content: afab!reader x dom!Phainon; penetrative sëx (p in v); lotta teasing from his end; biiig díck; short cockwarming; püssy-slapping; crëampie; begging; dirty talk; freaknon...
wc: 997
"Phainon, stop—mmmh—teasin' and put it in, already!"
"Put what?" He says in faux obliviousness as he towers above you, dick hanging in front of your hole.
"God, you full well know—" a drawn-out moan exits through your lips as he prods his tip against your entrance. He's so close but so fucking far that it infuriates you to no end.
Phainon takes his cock, wrapping his hand around its thick, thick girth, and drags the head slowly in circles over your slicked folds. Up, down, up, down, up, down—coating every surface of your cunt with your fluids.
"Aw, sweetheart, can't handle it?" He purrs sinfully, voice dripping over your ears like hot honey. "I haven't even put it in yet."
You groan in both pleasure and frustration, "Ahh—exactly! If only you'd jus—"
His cock falls on your cunt with a loud, wet slap, meaty length slotting against you perfectly. You go quiet for a second, and then mewl at the prolonged contact. You clench around it, seeking some kind of stimulation, something, because Phainon gets off on dangling his dick like a carrot in front of you and you keep chasing it to inevitably fall into this trap. Because you can never get enough.
"Look at you." He muses while you cover your eyes with your hands, unable to handle this torture. You know his eyes are twinkling, thoroughly enjoying seeing you twitching, the cute dimples on his face peeking from his enjoyment.
"My limelight." He utters name reverently, doing anything but. "So needy."
Another lift of his cock and a slap.
"So eager for my fat dick."
Slap.
"For me."
Phainon pushes his finger under your folds to fully expose your clit, the mere brush of his fingertip sending shivers down your spine. One more time, he lets it plop down, and it thwacks against your swollen nub. Thighs jerking, you blather little prayers of 'please, please, please', only for Phainon to withdraw. You've given up on being angry; now you just want him inside of you. Slowly removing your palms, you peek down and let out a small whimper at the view.
All you see is the top of his gorgeous cock, head crimson with pearly precum beading out of it. He's just as worked up as you are, but for some reason he's not putting it the fuck in.
He's toying with you. That's what it is.
So you push up on your hands, leveraging the movement to grind yourself against his length.
"Hey—!" Phainon groans at the sensation of his dick pressed right up against him, coupled with your warm, slick pussy.
"Phai, pleeease put in f'me..." You whine and arch your back wantonly, skin on fire.
In only 10 seconds, you're able to see the moment he breaks; when his gleeful azure eyes darken and his groans turn guttural. He separates from you, making you cry in protest, only to meet you face to face, his body hovering over yours and his hands gripping both sides of your waist in a vice.
It's then that you feel the languid drag of his dick into your cunt.
"Ahh—! Fuck, Phainon—!" He meets every ridge of your walls, millimeter by millimeter.
He's taking his precious, endless time, just as he did before, to make you feel. Every step of the way. His precum and your arousal swirl where you meet, little clear threads and bubbles of it oozing out by force of his veiny cock.
At the end of the maddeningly slow thrust, your cunt kisses a thatch of gray hair, and Phainon goes completely still, save for his quiet panting. He warms your insides, and you keen at the fullness—the sheer bliss of having his cock nestled deep within you, stretching your tight walls and moulding them to his shape.
And then he pulls out all the way and snaps his hips forward.
"Fuck!"
He thrusts over and over again just like that, stroking every sensitive spot painfully slow at first and rocking your walls next. Phainon sets the pace, a tsunami of force and arousal that pulls you under to drown you. Your lips hang open in an 'o' with each thrust, and fire pools in the base of your tummy.
"Hah—look at all of your juices. Wetting my—fuck—cock so well—" He breathes, eyes clouded with lust and mesmerized at the way his cock disappears into you, only to return more glossy each time.
Unbidden, you moan loudly, begging him to keep filling you, to keep making you feel his dick change the very chemistry of your cunt.
"Should've—mmh—made you beg for this before, darlin'—who knew you'd like it this much?"
"Yeeeeeah," you agree, feeling spit trickle out of your mouth. "Hate it when—when I can't feel you—finally put it in, baby..."
"Made my patience snap—" Phainon says and accentuates it with a hard, wet, plunge into you. His heavy balls slap against your skin, brushing the base of your pussy.
"Shit—'m cumming—" and fuck, you realize in your cockdrunk haze, he's gonna pull out. You don't want that.
"Inside." You whine, bringing a hand to caress his face, pinky gracing his sun tattoo. "'M on the pill. Inside."
And how could he say no? You already made him fuck you thoroughly, what's another step further?
Phainon lets himself go, releasing his seed deep into your pussy, his body spasming from pleasure. The spurts, white and viscous, shoot out and squelch against your throbbing walls and cervix. His cock, too fat to allow any of the cum dribble out, sits fixed in place, and your groin distends slightly, vulgarly, from the loads of seed.
The fullness of him combined with his hot cum sends you over the edge, and you cry out, hugging him closer to you with your legs, trying in some way to get him deeper inside you.
"You feel that?"
Yeah. Yeah you do.
end note: so down bad for him...as usual let me know if there are any bad spelling errors and such :)
Okhema throws a celebration to commemorate the end of the Month of Cultivation, and as one of Aglaea's primary attendants, you find yourself working nonstop on the night of. Your longtime friend and crush Phainon offers you reprieve, but not before things so slightly sideways.
note: it's long. there's buildup and everything. God I love Phainon, and I hope y'all like this as much as I did writing it.
content: afab!reader x phainon; friends to lovers; they have unspecified friendly history tgt; pining; light angst; some humor; messy, messy makeouts; fröttage; semi-public sëx; dry hümping but it kinda turns wet idk??; nípple play; feelings during sëx; CONSENT IS SËXY!; phainon 🥹
wc: 5353
In the many millennia since Okhema's founding at the foot of Kephale, the city has slowly shifted. Their devotion to Kephale remains, but their culture transformed from small and quiet to raucous and bustling.
The same applies to their celebrations. Today is a complete spectacle—the arrival of the Month of Joy. Stalls sprawl the city, selling specialties, and the best street musicians parade from the Marmoreal Palace all the way down to the entrance. The citizens are out and about, drinking and making merry. Even from one of the balconies of the Palace, the sound of the kithara still reaches your ears, a subtle hum under the commotion.
You're leaning against the smooth, marble railing, and as you do, a gentle breeze tousles your hair. It cools your skin and dries the sweat on your body.
This event is fairly high in importance on Aglaea's busy schedule, and the increasing risk to maintain the safety of the citizens during the event takes ultimate precedence. With her swept away deep into preparations, oversight was also placed upon Tribbie and Trianne. Though you were one of Aglaea's primary attendants, typically moving alongside her, you were instead whisked into managing the Baths. Tonight, the pools are flooded with Okheman citizens and the sharp scent of ambrosia.
It's overwhelming. You've been rushing back and forth, here and there, from room to room, aided by the Garmentmaker that trails behind you relaying various problems that seem to pop up like persistent locusts. Somehow sensing your increased fatigue, the Garmentmaker brought you to the balcony to rest. It's been around five minutes since then, and the same time since the Garmentmaker drifted away to carry out other menial duties.
Thank Kephale above for the break you have now, because you doubt you can resume working otherwise.
As you peer down at the brilliant array of lights—oranges, yellows, blues, reds, and pinks—and inhale the scent of the signature fish soup brewing in the city, you purse your lips. It's been far too long since you've directly participated in the festivities yourself, and your heart twinges at the onset of nostalgia.
You're happy in your longtime role as one of Aglaea's attendants. Hell, not only were you able to help her, but the other respected Chrysos Heirs several times as well before, in the Flame Chase Journey. Mostly in meetings, accompanying them in various errands, and even the occasional celebration which allowed attendants of your high enough station. Your mother had said that that in itself is a blessing from the Titans in your last correspondence with her.
