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meow-won

What a look...

#until the dentist recognizes the shape of him in my throat #does he know i’m insane #i’m losing my mind

maho6any

Sugar and Smoke

This is part 2 of Moonshine Peaches.

Country Dilf!Choi San x F!Reader

summary: he had been teasing you all week since that night together in the kitchen. your best friend is still oblivious, and both of you are craving more than you'd like to be honest about. lingering touches here, filthy whispers there. but once he finally gets you alone again, he'll make sure the whole forest hears you screaming his name.

warnings: age gap, best friend's dad, southern accent, author's ultimate fantasy(FUCKIN IN THE WOODS HELL YEAH), pet names, (peaches, sweetheart, baby etc.) teasing, tension, dom san, bickering, fingering, oral(f!recieving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (BOOOO) San is down BAD, bondage, aftercare, secret relationship

wc: 10.9k (oof)

notes: you guys loved moonshine peaches so much, and requested a second part, so here it is to wrap it up. i hope you like it <3 also wth, thank you for 500 followers in such a short amount of time?! all your love and support means the world to me and im glad i can tickle that fangirl itch for you guys. (also srry about the wc, i got a little carried away..)

tracklist: shameless, moments silence, freak

ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ!

It cannot happen again. It was a severe lapse in your moral compass, and you cannot let it happen again. For both of your sakes.

But he was making it so fucking hard.

yungistiny

offices of jeong and beg for it

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which for seven years the two of you played denial and hate until you’re forced to work together and that thread of tension snaps

warning: possessive switch yunho, switch reader, unprotected sex, edging, multiple orgasms, mirror sex, oral, squirting, creampie

pairing: yunho x afab reader

genre: smut

word count: 12k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Chicago in the spring was a liar. The calendar claimed winter was over, but the wind whipping between the glass towers downtown still carried enough bite to make people regret leaving their coats at home. The streets below were packed with commuters balancing coffee cups and briefcases, traffic crawling through the Loop beneath a sky painted in shades of pale gray.

Twenty floors above it all, the offices of Jeong & Partners were already alive. Assistants hurried through hallways carrying files. Junior associates practically sprinted toward conference rooms. Partners barked orders before most people had finished their first cup of coffee. And somewhere in the middle of the controlled chaos, you were running late. Again.

The elevator doors slid open and you stepped out, laptop tucked against your side, heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floors. Your outfit was simple, professional, and entirely appropriate for one of Chicago’s most prestigious law firms. A fitted black turtleneck disappeared beneath the lapels of your coat while a tailored plaid skirt hugged your figure, paired with sheer black tights and heels that made navigating the city feel like a competitive sport. You barely looked up as you crossed the bullpen.

You had a deposition in three hours. A mountain of discovery documents on your desk. Three emails from a partner marked urgent. And absolutely no patience for anyone before your first coffee. Unfortunately for you, someone was already watching. From behind the glass walls of a corner office overlooking the city skyline, Yunho looked up from the contract spread across his desk the second you appeared. Like always. It was embarrassing at this point. Years later and he still did it. Every morning. Every damn time.

smidare

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀TALK TO ME ⠀、 maki

❤︎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀you have a thing for your boyfriend maki's voice.

•⠀‎‎ masterlist ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎𓋰‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎💬 ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎1,262 wc ─── ᛫ bf!maki x fem!r . phone sex, descriptions of female and male masturbation, dirty talk. don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.

you had a problem.

it wasn’t maki’s smile (though that alone could ruin you). it wasn’t the way he pulled you into his lap the second he got home from the studio. it was his voice.

that smooth, flowing timbre—angelic when he was laughing about his day, low and velvety when he was tired, and absolutely sinful the moment he realized what it did to you. you were obsessed. hyper-aware of every shift in pitch, every soft rasp when he dropped it just for you.

and tonight just the sound of him talking about tour was enough for you.

the hotel room was dark except for the faint city glow leaking through the curtains. maki had just gotten back from the encore, still buzzing with adrenaline but already sinking into that post-show exhaustion. he answered your call on the second ring, voice warm and a little hoarse from hours of performing.

