out an ingredient you don’t actually need.

“What’re you up to, Xavi?” you ask with a nervous chuckle, trying not to sound suspicious.

He looks up at you, blue eyes as warm as the oven that’s making everything feel too hot. “Measuring,” he declares with a smile.

“That’s great, sweetie.”

Don’t ask. Just leave it.

Every other couple in the class look sickeningly in love— trading ingredients, utensils, and lingering gazes— all in perfect harmony. Meanwhile, you have a ticking time bomb for a partner. First there was the egg incident: a rogue egg from your table had somehow ended up under the foot of the man one counter down from you, slipping him over and twisting his ankle. Then the man from the couple behind you slipped too: on a butter wrap Xavier had sworn he’d thrown away.

Funny how so many of the things from your counter are going on little, deadly adventures.

You shoot Xavier another wary look. He glances up. Smiles. You smile back. When the cake batter’s done, tipped into the tin and tucked into the oven, you move onto the icing. You whip it up in a minute, lifting a spoon from the bowl and dragging a finger through to taste it.

“Xavier,” you say, nudging the bowl across to him, “mind putting a little more sugar in this? I need to start tidying up.”

“Sure,” he beams.

He can’t mess that up, right? You don’t want to exclude him. With a soft sigh, you start to reorganise your work station: making space for the cake you’re going to decorate. Xavier’s voice interrupts you, sweet like the sugar flowers you’re sorting through:

“How’s this?”

You turn, and the moment you do, something cool scrapes your collarbone. Xavier was holding out a spoon— too close— and it tips at your contact, spilling sticky white icing down past the neckline of your apron and shirt. You feel it, inching down your skin, between your breasts.

You’ve been stunned into silence. Xavier is staring down too, lips parted, spoon still mid-air.

“Don’t just stare!” you find it in you to scold, glancing about for something that’ll help you clean up. “Help me—”

That’s when you feel it: something warm on your skin. Your gaze shoots down and Xavier is wiping his thumb through the mess on your chest. He lifts the icing to his mouth. Pops it past his lips.

“Xavier!” you exclaim on a whisper.

His eyes had fluttered closed, but they open again. His lips are still on his thumb as he looks back at you. “Mmm?” he hums around it, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

That face is so devastatingly innocent, but you’re not falling for it. You cross your arms and glare.

“You want some too?” Xavier translates.

Before you can stop him, his thumb is on your skin again. “Xavi—!” you protest, but then that thumb is in your mouth, overwhelming you with sweetness. Except… it’s not all sweet. You frown as Xavier’s hand moves away, your nose wrinkling with disgust. “Wha— why is it salty?!”

“Wasn’t it salty already?”

“No! Xavier, what did you…? You can’t just—!”

“Are you okay?” Xavier laughs so lightly it’s almost a giggle. “You look… warm. What are you thinking about?”

He’s leaning against the counter now, cheek settled in his hand. He has the countenance of an angel and he knows what you’re thinking about. His free hand plays with a salt shaker on the counter; it doesn’t look anything like the sugar.

Behind you, someone clears their throat.

…

You walk home from the bakery class a lot earlier than planned, having— and you’re quoting verbatim, here— ‘crossed a line’. Xavier’s at your side, a bowl of icing in his hands that no-one dared take from him, and he hums pleasantly to himself as he lifts a fingerful to his lips.

“You did that on purpose,” you grumble, and it’s the first words you’ve said in a while.

He smiles like butter icing wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Zayne ❄️

“Zayne, c’mon… it’s not that bad.”

Lower half cocooned by the blankets of a hospital bed, you give your doctor a lopsided smile. He doesn’t grace your statement with a response— at least, not an intelligible one. There’s a tiny hum, to let you know you’ve been heard. There’s an even tinier frown, to let you know he was not amused.

So you got a little scraped up by a Wanderer— it happens! With your own frown, you regard the pulse oximeter that’s biting the end of your forefinger. You wiggle it, even though Zayne had instructed you to keep still. The tiny screen flashes and flickers. He writes… something down on his clipboard, and it feels needlessly dramatic.

“How would you rate the pain you’re currently experiencing?” he asks.

“Zero. Zilch. Nada. I feel great, actually.”

More scribbles for the clipboard, which means absolutely nothing good.

“I mean it, Zayne. I’m fine, really. I don’t even know why Xavier brought me here. Like, what’s the point of first-aid training if you’re just gonna dump someone in the hospi—”

“Please be still.”