And yet now, in this moment, that satisfaction recedes, revealing discontent.
You wallow in your feelings and subconsciously pick at your uniform, rolling the cloth in between your fingers. A few moments later, the sound of swooshing fabric registers to you, and the Garmentmaker cruises around the corner to the balcony. It beckons you to come, resume working, so what else are you to do?
You tie some of your hair back, adjust your skirt, and stalk behind Aglaea's helper. Just as you leave the balcony, you pause, having a clear view of the Hero's Bath.
And there, in the corner of the central bath, is another source of your occasional discontent. He is a 3-inch figure in the distance, his face slightly fuzzy, but you know that undeniably, stripped of his bloodstained armor and underclothes, sits Phainon. Everything below his chest is submerged by the steam, and you catch a glimpse from afar of his sun tattoo.
Then comes his barking laughter, sonorous and joyful, likely at something Castorice said from next to him. It's fluttery and warm, so you can't help the fond smile that pulls on your lips. You desperately want to call out to him like you usually do.
Then, a faint snipping sound echoes from a few yards away, metal sliding against metal, and you remember that you have responsibilities up until the last hour before midnight. You can greet Phainon then, surely.
You take several swift paces and fall in line with the Garmentmaker, who you desperately hope refrains from relaying any of the past few minutes to its master.
---
In the final few minutes before your free hour, as if the Titans themselves bestowed upon you both wonderful luck and cursed misfortune, you encounter Phainon in the halls.
It takes all you have to not stop and stare, because what the hell?
You are no stranger at all to shirtless men, much less shirtless Phainon, having seen him grace the normal baths in that undressed state, but things are so, so very different and new, now that it's just you two in the vicinity.
His skin is flushed a pale, lovely red, and the light from the long lamps along the corridor caresses his features. Droplets of sweat and water sit on his pecs, on his abs, and some trickle down, disappearing into the towel slung on his hips. And his V-line, Kephale, what a V-line, you bemoan internally.
You want to keep looking, at the veins trailing on his forearms and his long, thick fingers, but you jolt with the realization that you have been staring for far too long than is appropriate—that is, never.
"Good evening, Lord Phainon. How were the—" Your words get caught in your throat, entrapped, by the weight of Phainon's gaze. His lips are quirked slightly up, and his eyebrow is raised, looking awfully amused.
"You're looking a little nervous there," he says. "Something happened?"
His eyes have a sparkle of something that you have no pleasure of finding out. Embarrassment churns in your gut. You're sure he already suspects something's up—maybe he noticed you were practically devouring him with your eyes.
"I'm fine, Lord Phainon," you say, aiming for nonchalance, "things are just a bit hectic tonight."
As if the previous moment disappeared into the wind, Phainon furrows his brow in confusion.
"I thought you were off tonight? I was wondering why I hadn't seen you or Lady Aglaea's other assistant," he asks. "I haven't even been able to get a hold of her, actually. Or even you. Have you checked your teleslate?"
Ah. You haven't checked your teleslate since after your morning bath, because the festivities immediately began; soon after your own departure, your company was the Garmentmaker's ever-lingering presence.
"Oh, uh, I haven't checked since the morning. I haven't gotten the opportunity at all, really." You begin sheepishly, averting your eyes. "Sorry about that. I can check it now, though."
"No need! I can just say it now." Phainon's eyes brighten, and he grins beautifully.
"Come with me for the last hour before midnight!"
You're taken aback, simply because you weren't expecting to have the whole hour with him. It seems like that reaction was very visible because the Deliverer near-imperceptibly wilts. You scramble to fix that, stammering, "no, no, Lord Phainon, I'd love to come!"
"Oh, phew, okay. I thought I—I initially thought you didn't want to," he chuckles in relief. He places one of his hands on his hip, and the towel rides down slightly, a movement you track.
"Um," you start eloquently, "I just thought you would spend the rest of the evening with the other heirs outside?"
"Oh! I guess I could? But I spent the past few hours shriveling up in the baths with them, and I wanted to do something else tonight, y'know? 'Sides, not like we're strangers." Phainon's voice lilts up enthusiastically.
"Well, I'd love to, Lord Phainon. If you'll excuse me to go change, I'll be at the front in around 20?"
"Sounds good! I also need to, well, change." He gestures down at his state of undress, and you take the chance to once again peer down. The water has long since dried, but even then, his muscles still appear atrociously good. You want to reach out and rake your fingers down his pecs, want to feel how pliable they'd be—
"—hey?" He calls your name, and damn it, you were zoning out again, weren't you? You can't even control the physical stutter your body has at being, this time, truly caught, so you shout out a quick 'bye Lord Phainon' and speed walk past him as dignified as possible. You don't see his expression at all, nor do you want to.
By the time you get to your quarters, you're a complete mess. Thankfully, no one important saw you practically race through the halls as you rounded the corner, most everyone outside of this area of the Palace for the time being.
You slam the door behind you, heart in your chest pounding against your rib-cage. And it's not the only thing that's pounding. You only notice the very apparent arousal between your legs now, sticky and uncomfortable. The most simple solution is to collapse face first onto the bed and rub yourself out to the image of Phainon fresh out of the bath ingrained in your mind. But you can't do that. Besides, the longer you take now, the less time you'll have with him outside.
Rushing, you wash your face and dab away the sweat—hardly any time for a bath. Once your face is dried, you dress in your best casual garb: a long, white, layered skirt and a rust-colored flowy top. Quickly, you apply light makeup and jewelry, and just before leaving your quarters, you spritz on your best perfume, skin the scent of sandalwood. The teleslate says around 20 minutes passed, which, not too bad, but you pick up your pace hoping to not find an incensed Phainon waiting at the Palace entrance.
On the way, you pass the same Garmentmaker, who glides by without complaint. You take that as a pass, sighing in relief at the free time.
But your mind is still occupied.
It's not the first market trip with him before, and yet probably because of the occasion, you are jittery. Often, those trips occurred because he happened to be there at the right moment to patrol the city when you had tasks to complete.
You just can't help wishing for a nice end to the night. The ones that occasionally intrude in your mind during slumber, where all you can see, smell, taste and touch is him. Naive thinking, but you can't help it; it's Kephale's city, but Mnestia tiptoes where they please.
Phainon soon comes into your line of sight, and any and all thoughts you have halt. He's chatting with one of the secretaries of the Marmoreal Palace, so he doesn't notice you yet.
Oh, but you're definitely noticing him.
Phainon wears a white low cut, collared shirt, with gold accent details and hem, giving a sneak-peak of his delicious expanse of chest. The top has flowy sleeves, similar to your own skirt, but he wears gold, hugging armbands right above his biceps. His trousers and boots are the same as usual, but his appearance looks princely, rather than the familiar armor clad warrior. Like he's intending on truly enjoying this night without burden. Then you find his scabbard and think, nevermind, warrior through and through.
"Lord Phainon," you call and wave your hand, "hope I haven't kept you long!"
Phainon perks up, and you might need your sight checked, because his ears redden. He quickly ducks his head down, speaks, and jogs over to you, eyes crinkled.
"Hey, no you haven't at all!" He laughs out. "Thanks for accompanying me tonight."
Phainon offers you his arm, looking at you expectantly. "Shall we get going?"
You hesitate initially, but eventually loop your arm through his and let him guide you out the door. Through the top, you can feel his bulging arm, straining against the fabric, and you're growing slightly bothered at being in such close proximity to him.
"I thought we could start with Lairos' Lair." Phainon points to a nearby stall at the beginning of Okhema's main street, and you crane your head to see it. "Because I'm sure you haven't eaten much this evening. The original restaurant is super good, and in fact, Mydei gives it a gold star..."
He wasn't kidding. The skewers melted apart in your mouth and coupled with your own exhaustion, it made a heaven-sent meal.
