[satorurize]

❝I wanna get freaky on camera I love when we get freaky on camera!❞

With love, by Rize | she/he/they | 20 | your local introverted freak | lads obsession is peaking + jjk + other stuff | I won't shut up about fictional dick ⁠♡

[estrellasrojas]

It’s getting to the point where seeing any kind of celebrity worship makes me feel like someone is throwing acid at my eyes

[rezijellyfish]

[rezijellyfish]

Family

[xelasrecords]

Oh Jihyun my underrated controversial bby who tries so badly to be good he ends up hurting everyone. I miss you

[gojosbf]

i love this fandom sm sometimes

[kymsys]

they're just cuddling, istg <3 -> FULL VERSION

[gojosbf]

Yuuji in Jjk Modulo

[lustreious]

THE ARGUS PROTOCOL

SYNOPSIS ⚠ You're a burned agent with a haunted past that aches in the rain. Satoru Gojo is the Agency's golden boy with a god complex and surveillance system that knows your heart better than you do. You believe you are hunting a ghost, but he has already caught you.

︎Contents ⚠ : 18+, Female!Reader, Cyberpunk AU, twisted tropes, Gojo Satoru is not human. Yandere!Gojo Satoru, Transhuman!Gojo Satoru, He fell harder but he is fucking insane, stalker!gojo, reader has ptsd, violence, smut, weapons, dark themes, potentially dead dove. Art by _3aem.

Chapters ⚠︎ : Updates every Saturday evening! File 0. Prologue: Ghost in the Machine File 1. Gilded Partnership File 2. Crimson Gala File 3. Shattered Lens File 4. The Final Absolute

SNIPPET ⚠

︎The infinity jammer on Gojo's wrist blocked everything. From signals to the smallest ant crawling towards him.

Standing close to him, the air tasted of ozone and expensive silk, a pressurized, vibrating wall that kept your hand from ever actually meeting his skin. You used to be an elite agent, a woman with a titanium soul and neural buffer that leaked old ghosts, yet you felt like a bird hitting a glass window every time you tried to reach for him.

Satoru leaned down, the brilliant blue rhythmic pulse the Argus interface beneath his godly eyes that missed nothing only inches away from your organic eye. He was mapping your soul in real time, logging the frantic, stuttering beat of a heart that had loved him once in the past.

"You are red-lining again, Agent," he purred, the vibration of his voice buzzing against your supple skin. "Is it the mission, or is it me?"

You tightened your grip on your sidearm, your cybernetic gear whirring in protest. "It's just the suit Satoru. Get out of my frequency."

A look of a man who had already seen the end of a movie spread across his face unfairly handsome face a slow, teasing smirk like a cheshire cat.

"Funny" he whispered, his slender, sturdy hand hovering just a hair's breadth from your throat, the static jammer teased your pulse. "My monitors say you've never been more in sync with me than you are right now."

But Satoru did not tell you take on the screen of his private monitor, your name was already highlighted in red. He did not tell you that he wasn't just your partner.

He was the very ghost that you were hunting.

All rights reserved @lustreious. Do not copy. Do not plagiarize. Do not feed AI.

[shimisstuff]

Satoru is not a human⚠️

[aki139-blog1]

You get out of class and spot your arts and humanities professor wooing the hell out of his girlfriend

[blackmarketfruitrollups]

Respectfully, I do not believe you can call yourself a writer if AI is writing it for you.

The increase in fics I've seen where the writer is just like "well it's how I write so scroll if it bothers you"

Babe you're killing the planet

[darlingbambii]

husband!Higuruma coming home exhausted and fucking you slow in the bath (18+)

You swear you were just planning to collapse on the sofa when you got home. Maybe order some takeaway and watch some mindless TV show with your legs stretched across your husband's lap.

So, exactly how did you end up straddling Hiromi Higuruma in the bathtub, hot water sloshing over the edge as you sink down onto him?

“That's it, darling. Just like that.”

Hiromi's voice is low and rough, strained in a way that makes heat slick down your spine and pool between your thighs. His hand grips your hips beneath the water surface, gently guiding you as you adjust to the stretch of him inside you.

You found him in here five minutes ago, tie discarded somewhere in the bedroom, shirt unbuttoned and abandoned on the bathroom floor. He'd been leaning back in the tub with his eyes closed, the water up to his chest, looking more exhausted than you'd seen him in weeks. The case he's working on is brutal, you know that. Long hours, impossible odds, the kind of work that wore him down.