“hey, baby. miss me already?”

you were in your own bed, miles and miles away, phone pressed tight to your ear like you could pull him closer through it. “always,” you answered, trying to keep your voice steady.

he started talking—casual, easy, the way he always did when he called you after shows. telling you about the crowd, how loud they were for the new songs, the way the lights felt too hot on stage, how he nearly tripped during the choreo but played it off like it was planned. his voice moved like liquid velvet through the speaker: smooth when he laughed, dipping lower when he was being a little self-deprecating, that soft rasp threading through every word because he’d been singing his heart out for two hours.

you tried to just listen. you really did.

but it had been weeks. the comeback schedule had swallowed him whole, and now the tour had taken the rest. you were pent up in ways you didn’t want to admit—aching and restless and so fucking sensitive to every little shift in his tone.

your hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts almost without thinking.

at first you were careful. quiet. just slow, light touches while he kept talking. but the more he spoke, the more your fingers moved on their own, matching the rhythm of his voice. you bit your lip hard when he laughed at remembering something one of the members had done backstage. the rough sound went straight between your legs—you whimpered.

maki paused mid-sentence.

“…baby?”

you froze, breath catching.

he was quiet for a second, listening. then his voice dropped, softer, more intimate, the way it got when he was alone with you.

“are you touching yourself right now?”

your face burned so hot you were glad he couldn’t see you. you pulled your hand back like you’d been caught doing something wrong.

“i— no. i mean… yeah. a little.” your voice came out small and embarrassed. “sorry. i’ve just been really pent up. the comeback kept you so busy and now you’re on tour and i miss you and your voice and i didn’t mean to—”

“hey.” he cut you off gently, but there was heat curling underneath the softness. “don’t apologize”

maki let out a low, rough sound—half groan, half laugh. “god, that’s hot. you miss me that bad?”

you swallowed, thighs pressing together. “mhm.”

there was a rustle on his end—the sound of him shifting on the hotel bed, maybe sitting up straighter, maybe shifting his sweats and boxers low enough to free his cock. when he spoke again, his voice had gone lower, smoother, that velvety register he only used when he wanted to ruin you.

“do you want me to talk you through it?”

your breath stuttered. “you… you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” his voice went even lower, silk and sin wrapped around every syllable. “i’m already hard just thinking about it. been hard since i heard that little sound you made. so tell me, pretty girl… do you want me to guide you? want me to tell you exactly how to touch yourself while i listen?”

you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “please.”

“good girl.” the praise landed warm and heavy in your stomach. “take your shorts off for me. all the way. i want you bare.”

you obeyed, kicking them down your legs with one hand while the other stayed between your thighs.

“now spread your legs nice and wide,” he continued, voice smooth and commanding in that way that made your brain melt. “get two fingers nice and wet—yeah, just like that—and rub slow circles around your clit. don’t go inside yet. i want you dripping first.”

you did exactly as he said, biting your lip at the slick sound your fingers made.

“fuck, i can hear how wet you are,” maki groaned. there was another rustle, then the unmistakable sound of fabric shifting. his breathing changed—got a little heavier. “i’ve got my cock out now, baby. stroking it slow while i listen to you. wish it was your hand instead. or that pretty mouth.”

a shaky moan slipped out of you.

“that’s it,” he praised, voice rougher now. “keep rubbing your clit for me. nice and slow. imagine it’s my tongue instead—flat and warm, licking you just the way you like. you always get so messy for me when i eat you out, don’t you?”

you whimpered his name.

“mm, i know. i miss it too.” he let out a quiet, shaky breath—you could picture him in that hotel bed, one hand wrapped around his cock, thumb swiping over the head while he talked to you. “slide one finger inside now. just one. fuck yourself on it slow while you keep rubbing your clit with your thumb.”

you pushed in with a soft, wet sound. your back arched.

“god, listen to you,” he murmured, voice thick with arousal. “so fucking wet. add another finger, baby. stretch yourself open for me. curl them up—right there. yeah. that spot that makes your legs shake.”

you did it, and a broken moan tore out of your throat.

maki cursed under his breath. you could hear the wet sound of his hand moving faster on his cock now, the low, rough edge to every breath.