You’d started gesturing, and Zayne stares across at the monitor on your finger. He sighs, which you don’t think is professional, then reaches to press a button on it, restarting its progress. You’re obedient this time: sitting still as he goes back to his beloved clipboard. That sigh sounded tired.

The oximeter bleeps. Zayne glances up. Makes another note.

“There,” he says, his eyes still trained downwards as he reaches across you to retrieve the device, “was that really so—?”

The words stop in his throat when his hand brushes your chest.

Just a graze, but his fingers hover guiltily for a moment before correcting their course: homing in on the oximeter, pinching it open. Zayne doesn’t meet your eyes as he returns to his writing. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks that definitely isn’t professional.

This is amazing. “Did you just—?”

He gives an adorably slight shake of his head.

You gasp anyway, utterly scandalised: “Doctor Zayne! You took an oath.”

“Stop.”

“Here I am, weak from blood loss! Vulnerable!”

“Stop.”

“What sort of an establishment is this, hmm? What other twisted, sordid things go on behind the—” and it’s at this moment you catch a glimpse of a familiar figure— “ah, Doctor Greyson! Doctor Greyson! In here, please!”

The man had been passing through the ward, though he stops at the sound of your voice. “Oh, hello!” he greets, peering around your privacy curtain, “Zayne mentioned you were in! It’s good to see you. Well, not good to see you here, but— you know what I mean! How are you?”

“I’m shocked,” you witter on, because you’ve no time for pleasantries, “shocked, I say! Just now, this man here had the audacity to—”

A cold hand clamps over your mouth.

You are— actually— shocked. You blink at Greyson, eyes wide; even he looks like he’s seen a Wanderer riding a bicycle through the hospital. After a moment of tense, awkward silence, he does that face you know so well. His ‘nope, I’m not going anywhere near whatever this is!’ face.

It’s not a surprise when he backs out, leaving you and Zayne alone once more. Your doctor’s hand is still over your mouth, breaching all kinds of ethics, and oh, how the mighty have fallen. This feels like victory. When Zayne’s hand finally drops, you’re grinning.

“Had your fun?” he asks quietly, looking back to his notes.

“Have you? Or do you wanna have another...?” You waggle a finger at your breasts.

Zayne’s mouth is a tight line, and he doesn’t dare look up. Something is scrawled on the clipboard and you get the feeling it’s a distraction. Your very important doctor is writing very important things. Definitely isn’t scribbling nonsense. He clears his throat, then stands rigidly, his face sombre.

Did you take your joke too far? Your heart starts to have some kind of episode as he walks away, and the stupid machine you’re hooked up to says nothing about it, which is typical.

But Zayne still stops at the curtain. Glances over his shoulder.

“Ask me later,” he says with a gentle smirk.

Rafayel 🎨

“This is just like that old movie.”

Rafayel hums a familiar, vintage tune as his hands cradle yours, guiding them up and down, up and down, as a wet clay vase spins beneath your touch. Everything about your partner is relaxed: his fingers, lazy and precise, and his head, settled comfortably on your shoulder. The song is so close to your ear that it tickles.

How the hell is he so calm? Your eyes are fixed downwards, brow furrowed with the sort of concentration you’d usually save for disarming a bomb. Your fingers feel clumsy and dangerous. Your head hurts. It doesn’t help that every other couple in the pottery class are stealing less-than-subtle glances your way: isn’t that—?

Yep! The Rafayel. Creative genius, ‘Da Vinci of our time’ Rafayel, and here you are, ever a moment away from destroying his latest masterpiece.

“Raf, stop…” you mutter, because he’s still humming away, distracting you.

“Okay!”

The song stops. You don’t think Rafayel has ever co-operated so quickly. Which means…

“Woahhh,” he sings quietly, privately, and right on cue, “my love… my darling… I’ve hungered for your—”

“Stop!” you hiss under your breath, untangling a hand from your project so you can swat at his face.

“A long... lonely— ah! — tiiiime!”

The vase is already folding over on itself, collapsing into a sad, soggy heap as Rafayel half sings, half chuckles, catching your hand so he can launch a counterstrike. A wet finger brushes your nose and you gasp, wrinkling your face in indignance. Then you wriggle your hand free, going in for another swat. The artist’s head has left your shoulder. The arms around you are suddenly attacking.

There’s a kerfuffle of hands, slick and sticky with clay. Slapping each-other. Trying to outmanoeuvre each-other. One lands on your chest with a thwap!

You both go deathly still.