You both weave your way through the stalls and crowds of people. Interspersed throughout the food and clothing stalls were game stalls, and you each took turns forking out money, him losing sorely while you claimed victory.
"I just don't understand why my luck is so damn bad with these!" Phainon groans, dragging a hand down his face at the tenth loss in a row.
You chuckle and place the dromas plushie in your bag. "Lord Phainon, these are games made to scam innocent customers like you! Of course you'd lose. Er, no offense."
"None taken, haha." His eyes turn accusatory. "Hey, then how'd you win one?"
"I'm just a natural. What can I say?" You shrug, enjoying the situation too much. "Perhaps you need training in stall game strategy more than swordplay."
"And where exactly could I learn that?"
"I'm not exactly sure..." You trail off. "Could we even salvage ten losses?"
Instead of the giggles you were expecting that to incite, Phainon just hums thoughtfully.
"Is everything good, Lord Phainon?" You shift your feet after an outstretched moment of silence and clutch your bag harder.
"Hmm."
"Huh?"
"Ah—Yes, yeah, everything's good. Just—your earrings are quite beautiful." It's an obvious lie, but mercifully you play along with it. A wisp of worry forms in your gut.
"Thank you! I actually bought it here as a little celebratory gift from my first paycheck."
"Truly you have an eye for style. Suits you to work under Lady Goldweaver herself." Phainon reaches out and gently flicks your earring, the hoop tapping against your neck. His finger is close enough to where it could graze your neck. "How many pairs do you have?"
"Not too many, I'd say. This is my favorite pair."
"Well!" He steers you in the direction of another stall by placing his large hand on the middle of your back. The cloth is thinner there, and all you can currently focus on is the heat of his hand. "Care to add another?"
"I—what?"
"Another! This festival happens once a year, and for your hard work, and you know, just because, I'd like to get you something. A token of our...friendship!"
Friendship. The ground has never looked more appealing. One word, uttered randomly, shouldn't even be so fucking bad. And yet, secretly, you were thinking, maybe the earlier blunder would be some kind of hint to him. Or maybe, the fact that you pulled out your best earrings and wore the nicest perfume you owned. Or maybe the fact that he took you out at all, and you said yes. Like the hopeless woman you are. You don't even know who to direct your mounting frustration at.
A tiny fraction of your brain reasons with you on the dot. Phainon is a friendly person overall, all sunshine and smiles to anyone who looks his way, not to mention, Amphoreus' Deliverer.
But, another voice counters back, he has other friends, or in the least, decent acquaintances. Why me, then?
Because, the cynical one says, he saw you as he came back to the changing room. It was the right time, right place. Nothing more, nothing less.
The mental battle endures, drawing out as you and Phainon approach a jewelry stall. The orange hanging lights hooked to the drapery do wonders for the gemstones on each of the pieces. One piece in particular catches your eye. The earrings are a sun and moon pair, both cast in gold with a light blue gem hanging from each.
"Do you like any of them?" Phainon questions, and you turn to look up at him. This entire evening you sensed no malice from him, and even now he's genuinely dead-set on buying you jewelry.
You sigh and say, "I don't quite know. Maybe you could pick for me?"
Phainon immediately digs in his pocket for his coin purse. "Of course! It would be my honor."
As he browses the wares on the velvet cloth, you stare at him. None of the previous attraction arises because of the pooling anxiety inside of you. The lights, once clear, morph into hazy and distorted specks. The Okheman citizens, whose joy could never be wrong, become a loud nuisance. Your chest tightens, painfully so, and you want nothing more than to go back to the straightforward task of patrolling Marmoreal Palace with the Garmentmaker. At least that you could make sense of.
You're not sure when the tears begin, but the feeling of skin against your cheek draws you back into the present. A thumb runs under your bottom eyelid, gently wiping the water away into your skin.
Phainon holds such deep concern in his dazzling blues, mouth drawn into a tight line, that you nearly are convinced that he feels this bout of sadness and not you.
"Is everything alright?"
You can barely hear him, voice muffled to your ears. And then, you feel the brush of another hand on your other cheek.
"Please, I—I don't know if—what it is I did wrong, and I've—I don't like making you feel this way." He whispers softly, still caressing your face with his hands. "Tell me?"
The dam breaks, and the tears stream down your face. You laugh inwards bitterly about your makeup, how ruined it must be.
"Phainon—" You gurgle out. His eyes widen at lack of title. "—do you think we can talk?"
"Yes! Yes, absolutely, let me just—" He takes a small, clear pouch from the vendor and swiftly steers you towards a quieter area of the city. In a quiet alleyway, you both stand face to face, your head angled down, wiping away at your tears as delicately as possible, while Phainon hovers over you, unsure and confused.
"Lord Phainon—"
"Phainon, please. Just Phainon."
You sniffle and nod, pressing onwards. "Phainon, I...I like you. So very much. You entered my life without a single warning and took my mind by storm, with your virtue and kindness. And so, when you invited me today to accompany you in the celebration, you can't fathom how excited I was. I've always sort of orbited around you, never too close but never too far, and part of me believed for the first time that tonight would be the chance for me to get closer to you. "
You wince at your own words, the weight of the confession settling down upon your shoulders, accompanied by slight nausea.
"Wait, hold on—"
"No. Please. I just need to finish this."
Phainon acquiesces and stays silent, but shifts his hands to hover near yours, the distance between them mere millimeters. Because you just might break if he touches you now, and he knows that.
"But then a few minutes ago, you were talking about the earrings, and you said a token of friendship, and I just—I couldn't take it. It's not your fault at all, but I guess I was sort of stuck in some..." You wave your hand flippantly and roll your eyes, the latter now puffy and red.
"... delusion. It's just one word and I snapped. Either way, I didn't mean to break down like this, but at the same time I don't feel the greatest. I hope you, uh, wouldn't mind if I returned back to my quarters. I'm sorry for occupying your time, and I pray that I can still be a friend to you." You end there, voice riddled with sadness and resignation.
You can't bring yourself to look up at Phainon. But he does it for you. His large hands cradle your face and tilt it upwards, where he meets you resolutely.
"I can't let you do that."
"Huh?"
"I just—I—lovers don't have to exclusively be lovers, right? They can be friends, too?"
You squint your eyes, puzzled. "I... guess so?"
"Titans—I suck at this. I didn't mean token of friendship in that way, and I'm sorry, I was kind of using it as a gauge. It's my turn to explain, now."
As a gauge, you wonder, as Phainon's expression turns from nervous to remorseful and vulnerable.
"I have feelings for you. For the longest time. And I've always been a coward. I was worried that you would never like me back—"
"How—what?"
"Hush, it's my turn." He silences your mouth with his finger. "But, I don't know, I saw you today in the hallway, pretty blatantly checking me out—"
You snort, remembering that debacle.
"—and then you accepted my invitation for tonight. Then I saw you walk to me, radiant, like the sunsets on beaches of Styxia past."
You bite down on your lip, anxiety and worry melting away the longer Phainon speaks. Mnestia, he called you radiant like the sunset. How can you doubt how he feels about you now?
"I brought you to that earring stand for all of the reasons I said then, but the friendship thing? Only a fraction of the truth. I want not only your friendship, but your companionship."
Phainon takes a few stray strands of your hair and tenderly tucks them behind your ear, fingertips brushing against your temple.
"And I'm sorry, that method was one of the only things I could come up with. Haha, you'd think a graduate from the Grove would be somewhat decent at brainstorming, but clearly not. I—am definitely at fault here, and I should have been entirely straightforward with you. So here I am now, pleading you."
He inhales sharply and slowly exhales, gearing himself up.
"May I... have the pleasure of being your partner?"
Around you, the sky falls to the ground, and the ground rises to the sky. Gods, there's only one answer you can say, huh?
"Yes. Yes to all of the above. I forgive—I don't even care, Phainon, yes."