"Join me?" he'd asked, opening one eye to look at you, and there was something so vulnerable in his expression that you couldn't refuse.

And that's how your own clothes joined him on the floor before you slipped into the bath with him.

Now his hair is wet and pushed back from his face, water droplets clinging to his jaw and the tip of his nose, and he's looking at you like you're the only thing that's keeping him from totally dissociating.

“I missed you,” you murmur, rolling your hips experimentally. The water makes everything feel different than it would be in the bedroom. More languid and slower, every shift and movement creating a ripple against your skin.

“Missed you too.” His thumb traces circles on your hip bone, a tender gesture that contrasts with the way he's so deeply buried inside of you. “Missed you so much, I thought about you all day. I kept checking my watch, counting down the hours until I could see you again.”

There's something unfairly attractive about him like this. His usually so composed in his suits and professional demeanour, now completely undone. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the bath, his lips parted as he watches you move above him, and those tired, dark eyes are filled with something that makes your heart flutter.

"You're beautiful," he says, almost reverent, one hand leaving your hip to cup your face. Water drips from his fingers down your cheek. “Do you know that? How beautiful you are?”

You lean into his touch, your own hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. "You might have mentioned it a few times today before work.”

"Not enough, then." He pulls you down into a kiss, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours as you continue to move. When he pulls back, he's smiling—that rare, genuine smile that transforms his whole face. "I should tell you more often.”

The water sloshes dangerously as you pick up your pace, and Hiromi makes a low sound of appreciation, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and you gasp at the sensation.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. "Taking me so perfectly. You feel incredible.”

There's something about the praise, the genuine affection in his tone, that makes everything feel more intense. This isn't just sex. It's comfort, connection, coming home to each other after a long day and finding solace in familiar touches.

"Hiromi," you breathe, your rhythm faltering as pleasure builds low in your stomach. “Fuck, I'm-”

"I know." One hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit with practised ease. The water makes his touch slippery, maddening, and you rock against his hand desperately. "I've got you. Come for me, darling.”

His other hand tangles in your wet hair, pulling you down for another kiss as his hips start to move beneath you, meeting your movements with deep, purposeful thrusts that make the water splash over the side of the tub. But you just can't seem to bring yourself to care about the mess.

"So good to me," he murmurs against your lips. "So perfect. What did I do to deserve you?”

The combination of his fingers, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, and his voice, fuck, that deep, sincere voice telling you how much he wants you, needs you, sends you over the edge. Your orgasm rolls through you in waves that seem to match the water around you, and you bury your face in his neck to muffle your moans.

"Beautiful," Hiromi groans, his rhythm becoming erratic as you clench around him. “You're so beautiful when you come undone for me.”

He follows moments later, his grip on you tightening as he buries himself deep, your name falling from his lips like something precious. For a long moment, you stay like that, wrapped around each other in the cooling water, both breathing hard.

When you finally lift your head to look at him, his expression is soft, content in a way you rarely see. He reaches up to brush wet strands of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

"For the sex?" you tease, though your voice is breathless.

"For coming home to me." He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "For being here.”

You settle against his chest, the water lapping gently around you both. "Always," you murmur. "Though we should probably clean up this mess before it leaks through to our downstairs neighbour.”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your ear. “In a minute. Let me hold you first.”

And really, how can you argue with that?

[leaderincrows]

Dire

{Zayne x Rafayel}

tw blood

[livanavier]

tamino!rafayel x fem!reader

cw. smut, this is tamino from catch 22 banner last year my beloved, favourite au 🥰, unprotected p in v sex, handcuff, creampie, he's a bit rough? (idk i think he's not mean enough as tamino here), biting (no real bloody biting). this was when he was under reader's supervision where they lived together in her house

note. ughhhhhh lmao idk how to feel abt this. I JUST LOVE TAMINO AND MEAN RAFAYEL

you knew you were broke to afford a better heater to warm up your house so why was it so hot in here? you swore the heater was not capable of making your place that warm either. was it because of the man beneath you? the muffled acting in your tv screen became a dull background noise as you flicked your eyes downward.

with dizzying curiosity, you mapped your hand onto his shoulders. and you almost flinched at the contact because his skin was cold, cool against your burning one. so much colder now that he secured a hand on your bare waist, squeezing it gently as if to demand his turn to touch you now. but his intention spoke clear that he wanted to pull you out from the surface of your sea of thoughts and brought you back to him.

right, rafayel definitely was not the source of this overwhelming warmth.

snapping out of your little trance, suddenly you were hot all over again when those hard sunset eyes were set on you with so much intensity. he might as well be very capable of stripping the front you were struggling to maintain.

it didn’t take you another contact to realise what made you burn so hotly from inside as your heart skipped a beat, registering the predatory glint reflecting off his siren-like gaze.

rafayel had always known the effects he possessed on you. his toned chest rumbling with a low, amused snicker as he adjusted your person above him. eliciting a surprised whimper from your throat when his buried cock hit that sensitive spot.