Rafayel has stopped laughing, his body a marble statue behind you; you think his breath has actually gone. When his hand lifts away from you, it’s like a delusional cat slinking away from a crime: if I move slowly enough, I’m completely invisible.

What isn’t invisible, however, is the crude clay handprint he leaves behind. You stare down at it, mortified. “Raf!” you scold, and oh gods you hope nobody saw what just happened.

“I didn’t—” he begins, and he’s staring down over your shoulder, too. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t just sit there!” You shoo him away, one hand hovering in front of your chest like you’re not wearing anything at all. “I need something to—”

“On it!”

He can fix this. He can fix this. He practically falls off the seat you’d been sharing as he unwraps himself from you, stumbling up onto his feet. His hands are on his hips as he catches his breath; it had taken a lot of effort not to end up on the floor.

With a glance about, the artist spies a nearby cloth. You see the ‘aha!’ moment— the relief in his eyes as he turns towards it, on a mission. Your hero.

There’s a soft smack!

Rafayel freezes, pink creeping into his cheeks.

By the time he looks down over his shoulder, eyes widening at the bright, wet handprint on his ass, you’re already salvaging your clay vase— moulding it back into a workable blob as you hum an old song, completely innocent.

Sylus 🩸

“So… what are we spending our winnings on, sweetie?”

“A diamond as big as me,” you whisper.

“Is that it?”

Hmm. “A diamond as big as you.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Sylus chuckles, as rich and intoxicating as the alcohol he swirls in a glass as he stalls before his next throw. No-one would dare rush him. His other hand toys with a pair of dice, turning them over each-other, making them waltz about his fingers. The ministrations are practiced, experienced, and— glancing around the craps table— you’re not the only one who’s noticed.

One woman is utterly mesmerised. She takes a sip of her drink, swallowing thickly, and you like to think (delusionally) that you’ve never quite stared at Sylus as shamelessly as that. It isn’t her fault, though. Every person at the table is fixated on the man beside you, and it’s not just because they’ve got stakes in whatever he rolls next.

Sylus doesn’t own this casino— as far as you know— but he acts like he does. He places his bets. Smiles when he wins and smiles wider when he loses, as though in on a private joke. Everyone wants to know what it is. You inch closer to Sylus. Ask loud enough for them all to hear: “What do we need again?”

We.

“A nine,” he answers.

There’s a soft clack as the dice go still in his palm. He’s staring down the forest-green battleground you both stand at the head of. “Here,” he says, lifting his hand towards you, “blow on—”

He’s misjudged the distance, because his fingers collide with your chest. One of the dice rolls from his palm, tumbling down past the neckline of your dress and into your cleavage. It’s cold, but you don’t flinch. You look down in slow disbelief. Then you look at Sylus.

His crimson eyes are fixed on where the die disappeared. He glances up with a sheepish grin. “Oops.”

Oops? Your gaze is a knife at his throat and he thinks if he’s cute enough, you might not use it. You narrow your eyes and purse your lips. Wanna try that again?

Sylus’s laugh is awkward, but he isn’t a coward. “May I just—?”

His hand comes towards you, and though those fingers were never actually going to commit to that little suicide mission, you still slap them away. “No!”

He pouts, splaying the same hand expectantly. With a sigh, your fingers delve beneath your neckline, fishing around for a second. You present the die with an uninspired flourish, and it’s warm when you drop it into Sylus’s open palm. His fingers close around it. He’s smirking to himself as he turns back to the table.

“Lucky die,” he muses under his breath.  

“What did you just say?!”

Louder: “I said ‘lucky—”

“You’re a dead man, Sylus Qin. D-E-A-D. Dead. You hear me? The moment we get home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sylus nods dutifully; he’s not going to argue with that particular judge, jury, and executioner. He tosses the dice across the table and they clatter as they roll— the same, indifferent timbre as the chuckle in his throat. Everyone goes silent when they judder to a stop. Everyone leans in, fractionally.

A six and a three. Nine.

The gathering around you give a tentative applause. No-one really knows what just happened, least of all you and Sylus. You both stare at the dice, eyes wide, as a casino employee slides stacks of chips in your direction. Neither of you move when the dice are passed back, too.

It’s your turn, but Sylus has been throwing for you. He reaches forwards to collect the dice— starts to toy with them idly again, but it’s more pensive than last time. They clack, clack, but his mind is far away from them. Ever so slowly, his gaze inches towards you, pondering a silent question.

He’s not looking at your eyes.