And because Phainon is a gentleman, ever with restraint, he leans closer, only to pause a few mere centimeters away. Your warm breaths and aromas intermingle in the air that grows ever so chilly. Only a glance away is his lips: full and pink. You follow his movement as he bites on his own lip in commiseration. It snaps away from under his teeth, wet and shiny.
"Can I kiss you?" His voice cracks, like the words are trying their hardest to stop his actions, should you not allow this.
But you absolutely will.
"Please."
Milliseconds cannot describe how fast he surges forward, slotting and locking his lips in between yours like he is the key to opening your buried desire. You can't hear anything but his breathing and the relentless hammering of your heart.
It's still. Permanent.
And then he moves, angling his head to deepen the kiss and placing his hand behind you, a barrier between your hair and the dirty wall.
The tender gesture, so careful and conscious, makes you keen into the kiss.
Your first kiss with him lasts a short moment, and after you both separate, and he asks in a low tone, "was that fine?"
"More than fine. Come back here."
Shakily, you wrap your arms around him and grasping at his head, pulling it as close as you possibly can to yours. Phainon moans into your mouth when you tug his hair lightly and pulls you flush against him, the cold metal of his belt meeting the burning skin of your stomach.
Lips shift and slide languidly against each other, the sound of wet slick the only thing in the alleyway. You bite at each other's lips, licking and sucking, occasionally clicking teeth, but neither of you truly mind.
Not when you are more aroused than you have ever been in your life, body sensitive and set alight.
Not when Phainon's bulge grows against your groin, presence so very prominent and lewd the longer you both devour each other whole.
"Phai—Phainon," you gasp, breaking away for air.
"Yeah?" He says, lips swollen red and similarly winded from the long kiss.
"Are you—have you had sex before?"
"A couple times before, you?" He drops his head to your shoulder and murmurs into the crook of your neck. The words rumble through you, eliciting a soft sigh from you.
"Once, or twice—ah." Phainon places small kisses along the exposed skin, trailing upwards to your ear, each one leaving a blooming burst of heat.
"Yeah, I could tell by that kiss just now."
"Mmh—yeah, I could say the same to you."
Phainon moves his kisses along your jaw, and you angle your face to give him more access. But you wish to service him the same, so your fingers move and linger above exposed chest.
"Lord Phainon—fuck—"
"Jus' Phainon, and please, my body is yours to touch." Your cunt throbs at the words. You, an attendant, getting to worship this warrior's body—unheard of.
"Are you sensitive here, Phainon?" You tease, raking your fingers down his pecs like you've been dreaming of for so long.
He shivers, kissing you haphazardly on the lips as your fingers trace the planes of his abs and back up again. Feeling brave, you take both pecs into your hands and squeeze.
"Fuck," he rasps, so prettily that you almost moan at the sound. "If you don't mind, keep doing that..."
Phainon's exhales turn ragged, and he stands with his forearms placed on the wall, caging you in between, having given up on his poor attempt of multitasking. As you continue squeezing his pecs, your fingers accidentally brush his hardening nipples, and he jerks his hips forward.
You whine, long and breathy, as you feel scorching friction against your clit. Looking down, you can see that his bulge has completely hardened, and his tree trunk of thigh is in between your legs, perfectly placed.
"Oh, look at you, Beautiful." He mutters, flushed in the face and trained on where his thigh meets your cunt. You fluster, hearing the nickname.
He leans in and ducks his face down to your side, breath fanning your ear "How far do you want to go, here?"
You exhale, feeling your own nipples pebble up at the sensation. "Public space, not too far."
"Little too late for that, I think."
"Mm, we've jus' been kissing, though."
He brings his arm down, placing his hand on your hip and squeezing it reassuringly. "Do you trust me?"
You smile at his question. "Well, will you deliver?"
Phainon chuckles at the joke.
"Of course." He punctuates that by licking a long stripe along the shell of your ear, drawing a small whimper from your mouth.
Excruciatingly slow, he slides his thigh out, and the muscle of his leg drags against your clothed cunt. The skirt does nothing for you, and every nerve in your pussy reacts to the delicious friction.
"Fuck—Phainon, that feels so—ohhh!" You hold onto his neck, practically sitting on his knee, and you crash your lips against his, letting every single plead disappear into his mouth for him to keep and claim.
He does it again. And again. And again.
Every single fucking time, his thigh grinds against your cunt, spreading it and rubbing your juices against your underwear and skirt. He picks up his pace, relishing in the way you heatedly beg, your eyes twisted in pleasure and your lips shiny and bruised every time you separate. Every noise goes straight to his dick, already leaking precum.
At some point, you glide your hands with renewed obsession over his soft, sinewy chest, and take both nipples in between your fingers. You flick and roll them, and he jolts forward again.
"Titans—" He growls your name, so loud you almost have the sense to worry that someone will hear you. Then, he mutters hotly, "fuck, liftin' you up", and he actually lifts you up against the wall. Getting the message, you wrap both legs around his waist, and he ruts his rock-hard sex against your sopping cunt.
Cloth against cloth, he thrusts up against you, and his clothed dick catches on your clit, rubbing it so perfectly, you see the very same stars Aquila tries their damnedest to hide. "Your—mmh—! Your nipples are so sensitive Phainon. 'N you keep on shoving your cock under my—ahh—! My—hah—clit," you babble, dazed and definitely not thinking straight.
"Yeah, does it—" he groans obscenely as you massage his left pec, "—feel good? That's all I wanna do, my limelight, make you feel good."
"It doesn't matter what you do, Phainon. You've always—" another cry rips away from your mouth, "—always been so attentive and—"
Phainon dips down, and you bring your hands up to rake through his beautiful gray locks. Your tongues twist around each other, saliva dripping out of your lips in a lustful mess. In a moment's reprieve from his tongue, you whisper against his lips, as he continues rutting.
"—and I will never, ever—ohh—make you regret this decision we made tonight."
"Make me—mmh—regret? Limelight, this entire time, I haven't been Deliverer. Just Phainon. 'N you—" He rolls his body against yours, and you jolt forward to brush lips.
"—you are not Aglaea's attendant. Not with me. Not now, not ever."
"Phainon, I—" In a split second, you meet his eyes again, for the final time, before your orgasm wrecks your body.
Adoration. Simple, unadulterated adoration. For you.
You cum all at once, orgasm sparking like fireworks inside your cunt as you tighten your legs around Phainon's broad waist. Moaning, you clutch at him, burying your face into his chest and chanting his name as your cunt throbs in waves. He continues to rub against your wet heat, pressing kisses into your hair and muttering frantic praise—seconds later, he jerks towards you, cumming in his pants.
You both sigh heavily, and you feel your legs tire and cramp. Phainon's arms probably ache too, but he still holds you in the same position and leans his forehead down to knock against yours.
You end the way you start: inhaling his scent, the heavy musk of sweat and long-gone cologne.
A short time later, he pulls away reluctantly, and you hear the peeling smack of wet linen. Threads of cum connect the moist patch of your skirt with his trousers, obscene and arousing.
He reaches out with his middle and ring finger, and strokes them down the patch.
A thought disrupts your post-orgasmic haze: he's going to lick it. You almost dismiss that, but he brings his middle finger up to his lips, swirls his tongue around it, and pulls it away with a pop.
"Oh," you breathe.
"What?"
"Oh, fuck."
Phainon smirks, keeling over and grabbing your dropped bag from the ground.
"Was that sexy?"
"Oh my god," you can't help but giggle at his words. "Yes—yes it was so sexy."
"I'm just a natural. What can I say?" He throws your words back at you, and the memories of the festival resurface.
As you both collect yourselves, fixing clothes and hair, you huff, "I was so stupid, wasn't I?"
"What do you mean?" He finishes adjusting his collar and moves to help wipe off excess cum on your skirt.
"It's just—I guess I could have been more assertive, huh?"