“as much as adorable the way you look all flustered sitting on my dick right now, i truly don’t have all night for you, miss enforcer,” rafayel said unapologetically, his sulky lips curling similar to how a predator would with a prey in front of them. “what with that someone needing extra money after all to afford some melon yogurts to feed her praedator pet.”

if it wasn’t for him rolling his hips languidly to meet yours, with his stiff cock deliciously dragging against every bundle of nerves inside your cunt, you would’ve smacked his smirk off his pretty face. he was very fortunate you had your knees bracketing his sides, his strong person flushed between your soft thighs.

rafayel was so damn infuriating to be able to elicit both frustration and pleasure out of you. and you were so stupid to enable him to have this much control over you. but it was already too late, and you weren't going to deny your sexual need another day with a cheap vibrator when you had this breathing one under the same roof.

your soft, staggering whimpers escalate into an uncontrollable spill of moans when he decided he’d no longer be testing your waters. he had enough of his patience with you.

"rafayel, wait– fuck, mnghh!"

your body was completely in rafayel’s mercy. suspended in his lap as he gathered your wrists behind you in his hold and–

click!

your eyes widened, shocked to hear that particular, familiar sound. your mind reeled off of all the times you had heard it before in a much nastier situation, like catching a lowly praedator in a narrow, dark alley.

there is no fucking way. you felt the thrum of tiny blood vessels beneath your skin widening, inching closer to the surface. you attempted to shake off your wrists from his cold restraint, except it was not his hand anymore, it was your own handcuffs binding you in place.

"you asshole!"

his miss enforcer was seething in rage. he thought of how much adorable you could get, frowning angrily and naked while straddling his cock. his gaze transfixed upon seeing you biting your lower lip and he immediately wished he was the one doing that instead to you.

"yeah you should be worried about your own asshole, sweets." his smile was dangerous and twisted and all sinister things together when your face froze at his careless words.

the victory was his already when he leans forward to make his initial dream come true by kissing your lips, before moving to nibble and toy your lower lip with his teeth. oh you were so fucking cute like this. would it be nice to discard everything you were doing for the world and just kept you by his side, tucked away in a middle of somewhere else, all of you for himself for eternity.

"don't say things like that!" you grumble half heartedly, before he stole another coherent thought from your fuzzy head when his hand slid lower your ass, his thumb hovering your asshole with a taunting look. your heart lurching in your throat, beating loudly in your eardrum.

"c'mon, you know you love it. i know you like me, miss enforcer." he breathed closer to your ear, lazily sucking your earlobe. humming in satisfaction when your body buzzed a pleasant response.

you needed to say you hated it, you hated him so much. the words were at the tip of your tongue before they were wiped away like the waves erasing traces of markings on the sand when rafayel fingers rolled one of your nipple. instead, he received a soft, shuddering sigh from you.

"there'll be another time for your cute ass, sweets. now i just need you to cum on my cock if you wanna be released yeah?" his tone dripping of saccharine as he tossed the key to your handcuffs across your living room.

"hm, you will cum for me, won't you? need ya words, baby," he rasped impatiently, slamming his hips upwards to bury himself inside you to the hilt.

you let out another pathetic moan as you stumble forward into his solid chest. a stuttering mess against him. "i– i will come. on your cock."

"good girl." he praises, tugging your head towards his to reward you with another kiss.

his soft lips against yours caused a burst of appeasement spiraled effortlessly in your chest, travelling down, and down, before pooling treacherously in your belly. you almost believed rafayel's heightened sense measured beyond that when he smirked into the messy kiss, like he heard the violent flutter of butterflies within you.

"rafayel!" you can't help yourself, tearing another cry for him when he roughly guided your hips to rock his desperate cock. everything around you dissipated as your brain decided to only take and process rafayel.