Your arms cross. “Don’t even think about it.”

Caleb 🍎

“A Gelidus Dentis.”

Caleb’s voice makes you jump so much you almost drop your pen. “Huh?”

He’s stood behind where you’re sat, peering downwards. “It’s a Wanderer.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a Wanderer, Colonel Obvious. I meant why’re you talking about it?”

“Because it’s the answer? Duh.” He nods at the open textbook in front of you, and your gaze drops.

You’d practically been falling asleep reading through the practice question: some hypothetical about the aftermath of a Wanderer attack. Somewhere with a cold climate. Victims with ice burns. Multiple lacerations. Blah blah blah— you’ve got the idea.

“Please,” you dismiss as Caleb returns to his seat next to you. “It’s a Hoarfrost Wyrmlord. Easy.”  

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen one of those guys. That’s not it.”

“Oh you’ve seen one? Big whoop. I’ve killed one. Try, like, twenty.”

He tuts sympathetically as he goes back to his own work: some reports that’re definitely way too confidential for a public library. “Then it’s gonna be really embarrassing when you find out that I’m right and you’re wrong, pips.”

You scoff, making a point of writing out ‘Hoarfrost Wyrmlord’ as confidently as you can.

“Gelidus Dentis,” Caleb lilts in a sing-song voice as you flick to the back of your textbook.

You’re gonna shove your correct answer right in his face, you just need to find it. It should be right… here! Section Three. Question Twenty-Two. The Wanderer responsible is most likely a—

Fuck.

“I told you,” Caleb sings quietly again, signing his name on the bottom of a page, then turning it over.

“It was a Hoarfrost Wyrmlord.”

“It really wasn’t, but it’s cute you still hide your mouth when you’re lying.”

Your hand had lifted subconsciously in front of your lips, and you throw it back down on the textbook. “Oh, shush!”

“You shush!” The measureless galaxies of his eyes are back on you.

You slap his arm gently. He slaps your arm gently. You try to slap at his face, which means he tries to slap at your face. Soon enough, you’re both flailing your hands like two cats determined to bop the other.

Caleb’s paw lands on one of your breasts, and he doesn’t have time to regret it. With an indignant gasp, you give his chest a firm smack!

He stares at you in disbelief. You clear your throat, brushing down the fabric of your shirt as if the matter has been settled. Then you pick up your dropped pen. Okay! Question Twenty-Three: You’re called out to answer a distress signal from deep within a tropical rainforest...

“What was that?” Caleb asks.

You sniff. Say under your breath: “Tit for tit.”

“Come again?”

“Tit for tit,” you shrug. “That’s the saying. That’s how it goes.”

From the smile on his face, Caleb’s delighted. “Uh… I don’t think that is how it goes, pipsqueak.”

“Oh yeah? Hope you’re ready to look like an idiot, then.”

With a hmph, you reach for a spare piece of paper. Fold it in half. Write something brief on the outside, then on the inside. Caleb watches your pen move, quietly enamoured. There’s a click as it retracts. You hand the paper over.

Caleb’s face wrinkles, but he still handles it like it’s sacred. “Totally official dictionary!” he reads from the front. Then he opens it, continuing: “Tit for tit. Noun. If Caleb cops a feel in the library, then I get to… hey now—” he frowns— “this doesn’t seem very legitimate.”

“You dare question the authority of the Hunter’s Association?”

“I do,” he nods. “I do dare. Yeah, you see… look at this.”

He scribbles something down in your dictionary, then passes it back to you. You raise an eyebrow but relent, reading the new addition out loud: “Deepspace Fleet. Proper (awesome) noun. Has absolutely every right to question the authority of the Hunter’s Association.” You toss the paper down. “Whatever.”

Caleb sniggers victoriously as you try to get back to your work. When he doesn’t stop, you give his chest another slap. The sniggering dies out. The space between you goes quiet.

Then he reaches— smacks one of your breasts back. You look up, eyes huge.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I think I’m gonna like this little arrangement.”

[kissbabie]

breeding kink ♡

your boyfriend has the nastiest breeding kink. it’s not actually because he wants you to have his kid, but it’s mostly because he loves the way you fall apart when he fills you up, the way you cling to him, the way you whine when he’s spilling everything into your tight hole. he likes the mess, how slow and deep he can fuck it back into you, and how it leaks out when it’s too much. it’s a possessive thing; he likes knowing that your body only remembers him.

he’ll hold you down, like he’s trying to mold the shape of you around him. he’s stroking your back gently while he whispers the filthiest things in your ear, but all you can do is whimper, thighs trembling from how full you are from him already having came inside you once.