“fuck, that’s it. keep going just like that. i want you fucking yourself on your fingers while i jerk off to the sound of it. you have no idea how hard i am right now—thinking about how tight you’d feel around my cock instead. how you’d clench every time i talked dirty to you.”

he kept going, voice getting filthier, more detailed, more desperate:

“rub your clit faster now. don’t stop. i want you right on the edge for me.”

“imagine i’m there—on my knees between your legs, holding your thighs open while i suck on your clit and fuck you with my fingers. you’d be crying for it, wouldn’t you? begging me to let you come.”

“tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how full you feel with your fingers inside you.”

you managed to choke out, “so good—maki, please—”

“please what?” he asked, voice dark and teasing even as his own breathing grew ragged. “you want to come? you want me to let you?”

“yes— please—”

“not yet.” he slowed his instructions on purpose, making you whine. “keep fucking yourself nice and deep. i want to hear every wet sound. i’m stroking my cock faster now, baby—pretending it’s your pussy squeezing me instead of my hand. you’d take me so well. always do.”

he edged you like that for another minute—letting you get close, then making you slow down, praising you the whole time in that low, ruined voice.

only when your thighs were trembling and you were begging did he finally give in.

“okay, pretty girl. you’ve been so good for me. come for me now. rub your clit hard and fast—just like that—and fuck yourself deep. i want to hear you fall apart.”

you came with a broken cry of his name, fingers working frantically as your orgasm crashed over you. maki didn’t stop talking — voice low and filthy and full of praise as he listened to every sound you made.

“that’s it, baby—fuck, just like that. so pretty when you come for me. i can hear how wet you are. good girl, soak your fingers. god, i’m gonna come too—”

you heard the moment he did—a low, guttural groan, the wet sound of his hand speeding up, his breathing going ragged and broken as he spilled over his fist with your name on his lips.

for a long moment there was only panting on both ends of the line.

then his voice softened again, warm and a little shaky.

“fuck… that was so good. you did so well for me, baby. my perfect girl.”

you were still catching your breath, fingers slick and trembling between your legs. “i miss you so much.”

“i know.” his voice went quiet, tender. “i miss you too. more than you know. tour’s not forever, okay? and when i get home i’m going to spend hours making up for every single night we’ve been apart. with my mouth. my hands. my cock. whatever you want.”

a sleepy, satisfied little sound left you.

maki chuckled softly—that warm, post-orgasm rasp that made your chest feel tight. “get some rest, pretty. keep the phone close tomorrow night too. i might need to hear those sounds again.”

“…love you,” you whispered.

“love you more.” you could hear the smile in his voice. “sweet dreams, baby.”

the call stayed connected a little longer than necessary—both of you just breathing, not quite ready to let go yet.

𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲ㅤ © ㅤ ( 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱 — 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲, 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗲, 𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗔𝗜. ㅤ ❤︎ㅤ 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 . )

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: maki's recent voice live changed my brain chem ... i got a request asking if i could write something about it and i just had to ( ͈ര ̫ര ͈) ⊹`𓈒 i hope my maki gooners enjoy this one hehe

lovecvrexx

TAKE IT ✩ L. HEESEUNG

( 이희승; ) ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ pet names ⋆ creampie ⋆ dom!heeseung ⋆ big dick hee ⋆ choking ⋆ rough sex : 453

──── in which ︵ take it for heeseung, will you?

✩now playing - redbone | childish gambino | - ✩viewmasterlist to check out my other works!

heeseung growls loudly, grabbing your legs and pushing them back, spreading you wider. the new angle hits that special spot inside you with each thrust, making you scream.

“take that fuckin' dick." he groans, watching your perfect face contort in pleasure, your mouth open in a perfect o.

“so— big—!" you cry out, his eyes flash with something primal at your words. he's always been big, and hearing you struggle to take him only makes him harder. he reaches down, wrapping his arm around your throat as he continues to pound into you. “too big for this tiny little pussy?"

you try to shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “nooo— can take it—"

he squeezes your throat gently, cutting off your air slightly. “that's my fuckin' girl."

he thrusts harder, deeper, his balls slapping against you with each movement.