"Hey." He takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours, the action innocent and domestic. You both exit the alley, bedroom in the Marmoreal Palace the ending destination for the night.
"If you're saying that about yourself, then I feel the same about myself."
"Hm, then we're both stupid, huh?"
"Mhm!" He swings your hand like a child, and the action endears you.
Wait. Hold on.
"Phainon, do you think Lady Aglaea knows by now?"
"Oh, for sure. But don't worry your pretty head about that."
"Kephale..."
You both dissolve into laughter, and that is perhaps the most remarkable event of the night.
end note: frottage could not be hotter, I hope. Also please let me know if there were any glaring grammar errors <3
As a fellow Rafayel girlie, I’d like to request a smut where reader is exhausted from a long day of work and Rafayel pampers her ☺️
Hiii omg yes!! He's so fine holy shit (also I think I wrote in my pinned post that I wouldn't be taking requests rn but I see that my ask box was open so that's misleading and my fault definitely so I'll still do this one hehe)
took this the massage route...
content: fem!reader x rafayel; kissing; masseur roleplay; body massaging; oil; fíngering; rafayel's long fingers; jerking off; cümming on back;
wc: 1903
By god, you were fucking tired. Four different wanderer incidents popped up, and as your shitty luck would have it, were also spread across all four ends of Linkon City, even extending into its outer suburbs.
So, four battles, a ripped uniform, and a nasty energy drink later, you come home, muscles aching and weary. After typing in the pin as quickly as your fingers would allow it, you unlock the door and slide your shoes off. Inside you see no other pairs, save of your own, and think, huh, maybe Rafayel had an errand to run?
Though he always made it a point to tell you if he was heading out whenever you came back...
You drop your bag to the ground and pull out your phone to call him as you pad through the front hall, searching. Just as his contact pops up on the screen, you see a door ajar, sky blue light pouring through the opening.
So that's where he was.
You feel a smile split across your face, excited to see him after a grueling day. Hurriedly, you make your way over and crack the door open further—and there he was, sitting on a loveseat with a small sketchpad in his lap.
"Rafayel?" You call.
"Ah," He perks up, glee at the sight of you, "hey, cutie!"
Rafayel gently places his sketchpad on the table beside him and makes his way over to you, arms wide open.
"Hi, Raf." You welcome the hug, burying your head into his embrace. An earthy, smoky scent reaches your nose, and you sigh deeply.
"Wow, someone's tired huh? Got beaten up by too many wanderers today?" He asks playfully and places a kiss on your forehead.
"Oh, shut up. They're crying in their graves."
"I'm sure." Rafayel pulls back, hands lain gently on your hips. "Couldn't handle all this like I do."
"Exactly!" You huff, and turn to take in the room. "So, what's all this for?"
The entire room bathes in a blue the color of the ocean, light like dappled water covering the walls. The air is briny, and you thereafter notice the lit candles, flames small but potent. There is a cot of sorts in the center, and a towel sits on the end, along with a cart of... various things you can't exactly elucidate in this lighting.
He runs his hand through his hair, playing with the purple strands.
"You were taking a while, so I was thinking you were gonna be super tired. Thought I could service my hard-working girl tonight."
Eyes softening and extremely touched by his consideration, you rush forward to embrace him again.
"Raaaf, I love it." You murmur into his shirt.
"I knew you would. Besides, what else am I going to do? Finish up my painting?" He says humorously, probably rolling his eyes above you. "Pssh, can't do that because my pigment source is still fermenting."
"Pfft—Thomas can wait?" You ask.
"Thomas can wait." He affirms and gives you a reassuring squeeze. "Alright, get undressed! I'm gonna wait outside. Lay down on your front on the cot and cover yourself waist down."
You arch a brow, and say, "thought we were past that."
He winks, amusement dancing in his visible eye.
"Juuust trust me."
He leaves the room and closes the door, leaving you with both privacy and mild confusion. You begin unbuttoning your uniform top, the fabric already ripped on the side. After stripping completely, you get onto the cot and drape yourself with the towel.
A few moments later, quiet, ambient music begins playing, making you chuckle to yourself. He's really all out, huh?
Then comes a rap rap on the door.
"May I come in?"
You briefly entertain how funny it'd be if you said no, but your body's been yearning for something that isn't wanderer guts and endless Protocores.
"Yep!" You say, and the door opens. There stands Rafayel, wearing a nice, white button up and matching white pants. You squint at the black rectangle and whisper the word on it to yourself: Rafayel. So that's what this is. You hide your smile in your arms, intrigued for how the night would go.
"Hello, ma'am." He greets you, all smiles.
"Hello," you respond, "are you my masseur for the night?"
"Yep. Let's get started right away! I'm sure you're aching."
He circles your lying figure, heading for the cart on the other side of you.
"We'll be starting with your back, obviously."
You watch him from the corner of your eyes, and, oh, is that a bottle of oil in his hands?
"Jasmine," Rafayel says. "Perfect for the stress I'm sure you've been feeling all day, dear customer."
A noise of affirmation escapes your lips, and you decide that maybe you should stop watching him. It would be more immersive for you to just put your head down and close your eyes.
You hear slick, wet rubbing, and—
"Oh..." you sigh deeply, his large hands covered in warm oil kneading circles in the base of your delts.
Slowly, intently, his palms dig into your muscles, moving in circles and providing much needed relief to your aches. As his hands move across the planes of your back, the tensions of the day fade away, replaced with content and warmth.
His thumbs press into a particularly sore muscle, and you yelp.
"Ah!"
"Was that too hard?" He asks, pausing his movements.
"No, no! It feels so good. Keep going."
"Glad to hear." Rafayel resumes, fingers tracing deep lines down your spine.
You groan at the sensation, at the feeling of his strong fingers, honed from years of delicate artistry, working the stress out of you. The scent of the jasmine oil only adds to your lazy state, rich and floral.
Rafayel hums slightly to the music as his fingers settle right above the towel.
"I'll be working on your legs next."
You nod, and he moves down and lifts the towel covering your legs. Taking more oil, he rubs them over his hands and in between his fingers. He lifts one of your feet and deftly works it out, thumb deeply tracing the arch of your foot.
Then, he does the other leg. Alternating, he works his way up both, kneading out the kinks in your calves.
Once he reaches your thigh, you bite your lip. Hard.
You have a feeling where this is going to go, and you hope he knows exactly what you're thinking. Rafayel reads your mind like an open book—what you love, what turns you on, what doesn't.
His strong hand traces up the back of your thigh, stopping just shy of the bottom of your ass. Using both hands, he works the muscle there, rubbing large, long, circles.
"Ahh..." you can't help but moan when his thumb brushes terribly close to your cunt.
Then he does it again. The same spot, wet with jasmine oil. The scent grows stronger, and the air becomes taut with sensual tension.
"Mmh—ri—right there."
"Feeling good?" His smooth voice is so much closer than you thought it was, almost a whisper in your ears.
"So—yeah, soooo nice..."
Your cunt twitches, the minute distance between his thumb and your folds so unbearable. You can feel stickiness, wanting to clench your thighs together. The jasmine only makes you more lightheaded and aroused, the scent heady.
"Hmm, that's odd. I don't think I put any oil there," he says wryly. "Wonder what it is."
And before you even know it, he brushes his thumb against your wet folds, smearing the slick.
"Fuck..." The moan comes, needy and whiny, and you clench your thighs together harshly.
"Is it what I think it is? Hmm. Ma'am, this hardly feels professional." And yet you feel the intrusion of a single finger, sliding against your hole, jabbing against your clit.
"Raf—"
"I could get fired, sweetheart."
His finger enters your cunt, rolling and thrusting. It's long, the source of your frequent fixation whenever you see him. Deft when painting and skilled when fingerfucking the life out of you.
Rafayel adds a second finger, his pointer sliding in tandem with his middle in bruising your walls. You whine, sweaty body jerking in the rhythm of his fingers. Your slick puddles on the cot below, cloudy and messy, just as doused as your lover's talented fingers.