"i know. it feels good, doesn't it?" he cooed lazily, thumb and forefinger curiously tweaking your perky buds. you were his moaning mess as he slipped his tongue inside your mouth.

his sounds of pleasure, satisfied groans scratched all the right and wrong places in you. "'cause i know, fuck– i know you feel so good to me, baby."

you offered no words but a weak nod to reciprocate him. you were shaking brutally. your merged lips were dripping with messy mixed of your saliva down your chin. rafayel's other hand tugged your hair, earning a hiss from you so he can parted your lips better for him to traverse every crease from the roof of your mouth to the back of molar.

his ragged breathing tangled with yours. saliva string bridging your wet lips when he pulled back. part of you was elated seeing his rosy cheeks, to know your big bad sss-class praedator was equally deeply affected by you.

rafayel's grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging in your plush flesh. he craned his head now, tilting in a way that can only meant one thing. he was going for your neckalarmed, your body jolted in reminder that he can't touch you there. your flight or fight to prevent him left in disappointment when the shackle of your handcuffs digged into your tender wrists instead.

fuck. you thought frantically.

"no! are you going to- to bite me? you can't do that!" you sounded so weak.

"what?" he halted, eyes searching yours.

"you.. you can't bite me. at least let me come first, rafayel," you reasoned angrily.

for a moment, he seemed taken aback. before that stupid, devilish grin laced his swollen lips. his fisted hand in your hair yanked back roughly, causing you to mewl, exposing your throat and you saw the immediate change in his eyes.

at the same time rafayel latched his open mouth to your sensitive skin, he started to fuck you with mean, punishing strokes. while he busied himself deep in your neck with biting kisses and wet tongue lapping them hungrily. it felt too good. his cock, his lips, wet kisses, bruising touch obliterated the leftover coherent thoughts and dignity. you were famished for more.

and as if he lived inside your brain, he responded well by slamming into your quivering walls even harder, the stretch was intoxicating. you barely listened to yourself, your explicit pleas for more or less. only the noise of sweaty skins overlapping resonating in your ears. his lewd curses bouncing off the shell of your ear shot straight to your cunt. if it was even possible to get any wetter than you were now.

"ahhhn.. raf- rafayel.. more, please." your thighs were burning, your bounded wrists trembling within its metal shackle. desperation clawed hotly against your sternum, unable to find purchase to meet his thrusts. "please, raf.. need more."

his cock twitched into your core, a rhythmic reply to your high pitched, frustrated begging. "such a dirty girl." he moaned out, his tattoed arm flexed perfectly, pulling harder at your thighs to ram into your heat impossibly deeper, making the stars behind your eyelids shone brighter.

"what would those bastards at lcbi say to see their darling enforcer getting dicked by the dangerous praedator–" he sped up animalistically, lips trailing down your chest to make love with your nipples, "–one they specifically told you to keep watch."

the sofa creaked ominously beneath both of you, straining under the force of his movements as he claimed your body thoroughly. his hot tongue now licking your sore nipple after he sucked them harshly. no doubt leaving days long bruises.

"asking for more too. you really don't have any self-preservation, do you?" he inched backward, the same crooked expression as he took in your fucked out face. his gaze appreciating the ruination he branded on you.

sweeping his gaze downward while consistently fucking himself into you to watch your sex drawing in closer and closer in tandem. your ruined pussy drenched in arousal, sore clit rubbing and hitting his pubic.

you faltered slightly, melting at his precise observation on you. hyper aware of how you were bouncing on his cock as if in heat. rafayel simply smirked as he cast his eyes back to your heaving tits. itching to kiss more bruises, to pepper endless markings all over you.

you were the moth and he was the flame that always drew you in.

"but i'll give you more," his palm cradled your jaw to bring you closer. you can see the pink in his eyes shining brighter, dominating his bicolor irises. your needy whimper danced with his heavy exhale. "because i think i really really like you too, miss enforcer.

the sealed kiss renewed his ferocity as he held you in place for his merciless assault. the tension inside you winded tighter and tighter, threatening to snap any moment as you writhed into his mouth. the shockwaves of the blurring line between pleasure and pain was maddening.

and his sudden confession didn't quench the thirst in your very horny self. if anything, it ignited you further to chase that sweet, much needed relief only he could provide now.

"'m so close!" you begged him silently. your clit hurt so good as your hips met his nonstop.