“mm?” he hums, "what's that, baby? can't talk with my cock in you?"

he feels a sense of pride knowing how delirious he’s got you, especially when you sob out, “please, please, need more, i need you to—fuck—just—fill me up, please—!”

“s’cute,” he mumbles, rewarding you with a harsh thrust so deep your eyes roll back and you let out choked moans. “you're all dumb now, huh? just cause i'm fuckin' you full. so pretty like this, taking me so well.”

you feel it the second he starts coming again. his hips twitch, and there’s a deep groan that comes all the way from the back of his throat, causing his head to tilt back just slightly, hair clinging to his damp skin. his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you pressed down while warmth floods you all over again.

he stays buried inside, even after he’s come. he doesn’t make any efforts to pull out, instead just holding you there, as you’re shaking below him with your thighs open, and his cock twitching inside your overstretched pussy.

he groans. “shit… it’s leaking out already.”

you mewl, and he lifts his head, eyes glancing down to where your bodies are still joined. true to his word, you are leaking. there’s droplets of his thick cum dribbling out and forming a ring around the base of his cock, clinging to your inner thighs, making him stare as if he can’t look away.

“looks so good like that,” he mumbles, voice low and slurred with satisfaction. “jus’ spilling out of you. fuck…”

he watches every drop try to escape, only to be fucked back in with another slow roll of his hips.

really, he’s not trying to breed you. he just likes the sight of it. the way your hole flutters, the way it clings to your skin and makes you twitch, the way it marks you as his; messy and filled, thighs sticky, filled to the brim with every drop of him. although, if you did end up pregnant, he’s not so against the idea of that either.

[all-with-angel]

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Why'd you stop?"

Satoru asked, voice slightly shaky as he sat on the makeshift barbers setup you, Shoko and Suguru had made for this occasion specifically.

"Yikes." You heard shoko mutter, just before the flash of a photo being taken came from her flip phone.

"What's that supposed to mean?!?" Satoru's voice rose, back straightening just a bit more but not moving away from his spot. All the while you stood behind him, staring at your handiwork. "Hey?? Answer me!!"

You could hear Suguru nearly knock a vase to the floor as he's stifling in his laughter. Poorly, may I add.

"Damn, I messed up," You dropped the pair of the scissors to the side, grabbing the razor and clicking it on. "We gotta go bald."

You sighed in acceptance as Shoko and Suguru had moved to restrain a now-screaming Satoru in the chair with maximum effort. All the while giggling like idiots.

It was your mistake, but it had to be done. It was for the best. Even if Gojo was screaming bloody murder at you.

[shosweet]

if someone were to ask suguru geto the question “boobs, ass, or thighs?” his answer would be simple: stomach.

then anyone who asked — especially you, his girlfriend — would give him a weird look as he wore the purest smile on his face. you asked him again, but he just responded with a quiet “you’ll see” and continued his day as if nothing happpened. but, later in the night, as you’re helpless to his hold on your shared bed, you figure out the reason.

“s-sugu — nngh — fuck i’m gonna..” you whimper as he fucks deep into your cunt, pushing your knees to your chest. you felt so full of him that you could practically taste your mixed arousals on your tongue. groaning above you, suguru presses his hand onto your stomach.

“feel me, baby? yeah? f-fuck — feel me filling you up? fucking you — haah — stupid on my cock?” whines escape your mouth as your mind goes hazy at his words and how euphoric it felt to feel your insides so stretched, so full, and oh so deliciously ruined. he goes in harder and faster, your moans echoing in every crevice of the room. your hips jerks uncontrollably, suguru absolutely relishing in the way you squirm at his touch. as you chase your high, he presses harder onto your stomach, forcing more moans and whines from you.

he groans as your walls clenched him even tighter, your back arching as you came all over him. he keeps thrusting into you knowing that he’s close, too. soon enough, he pulls out of you and rests his tip on your stomach. white, thick, and burning with sensation, his cum covers your tummy and drips down your sides onto the sheets beneath, his cock twitching the entire time. he trembles and whimpers at such a dirty sight, feeling as if he could cum again just from seeing it (more probs came out anyway). he babbles incoherent nonsense, dizzy from the pleasure.

“that’s a good fucking girl…”

after getting cleaned up and settling down, realization hits you.

“is that why you said stomach?”

“mmm maybe… wanna find out again?”

oh wow hi everybody