"Well this is supposed to be a full body massage..." he mutters, breathy, "I would have been a terrible masseur had I not started stretching your beautiful pussy, either."
"Mmmh—yeah—fuck!" you choke out, feeling him hit gold in your cunt.
Rafayel targets the spongy spot, prodding and massaging it with his fingertips, making you see stars. But the longer he sees your writhing body and gushing cunt, the more difficult it gets to ignore the tent in his pants. His cock aches, straining against the fabric, yearning to be taken out.
"Cutie," he starts, already unbuttoning his pants with his available hand. "How would you feel about using a different kinda liquid for the rest of the massage?"
"Hu—huh?" You try angling your head back to see him but to no avail.
You hear a schlick, schlick, schlick from somewhere behind you, growing faster as he continues pumping and scissoring your cunt open, with the addition of a third finger reaching under to rub your clit in an entirely different rhythm.
Rafayel, right hand virtually buried in your heat, continues stroking his large cock with his left. The tip weeps precum, oozing out in thin strings. He reaches and gathers some of your fluids with the same hand, slathers it all over his raging erection, and wets his lips at the sight of your arousal on his length. He would put it in, typical pussy massage and all, but he has another idea.
As your cunt grows more sensitive from his long fingers, his dick throbs painfully.
"The other kinda liquid 'm gonna put on you, sweetheart," he says, "will make your skin glow. Gonna—ahh—look even more ravishing than you already are—shiiit."
It hits your skin, wet, squirting all over your back, ass, and even the backside of your cunt. A broken moan—you, maybe him, you don't know—rings throughout the room, and you feel something hard hit your ass, settling plushly on top of it with a wet slap.
The squirts keep coming and you shiver, knowing Rafayel's spent dick sits right near your sopping hole. And that thought stirs you to reaching a much-needed high. His fingers delve in and out, mixing his cum with yours—the perfect, filthy massage. Quickly, your orgasm washes over you, harsh and powerful, juices dripping out of your cunt paired with the largest whine.
Rafayel fucks you through it, continually scraping some of his cum and fucking that in with his fingers, too. The jasmine oil is long gone—only the musk of his and your arousal remains. Your back is decorated with his seed in shiny streaks, a lewd masterpiece fashioned by his hands.
And right after you're done, limbs and pussy jelly (just like you wanted) and the day's stress thoroughly fucked out of your mind, he leans back down to kiss your temple.
"Hope you liked that massage, cutie. Visit me again the next time you're stressed. In the end, I'll fuck it out of you the harder way."
rafayel makes you mad, so you ride his tongue to oblivion (who knows why you're mad lmao)
content: smut; dom!AFAB!reader x sub!rafayel; cünnilingus; rafayel's tongue; praise kínk
wc: 761
There are times when Rafayel teases too hard, and in response to your mild annoyance, sticks his pale, pink tongue out like the cats he supposedly detests. In those times, you typically buckle too quickly with a roll of your eyes and pinch his cheek good-naturedly.
And then there are times like right now.
"Mmph—!"
The words are muffled by your pussy, rubbing against his mouth with squelch after obscene squelch. The signs of your arousal drip all over Rafayel's face.
You both have been going at this for a while, and now Rafayel is below you, sucking and licking and following your orders obediently because he's done something to make you particularly pissed. You sit on his face, using him like a sex toy as he grips the sheets, barred from worshiping your body with his hands until you say the word.
"Yeaaah, jus' like that, Raf," you groan, long and hard, at the feeling of his nose hitting against your clit and the absolute divine sensation of, gods, his long, thick tongue curling and twisting inside of your cunt over and over again. Pink melts seamlessly into vivid blue, just like the brilliant scales that tatter his sweaty, half-transformed body. His tongue writhes as it reaches deep inside, flicking against your cervix; you jolt, squeezing your thighs close around his head.
"Ahh! Such a—ugh—good fucking boy—fuck!"
Rafayel whines wantonly in response, and the sound rumbles through your body, making you shudder with delight.
"Ohhh, you like that, don't you?"
Even as he fucks into your cunt with his tongue, in and out and in and out, you purr, voice barely wavering in the slightest, "I would say it more often—ohh—if you say sorry."
"'Mm—ah..." He tries to speak, but his apologies are lost in your folds. Rafayel babbles them over and over again, as if it causes him physical pain to not hear those words from your mouth. To hear you tease him so harshly. To not be able to touch your skin.
"Are you?"
"Mmh." His head jerks, a quick nod.
"Are you?"
Having given up on verbalizing his apologies, Rafayel rolls his tongue against your walls. You can't control the high-pitched moan that escapes your lips, and his ministrations continue over and over, tearing down your restraint.
"Fuuuuck, I give up, you can touch—"
He sobs a quick 'yes', and reverently grasps your hips with his hands. Your skin quickly turns red hot at the touch and your entire cunt pulsates in tune with his thrusts.
"Aw, you jus' loooove my pussy, huh? Good—mmh—! There!" You toss your head back, running your own hands along your body and grinding down even harder.
Everything is wet, wet, wet—Rafayel's eyes as he loses himself in drinking and drowning in the juices of your cunt and his unforgiving tongue as it sloppily laps up the slick separating your bodies. And then there's the building, throbbing sensation, ramping up the longer you ride his face. Suddenly, Rafayel changes the pace of his tongue. Faster and faster, he flicks and bruises your walls, knowing that you are approaching your orgasm. As if your high couldn't come any faster, any stronger, he brings one of his hands down and rubs your clit frantically.
"Fuck, fuck, my god—Rafayel!"
The world spins around you, and your legs twitch uncontrollably. Fluid dribbles out of your cunt, and of course, Rafayel swallows that dutifully, too. You're lightheaded as you ride his tongue through your orgasm. Eventually, as the euphoria subsides, you sit, tired and fucked out. Meanwhile, Rafayel lies in a daze, rubbing small circles on your hips absentmindedly with his thumb. Looking down at him now, at the pretty blush across his face and the wet sheen of sweat and cum, you smile softly.
Cooing, you say, "you did so well, Rafayel. Now it's your turn."
And as you retreat downwards to where his painfully erect cock is—the end tapered, blue-tinged, and weeping at the slit—you see Rafayel smirk and slide his alien-like tongue across the entire lower half of his face. He collects the liquid into his mouth and swallows, and though it's certainly not the first time tonight that he's swallowed, the action nonetheless makes you stir. You're also starting to think he provoked you on purpose.
As you angle your head down and slowly lick from the base of his cock, you find that it doesn't matter either way. You know you can find other ways tonight to get back at him.
end note: dude I love rafayel...first time writing smut lmk how it went and if I messed up smth major <3
He's a star, and you have the potential to become one. It all starts with a poor film review...♡
author's note: The starboy//stargirl masterlist for everything I make in this universe. As of now, it's a series of oneshots, some related or tied to another. I recommend starting with the first and second, but it really doesn't matter.
smut galore, specific tags within works.
**None of this is meant to be super realistic in any way. Characters are 'in-character' for their AU circumstances.
#01.STAR BOY
⟹ Satoru Gojou, actor extraordinaire, getting a poor film review from you? Over his delicious sex scene?!
#02.YOU'RE A STAR GIRL
⟹ Satoru Gojou, actor extraordinaire, wants to change your mind on that review. Maybe he wants to fuck it into you.
#PARTY MONSTER!
⟹ .....
#TAKOWORLD, inspo from the Starboy album by the Weeknd, banner by me. Do not copy, steal, or feed any of my works into AI.
content: chunked writing; actor!gojou; aspiring film-critic!fem!reader; mastúrbation; descriptions of séx; asshole gojou's arrogance and hotness knows no bounds am I right or am I right; pt. 2 has actual smút smút.
parts: 01 (this) ✧ 02
wc: 1.3k
Actor!Satoru, who is the estranged child of the famous Gojou acting family, knew since his time as a child actor that his presence was a source of envy. His family, talented in their own right but outshined by the young boy's acumen, continue to host lavish parties that demand his presence, keeping up geniality for the sake of appearances.