"you wanna come, sweet girl? took my cock so well." he kissed your lower lips, maintaining the unrelenting pace to coax your body to crumble faster. "come hard for me."

he punctuated his command with vicious thrusts, cock pistoning in and out, creamy white mess dripping to where your bodies meet. the shlick, shlick, shlick with every stroke that hit that sweet spot was all electrifying. he wished to dissect every of your act of pleasure he caused and had it on replay to gather the littlest, simplest things wrecking you open.

"you love that?" he growled into your neck, inhaling your scent, the drug that cured his hunger. a small whine was enough of an answer. inner muscles fluttering wildly around his cock, clamping so damn hard he let out another loud moan. "thaaaat's it, baby. cum for me."

a final, brutal thrust buried his twitching length deeply, grinding his pelvis against yours. hips bucking upwards desperately as torrent of his warm, creamy thick seeds painted your spasming womb.

"fuck, raf. so good.. oh, fuck yes!" your moan raised another soft pitch as you rode out your orgasm. clenching and milking hard his cock as rafayel hissed at the sensation. your pussy was warm from his loads of cum lodged deep inside. gently riding him out as you slumped forward into his chest. utterly spent down to your bone, short puff of breath tickling the space behind his ear as he panted in the aftermath of your shared high.

blinking back your eyes to clear the hazy feeling. rafayel's ears were tinted in bright shade of red. and you laughed softly before you could think the better of it.

"what are you laughing at?" he rasped coolly, both arms wrapped around you to pull you even closer, chest to chest. his face rested into your collarbone and maybe your mind was playing trick but you felt a slight smile imprinted there. sending electric jolts down your spine.

"i didn't know your ears can get so red," you yawned sleepily. before they were wide awake again with a sharp sting on your ass. "raf!" your hands rattled against the handcuffs and you huffed miserably. "oh my god, let me go already."

"say those words again when i make your ass red." his hand snaked to pinch your sensitive clit. "about that.." he leaned back, his signature smug expression sparkled under the tv light. "i changed my mind. i'm still starving, miss enforcer. just your luck that only you can satiate my appetite tonight."

rafayel stood up abruptly, lifting you up with him, strong arms bracing you as he started towards your bedroom. batting blind eyes as your mixed arousal dripped down your legs while he kissed your fading complaint away.

[coffeefleecy]

Gojo and Rafayel as your boyfriends would be a never-ending adventure. Your life will never be dull, and your needs will always be met - just maybe not in the way you imagine.

When it comes to sex, they are insatiable. Satoru holds you down as Rafayel yanks orgasm after orgasm out of you until his face is covered in your arousal and his fingers are cramping.

“Awww, she’s shaking,” Satoru says gleefully. “Look at how sweaty and sticky she is - so fucking messy.”

“Mm, she’s cute this way, isn’t she?” Rafayel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What are we going to do with her?”

“What, you don’t think she’s had enough?” Satoru pretends to feel sorry for you, but his hands betray his words as he sneaks them down your torso.

“No way,” Rafayel grins, and he grabs Satoru’s hand and pulls it between your legs. “Feel how she’s dripping for us? That just means she’s ready for more.”

[zaynessbeloved]

🔞 rafayel dirty talking to you in lemurian while he fucks you slow and sweet until you're begging, making you guess whether he's praising you or defiling you.

⋆. — content warnings: canon-compliant, begging, intimate/emotional sex, praise kink / kinda degrading kink as well (for mc), love confession

—

The vibration of his phone buzzing against the wooden worktable was the only sound in the studio, a relentless, mechanical plea for attention that Rafayel was pointedly ignoring. 

Thomas had called three times in the last ten minutes—likely about the gallery opening next week or the interview Rafayel had promised to attend but was currently skipping—but the artist seemed far more interested in the iridescent powder coating his fingertips.

“You’re going to have to answer him eventually,” you said, leaning against the doorframe.

Rafayel didn’t look up. He sat hunched over his mortar and pestle, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing the slender, deceptive strength of his forearms. He was grinding down a rare conch shell he’d found while “wandering” (flaking) earlier that morning, turning the ocean’s memory into a pigment that shimmered like crushed pearls.

Mentally, you braced yourself for the usual routine. This was the dance you knew. Rafayel the elusive genius, you the grounding tether. You felt a familiar mixture of exasperation and fondness—a soft, worn-in feeling, like slipping into a favorite coat. 