He knows full well his incredible acting capabilities are responsible for family tensions and doesn't give a single fuck. At some point in the far past, he used to, but now he strides into yet another banquet with a self-assured smirk because the charade has gone on long enough to drill into his body and mind that he is different than others. The unique and virtually untouchable golden boy.
Actor!Satoru, who is a 2025 Forbes 30-under-30 superstar, gracing the media with his carefully crafted, charming personality. Who broke away from starring in hit movies into streaming as the role of 'The Strongest' in the hit-series Jujutsu Kaisen--confident, arrogant, and powerful. It wasn't a difficult role to get into for him, but then again, when was anything difficult? He's seamlessly molded into every role he's had to play, fascinating audiences.
Actor!Satoru, who is fully aware of his incredible sex appeal. He's had no plans so far to star in erotica, or even breaching the more easily accessible at-home sex tapes. The first time he saw Kim Kardashian, Superstar playing at one of his first after-parties on fellow actress Shoko's request, he was intrigued. When done right, it's big money. When done wrong...well, why would it matter? Wouldn't be on a porno anyway if you weren't good at fucking.
So, on the request of a renowned erotica director, he goes back to the big screens and joins the cast of Extraterrestrial Fever. It's one of his most oddest projects to date—no seriously, it is. It's a typical sci-fi romance, meant to be nice and sweet. But it also has a few scenes of the hot humanoid hero with a big dick and a bigger ego ramming the fucking life out of the woman from Earth. His acting range is so wide that he has audiences of all ages, but this one. This one is catered to the horny adults, the ones who watch edits of him on Insta and imagine him breeding them. He'd be weirded out if it wasn't for the fact that it was so damn interesting.
Actor!Satoru, whose first sexually explicit movie Extraterrestrial Fever blows the box office up. What else is new for him? He sits back on the night of its third screening, truly considering why the fuck the movie's plot ended up radiating Hallmark on sexual steroids. It's cliched to a tee. But he still grins as the sex scene comes up, showing his sweaty, lavender body bent over his co-star, because either way, it's yet another talent added to his acting toolbox and, according to his manager, it 'exploded the ovaries' of his fans. Popularity? sky-fucking-high.
Actor!Satoru, who is back at his mansion, lounging on the couch and scrolling on his phone when his manager calls him, urging him to check the article she's sent him. Sensing the urgency, he pulls it up, and just about starts laughing. 'Extraterrestrial Torture—All The Mishaps With The Latest Release' in bold black covers the top of his screen. It's a blog, amateur at best, and yet for some reason, it's gotten so many reposts and views that it's flagged his manager. Curious, he reads, amused as to what he'll see.
Actor!Satoru, who becomes pissed the fuck off. Your gripes about the plot? Valid, he must admit. A script can only be carried out so far if it's defective to begin with. Which led to your issues with the director. Again, fair. The erotica to romance-with-like-one-sex-scene pipeline has always been rough. Your complaints about the quality of the sex? Unjustified. Satoru Gojou is not inexperienced in the matters of sex and pleasure, and he was given full liberty on the scene. Some of the most glowing reviews from the movie praised his improv, noting the authenticity of the pleasure both him and his co-star showed on screen.
But no, you had issues with that.
"...The entire movie sets up for the fated sex scene to be absolute riveting. An emotional affair, where you'd think the climax would culminate not only in orgasm but in a heartfelt declaration of love. The first thought would be warm intimacy.
But rather than that, it ends up being a raunchy, dare I say, half-assed depiction of sex, jam packed with cringey dialogue in the most oddest of places. Heavy on the dialogue part, as that is all the main star Gojou Satoru does. Not enough quiet pants. Not enough lustful groans. Just yapping...."
He could hardly believe it.
What actor!Satoru doesn't know is that behind the screen, behind the wall of text, several miles away, you preen. You had made this blog to critique several of the top box-office movies, and only now you've gotten some insane traction. Hell, your review is showing up in viral reels and reaction videos now, people both appalled and awed at your take. It is simply glorious for your blooming career.
He also doesn't know that while watching Extraterrestrial Fever, you sat in the privacy of your own bedroom, clenching your thighs together. Hot and bothered, your pussy throbbed at the sight of him whenever he was on screen. You always saw the appeal, but never felt anything beyond general attraction and appreciation until then.
You watched him like a hawk, studying the flex of his abs and the fullness of his pecs as he towers over the similarly gorgeous female actress. His cock, ridged with purple, ringed protrusions, thrusted in and out of her, squelching as she meets his base. Apparently they didn't use any CGI on the size of his dick, and that discovery made you groan incredulously.
You were captivated by his bright blue eyes. All six of them, even though the two he actually has are more than enough to make you shiver with a glance. You've seen his photos countless times, and yet after the movie, you can't look at those photos the same.
And god help you, you were lying about the dirty talk. It was hot as fucking hell, and the incessant talking and whiny begging made him look all the more needy.
When the two went for a second round on-screen, your hand had slithered down under your sweats, brushing against your wet underwear. In tandem with her riding Satoru's thick cock, you slipped your fingers inside the fabric and brushed them against your clit. Juices already soaking your folds, your rubbed them along your clit, seeking the friction you deathly wished was Satoru's fingers. Or dick. Or mouth. Honestly, it didn't matter because you wanted him.
And now, a few days later, after your heated review landed on his radar, actor!Satoru gives you the perfect opportunity. After the initial confusion over your stunt, he decides to resolve it. Confront it. Your email is right there on your bio, and he types up a correspondence part-polite, part-threatening, and all-innuendo.
Hi there, it's Satoru Gojou.
I saw your review on Extraterrestrial Fever and am strongly inclined to change your mind on a few points.
Assuming you live within accessible distance, 87XX Infinity Rd. Otherwise, we can work around that.
Don't bring any recording devices, or you'll be writing behind bars. Don't leak this email, either. It won't be difficult to cut a film-critiquing career short, yeah?
Looking forward to meeting you, and I guarantee by the end of it, you'll want to take that review down.
You open your inbox to see that staring at you. Elated and rapidly typing back, you respond with confirmation. Part of you thinks he's going to change your mind in a less than appropriate sort of way, but clearly that must be wishful thinking.
Because how could you ever hook-up with a star?
end note: Part 2 will be up some time this week! lmk if there any blatant spelling errors and I'll fix them right away :)
content: gojou x reader; chunked writing; title inspired by 'Stargirl Interlude'; actor!gojou; aspiring film-critic!fem!reader; arrogant, asshole, scummy celebrity!satoru gojou; he's a yapper; gojo's experience more than yours; hookups; filming; amateur séx tapes; filming with dubious consent; filthy smút; dirty talk; vàginal fingering; bjs; bállplay; degrádation; use of 'slút'; penetrative séx; missiönary; créampie; light brëeding kink; biiig díck; lots of cúm; risky séx and behavior; recommended to read pt.1 first.
parts: 01 ✧ 02 (this)
wc: 1.7k
Actor!Satoru, who opens the door to see you standing there wearing a pair of flare jeans and a nice top. It's probably the most safe look he's ever seen, but hey, at least your face is all dolled up. Your hair is styled immaculately, curls in all the right places, and your dewy makeup makes you look effortlessly gorgeous. He appreciates the effort. Solid, uhhhh, 8/10.
You already know he's judging you when he blatantly drags his eyes from your shoes, all the way up to your hair. But realistically, the last thing you needed was to be ridiculed when the meeting would likely not be a hookup. So you went cute, but safe.
Actor!Satoru, who ushers you in with a sideward nod of his head. He leads through the open space, everything shockingly liminal except for the occasional trinket that graced the countertops—colorful vases, interesting desk toys, and of course (can't let himself forget that he's a star), framed movie posters and photo-shoots. In every poster, he fixes the viewer with an icy stare, white hair tousled and framing his eyes, regardless of the role he played in that movie.
Actor!Satoru, who gestures towards a black loveseat, collapsing back onto the couch himself and propping his legs on the lagoon table. He begins, talking through your entire review, while you sit and occasionally nod your head to hide the fact that you were zoning the fuck out. God, he's so beautiful up close. He lifts one hand over the top of the couch, and his loose shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of creamy skin and the slightest hint of hipbone. Fuck.
Actor!Satoru, who studies your movements as he talks his head off about how he'd like the review revised, if not taken down. And finally, you speak, asking how exactly he intends on enlightening you when his words aren't changing your mind.
"I'm gonna fuck you, sweetheart. What else?"
Actor!Satoru, who laughs at your eyes widening and your lips turning up in an amused smile. He assures you that no, no one will be finding this little tryst out. He beckons you over, until you're standing in front of him, in between his spread legs. He splays his hands on your upper thighs, feeling the shape of you through your jeans, perfectly pliable in his large palms.
He zips your jeans down and runs a tentative finger along your covered cunt.
Already moist, because you prepped a little beforehand juuust in case.
Actor!Satoru, who slips one finger in, collecting and swiping your slick back and forth, making your knees buckle. He slides his finger into your hole, feeling the ridges of your cunt and relishing in the sex that gushes out. God, you're a fuckin' fountain, legs threatening to collapse as you fuck yourself back onto Satoru's finger. He hurriedly adds a second one, toying and poking at your swollen clit—a delirious whine tumbles out of your lips, and you give up, falling forward onto his sturdy thighs and straddling him.
Actor!Satoru, who shoves off your jeans himself, impatient and annoyed at the obstacle. Continuing his attack on your cunt, he shoves a second finger into your walls, satisfied when your hands grip his shoulders for support. Yeah, that's fuckin' right.
"Aw, your pussy's just sucking my fingers up. So damn soppy from jerking off all day, hmm? Masturbating to my movie?"
Actor!Satoru who pulls out after you reach your high, after your first (and certainly not the last) orgasm of the night, and tells you to get on the damn ground and suck him off. And as you obediently follow the words of the actor, you feel the meaty slap of his dick against your cheek.
Long, hard, with a bulbous pink tip. All inches of pure power hitting your face, ready to fuck itself into your waiting mouth.
Actor!Satoru, who orders you to open up, and in his dick goes, nestled on your tongue. You immediately start sucking, hollowing your mouth like a good, little slut. Needing just a dick to be shut up and satiated.
He moans, keening with little 'fuck's and 'right there's as you swirl your tongue along his veins and into the slit of his flushed tip, sucking the precum spilling out like a leaky faucet.
"You—ah—go lower. Down, sweetheart."
You take one of his balls into your hands and massage it, and then trail kisses down the largest vein to the other ball. After sucking and kissing one, and then the other, he yanks your head up by your hair, teases your lips back open, and cums down your throat without warning, painting your tongue and throat white. The warmth of his spend ripples through your chest, and, wait, what?
Actor!Satoru, who wants to teach you a lesson for such a bad review, that he's gonna mimic exactly what he did with his co-star. So as the leftover dregs of cum drip down your throat, you peer up to see a flash. A phone. Cheeks rouge, he grins, so wide and feral. He's fucking filming you, and choked around his rapidly hardening cock, you can't even protest.
"I'm gonna film you, baby. Gotta keep it as true to the movie as possible, right?"
You unlatch your lips from his dick, and you're about to start speaking when he places a finger to your lips. It's wet—the one he used to fuck your cunt.
"If you want to understand an actor's genius, you're gonna have to act like one."
Actor!Satoru, who hoists you up with his wide hands and deposits you on the couch like you weigh nothing. Your head hits the cushion, leather bending to your weight. He doesn't even take your underwear off, stretching it to the side so your darkened, shiny pussy's on full display. The phone hovers in front of it, capturing your little tremors and the ooze dripping out of it.
"Pretty, fucked-out pussy, huh? Made for the fucking camera."
Actor!Satoru, who fishes a condom out of his pocket, predicting this'll be how it goes. Who slides the rubber onto his dick, filling it out completely. He teases your cunt with his round tip, circling your waiting hole. You moan, begging him to put it in. And he's supposed to be persuading you, right? Give you some celebrity dicking down? So he eases it in, eliciting a long, high, whimper from you, and a deep moan from him.
"Fuuuck, baby, you're so fucking perfect for me, holy shit! Fucking god, take it."
He begins thrusting. One look at the way you reacted earlier, practically humping yourself on his fingers, told him you like it hard and you like it fast. Actor!Satoru rams his cock in, bullying his fat dick into your pussy over and over and over again. Hungrily, he slams his hips against your inner thighs. Your wet heat makes him whine, engulfing his cock whole—fuck, you weren't a porn-star but he'd honestly have to connect you to somebody.
And yeah, he's a fucking talker.
"Shit, shit, sweetheart! Your—ahh—cunt's so fuckin' good—mmh! Dirty little cunt for me to bury my dick in, huh? Ahh—!"
Actor!Satoru, who keeps on rattling about how good you are, on and on and on, just like Extraterrestrial Fever. With one hand clutched eagerly on your hip, supporting you against his toned body, he holds the phone in place. He watches you through the screen with his sparkling blues, your body coated in sweat and jerking with every harsh thrust. You hands, gripping the leather as tight as you can, to no avail. Your pornographic pleads and cries, and a beg to—oh—breed you?
"Oh, you are one of those—mmh—fans with a breeding kink, huh? Fuck—of fucking course you are, you slut."
You weren't a fan until recently, but it didn't matter when his cock pounded into you and he muttered dirty nothings above you. It didn't matter because you felt like you were starring on a porno, slutted out for the camera.
You begin babbling, how you're already on Plan B, how you're clean, just please fucking cum inside.
Actor!Satoru, who deliberates. Even if you did become pregnant, it wouldn't be his issue. Who'd believe you got bred by him, that he was your baby's father? Another good fuck and you'd probably shut up about it like you are now. And besides, it's been a while since he's gone in raw.
Actor!Satoru, who pulls out entirely to rip his condom off, discarding the flimsy rubber onto the ground. He slams his hips against you one, two, three more times, until his balls twitch against your pussy, tightening. Spurts of cum hit your walls, gooey and warm, reaching your cervix in milliseconds, in tandem with the 'take it, sweets, take it, take it, take it' he shouts out. Your cunt's stuffed with the perfect, virile cum of one of the most striking celebrity bachelors on the entertainment scene.
Quickly, from the pulses of his dick inside you, the sparks of an orgasm dance throughout your body, pulling curses from your lips. You've never been dicked down so good, and fuck if you wished that you could experience this every single day.
Actor!Satoru, who captures the moment of the joint orgasm on camera, cooing dirtily about how ruined you look around his fat, throbbing cock. How he just might end up sending this to all of his little actor friends, who rang him up teasing about the blog article, even though he promised not to. How he doesn't need a purple, alien dick to make someone see stars. And then he leans, bent over you like he was with his co-star, and whispers:
"Was that enough talking for you, baby? Bet it was."
Actor!Satoru, who moves the phone back down to where you and him are joined, recording the potent cum seeping out and forming a white, foamy ring. He pulls his cock out, and records the thick, heavy ropes of cum linking your pussy to his flushed, already hardening, cock-head. The rest dribbles out, a creamy mess on black leather. He'd almost feel compelled to eat you out if he wasn't just proving a point. Then, he has an idea.
"How about I getcha out of that silly, little film-critiquing role you've taken upon? Publish this into a porno. You'd be a star, girl. And if you reach my level, maybe we'll do this again."