You watched his hands, those deft, dangerous hands that could slit a throat or paint a masterpiece with equal precision, and felt a quiet hum of admiration. He was being a brat, yes, but he was your brat.

“I don’t have to do anything,” he huffed, his voice carrying that familiar, petulant lilt. He finally glanced at you, blowing a stray lock of purple, wavy hair out of his eyes. “Especially when my muse finally decided to walk in. Do you know how boring it is to mix colors alone? It’s tragic, really. I could faint from the solitude.”

He was acting the part, engaging the defense mechanism you knew so well. Deflecting responsibility with theatrics. But as you walked closer, the air in the room shifted. It wasn't just the smell of sea salt and turpentine anymore. It was the heavy, static charge of intent.

He spun on his stool, abandoning the pigments, his legs spreading to create a space for you between his knees. 

It was a trap you willingly stepped into.

“You’re exaggerating as always,” you murmured, stepping into his personal space.

“And you,” he countered, his hands immediately finding your waist, pulling you flush against the V of his spread thighs, “are late, cutie.”

The moment his skin touched yours, the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, charged with the scent of sea salt, turpentine, and that underlying, bitter-sweet fragrance of burning driftwood that was uniquely him. 

He looked up at you through his lashes—those impossible eyes, the color of the deep ocean mixed with the soft pink of a dawn sky—and you saw the playfulness bleed away, replaced by a darkening hunger.

This is different, your mind whispered. Usually, he sought comfort—a hug, a lean, a whine for attention. But this grip on your waist was possessive. It wasn’t the grip of an artist needing a muse. It was the grip of a drowning man finding land, or perhaps the ocean claiming a sacrifice.

“I missed you,” he whispered, the childish facade dissolving. He buried his face in your stomach, his breath hot through the fabric of your shirt. “Thomas is loud. The world is loud. I just want... quiet.”

But Rafayel didn’t really want quiet. He wanted you.

The transition from the sulking artist to the demanding lover was as fluid as the tides he commanded. One moment he was complaining, and the next, he had swept the pigments aside, lifting you onto the edge of the sturdy oak table. His hands were everywhere at once—deft, artistic fingers that knew exactly how to manipulate your body just as they manipulated canvas. 

He unbuttoned your shirt with maddening slowness, his gaze tracing every inch of skin he exposed like he was inspecting a masterpiece for flaws, only to find none.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “My beautiful princess.”

When his hand slid up your thigh, his palm was searing hot—a reminder of the fire that burned beneath his aquatic nature. You gasped, your hips instinctively bucking into his touch, seeking friction, but he held you down, his grip firm.

“Have a little bit of patience,” he chided softly, though you could see the tips of his ears turning a bright, telltale crimson. “We have all night. Why rush art?”

He’s nervous, you realized with a jolt. The redness of his ears betrayed him. That small crack in his armor made your heart twist. It wasn't just lust driving him. There was a desperate, frantic energy to his touch, as if he needed to memorize you, to imprint you onto his very skin.

He knelt between your legs, discarding his own shirt to reveal the pale expanse of his chest, dusted with those small, dark beauty marks that you had memorized like constellations. The bond mark over his heart glowed faintly, a red pulse syncing with the thudding rhythm in your own chest.

Then, he leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear, and the shared language vanished.

A low, vibrating hum resonated from his chest, traveling through his jaw and directly into your spine. He spoke, but the words were ancient—Lemurian. The sounds were incomprehensible to your human mind, a melodic, liquid syntax that felt like water rushing over stones, yet raspy with a raw, guttural need.

You shuddered, your hands tangling in his purple hair as a wet heat pooled instantly between your legs. The physiological reaction was instantaneous, but your mind was reeling.

What is he saying?

You didn’t know, and that was the torture of it. Was he worshipping you? Was he calling you his lover, his beloved bride? Or was he whispering filthy, possessive things about how he was going to ruin you, how he owned every breath you took?

“R-Rafayel,” you whined, the sound wrecking out of your throat.

He didn't stop the flow of strange words. As he began to move inside you—a slow, rolling rhythm that ground against every nerve ending—your mind raced, trying to catch the meaning behind the sounds. The syllables were dark and heavy, dripping with a possession that felt ancient. The tone was low and reverent, almost like a prayer, but there was a filth to it, a hunger that sounded dangerous. 

Is he praising me? Telling me how tight I am? Or is he defiling me?

The uncertainty maddened you. You felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked. He had retreated into a part of himself that you couldn’t access, a part of him that was 800 years old and alien and powerful. It made you feel small. It made you feel like a human playing with a god.

You imagined he was whispering about how easy you were for him, how wet you got the second he looked at you. “You’re so slick, making me slide so easily,” maybe? Or perhaps, “You were made to take this, you mold to me so perfectly,” 

The uncertainty maddened you. Every raspy vowel that brushed against your earlobe sent a fresh wave of arousal straight to your pussy, making your inner walls spasm and clench around his thick length. You were desperate to know if he was worshipping you as a goddess or using you as his personal plaything, and the not-knowing was making you breathless.

Rafayel paused mid-thrust. He had felt the change in you—the way your breath hitched, the way your gaze had glazed over, focused intently on the side of his face as if trying to read his very soul.

He pulled back slightly, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing with amusement. The flush on his cheeks had deepened, but a smirk played on his lips.

“You’re distracted,” he whispered in a language you did understand, his voice rough. “What are you thinking about, cutie? You’re clenching around me so tight all of a sudden.”

You blinked, trying to find your voice. “I... your words. The language...”

“Oh?” he pushed his hips forward, just an inch, making you gasp. “You like it when I speak my native tongue? Even though you don’t understand a single syllable?”

“I'm trying to guess,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I'm trying to—fuck, to guess what you’re saying to me…”

Rafayel chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound that you felt deep in your belly. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes dancing with wicked delight. “And? What does your dirty little mind think I’m saying?”

“I think…” you swallowed hard, your face heating up. The vulnerability of admitting your dark thoughts felt like handing him a weapon. “I think you’re saying... that I’m a mess. That you own me. That... that you love ruining me like this…”

Rafayel’s pupils blew wide, swallowing the blue and pink irises. He looked absolutely delighted by your confession, his ego preening under your arousal.

“Is that right?” he purred. “You think I’m saying such filthy things?”

He didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned back to your ear, his breath hot and wet, and started speaking again—faster this time, raspier. 

The words poured out of him, lower and rougher than before. He dragged his cock out slowly, letting the friction burn, then snapped his hips to bury himself deep, punctuating the foreign sentences with the slap of skin against skin.

You cried out, your mind fracturing. The sounds were definitely filthier now. You could hear the sharp edges in his tone, the growl of a predator playing with its food. He was teasing you with the unknown, using the language barrier as a weapon to overstimulate you.

“Rafayel…” you sobbed, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “P-Please! I can’t—fuck, fuck, it’s too much!”

He ignored you, or perhaps the pleading only encouraged him. He kept up the slow, tortuous pace, grinding against your swollen entrance while he whispered that incomprehensible, liquid fire into your ear. You were dripping wet, the slick coating his cock and your thighs, creating a messy, erotic sound that mixed with his voice. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely at his mercy.

You felt completely at his mercy. And beneath the pleasure, there was a pang of something sharper—fear? Insecurity? Does he see me? Or does he just see the bond? 

“Raf, I’m b-begging you,” you whined, your hips bucking, trying to force him to go faster, to end the torment. “I need... I need to cum. Please, n-need to cum—wanna cum...”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, seeing the way you were unravelling, your eyes rolling back, your body trembling with the need for release. He looked at you with a terrifying, possessive adoration, but he didn’t speed up. Instead, he slowed down even more, his hips grinding in a circle that rubbed directly against your swollen clit, teasing the edge of an orgasm he refused to let you have yet.

“Begging already?” he murmured, a low, satisfied chuckle vibrating against your chest. “But we haven’t even discussed what I’m saying to you, ma petite artiste. You look so confused... so desperate.”

He leaned in again, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear before he rasped another string of those indecipherable, liquid syllables. The sound alone was overstimulating, a sensory overload that made your toes curl.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a seductive growl. “What do you think I'm saying, hm? You’re so wet, clenching around me every time I speak... you must think I’m saying something terrible."

“I…” you gasped as he hit a deep, sensitive spot and held there, denying you the friction you craved. “I think... you’re saying I’m a slut. That... that you’re going to ruin me, have your way…”

Rafayel laughed, the sound dark and raspy. “Is that what you think? That I’m defiling you?” 

He withdrew almost completely, leaving you aching and empty, before sliding back in with agonizing slowness, stretching your walls. “Guess again, cutie. If you get it right... maybe I’ll let this pretty pussy cum.”

“Fuck, f-fuck…” you sobbed, your hands scrabbling at his shoulders. Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. You felt stripped bare, your darkest insecurities laid out for him to critique. “Please... you’re saying... you own me? That I’m yours?”

“Getting warmer,” he teased, nipping at your jawline. He began to thrust a little harder, but the rhythm was still torturously controlled. “But you’re missing the point. You’re thinking too much like a human.”

He switched back to Lemurian, the words flowing faster now, breathless and urgent. He sounded desperate, almost pained, his voice cracking with emotion. “...Bushiagen...”

"I don’t—fuck, I don’t know!" you cried out, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. “I don't understand! Just fuck me, please!”

Rafayel stopped moving entirely, burying himself to the hilt. He framed your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were swimming with a mixture of lust and profound, ancient tenderness.

“I’m not dirty talking you, my love,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your wet lip. “I'm making love to you. I’m confessing to you. Every word... is a vow.”

Your breath hitched. The realization hit you harder than any physical thrust. All those raspy, guttural sounds that had made you feel so dirty, so used, so delightfully degraded... he hadn’t been defiling you.

He had been praying to you.

“I'm telling you that you are my soul,” he rasped, starting to move again, but this time the slow and sweet rhythm felt different—it felt heavy with devotion. It felt like a burden he was sharing. 

“I was saying,” he rasped, switching back and forth from Lemurian to your shared language, the words vibrating against your skin, “that my heart beats only because you are holding it. That I would burn the entire world just to stay inside you for one more second.”

The confession shattered you. 

It made the pleasure sharper, deeper, but it also broke something open inside your chest. You weren't just being fucked. You were being worshipped by a god who had knelt before you, a god who was terrified you might not understand the depth of his need.

You thought about all the times he had shown you this love without saying it. The way he remembered your coffee order. The way he threw tantrums just to keep you in the room for five more minutes. The way he stood in front of you during danger, shielding you with his own body. He had been screaming these vows in silence for months, for years, perhaps for lifetimes.

And now, hearing them spoken aloud, hearing the raw desperation in his voice, it was too much.

“Rafayel…” you choked out, and then you were crying. Really crying.

Not the pretty, single tear of a movie scene, but messy, heaving sobs that shook your entire frame. You cried for the 800 years he had waited. You cried for the loneliness he tried to hide behind his paints. You cried because you felt indescribable—worthy and unworthy all at once, held by a love so vast it threatened to drown you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, feeling your walls spasm as the emotions overwhelmed you. He didn't pull away; he didn't look awkward or confused by your tears. He kissed them away, messily, swallowing your cries, his tongue tangling with yours. “Feel it... Feel how much I love you. Don’t you dare close your eyes. Look at me.”

He began to drive into you with reckless abandon now, abandoning the game. He wanted you to feel the weight of his love physically, slamming into you with a desperation that matched his words.

“Repeat after me,” he commanded softly, his lips hovering over your ear. He whispered a phrase in Lemurian—one melodic, breathless word.  “...Bushiagen...”

 “...Bushiagen...” you repeated blindly, through your sobs. You didn't know the literal translation, but you felt the intent vibrating through your very bones. It felt like a lock clicking into place. It felt like coming home.

“Again,” he rasped, thrusting deep and hitting your cervix, sparking a blinding white light behind your eyes. “It means ‘You’re mine’. Say it as you cum for me.”

“...Bushiagen...” you screamed, the words turning into a broken moan as the orgasm ripped through you. “...Bushiagen...”

He groaned your name, a raw, broken sound, and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He thrust one last time, deep and hard, holding himself there as he poured his heat into you, his body shuddering in violent unison with yours. You could feel the pulses of his release, hot and voluminous, filling you up as he whispered the words over and over against your sweat-slicked skin, searing the vow into your soul.

“...Bushiagen… My beloved bride... mine... always mine.”

He collapsed forward, his weight heavy and comforting, his heart thundering against your chest in a rhythm that perfectly matched your own.

And even as the high of the orgasm began to fade, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind hazy, the tears didn’t stop. They flowed silently now, soaking into the pillow, into his hair. You held him and realized that you would never be the same.

Tonight, he had given you his heart, and his voice. He had stripped away the last layer of his defense, and let you see the terrifying, beautiful truth of his devotion.

It was a feeling you couldn’t name. It was terrifying. It was heavy. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever felt. 

It was Bushiagen.

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