“mhhhf—" you pant heavily, chest rising and falling as your brain turns to mush from the lack of air.

he loves seeing you like this, helpless and full of his big dick. he unwraps his arm suddenly, letting you gasp for air. “you gonna keep saying you can take it?"

you mewl weakly, hands trembling on the sheets. “i— i can—" before you can even finish your sentence, he grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders. the new position opens you up even more, allowing him to hit your spot with every single thrust.

he starts fucking you so hard the headboard hits the wall repeatedly. “keep talkin' shit."

“o-oh— god!" your words are cut off by a loud scream as he nails that spot inside you again. he continues his brutal pace, his hips snapping forward as he buries himself deep inside you. you can feel every thick inch of him stretching you wide open. “that's it, scream for me."

“ohohohfuck—!" the sound of your high-pitched screams fills the room, mixing with the wet sounds of him slamming into your cunt over and over again. his fingers dig into your legs hard enough to bruise as he holds you in place, using you like his personal fuck toy. “fuck, you're so tight."

“hee—“

hearing his name on your lips sends him over the edge. he pounds into you even harder, his breathing ragged and loud. his cock swells inside you as he starts to come, filling you with his hot cum. “take it." he growls out, pressing deep inside you.

he stays buried inside you for a moment before pulling out slowly. his cum starts dripping out of stretched hole immediately. heeseung watches as more of his load leaks out, mixed with your own juices. “good girl." he praises you softly, running a hand down your leg.

@sadperfect, @itsraininghyunebuckets, @ebnabi, @flippedccc, @persassyismysecrettwin, @chan1uv, @bunny-2473, @ykitsaura, @quinnofdrama, @kloversung, @angelhyuka, @hueningsgirl, @cinnamonrei, @a120102, @shawnyle, @kristynaaah, @mamuljji, @nishirikiluvr, @pix3lkitten

hwadulce

i wanna request getting high with maki🥰

hirota riki ⓘ mdni softdom!maki fem!reader stoned sex maki cums on reader's back backshots dirty talk praise weed usage clit play maki loves ass unprotected p in v

࿔ ݂⠀ ໋ notes · thank u for my first request nonnie 🌟

"shiiiit…" you and maki were on a different planet. positively zooted out of your minds. one hit of the goods nicho had bought was enough to knock out a horse, the amount you and maki had taken? it was a miracle either of you could even move an inch. alas, nothing could stop his wandering hands, your receptive body. if anything, it was further exacerbated by the intoxicated state you were both in.

he was on his back beside you, trying to make sense of the fifty colors that were merging together on the ceiling. "where does nicho get this stuff? holy shit," you mumbled, face planted into the pillow beneath you, trying to merge into it and never come back out.

seriously, you were planning on interrogating nicholas on who the hell his plug was—to ask for more. the buzzed feeling causing the fuzzy space between your ears was a rush you craved, lavished in. especially when you were in the company of your insufferably hot boyfriend who was just as hazed as you. "i gotta pay him," he muttered, blinking slowly up at the ceiling once more. "i'm floating. fuck, baby, i'm floating…"

slowincision

lovecvrexx

ONE MORE ✩ N. RIKI

( 西村力 ) ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ teasing ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ overstimulation ⋆ mean riki ⋆ dirty talk ⋆ smug riki ⋆ on the phone : 386

──── in which ︵ fwb!niki is bullying your cervix.

✩now playing -candy | doja cat | - ✩viewmasterlist to check out my other works!

it’s annoying how smug niki is when he’s got you like this—on your stomach with your face buried in his pillow, hands clawing at the sheets desperately like you’re struggling to take more even though your pussy’s sucking him in greedily and making those lewd squelching noises, your moans having long turned into gasps for air as he drills into you from behind.

he loves the feeling of you squirming with each snap of his hips, his cock hitting so deep without him even trying. it almost feels like he’s bullying your cervix on purpose, going so deep you swear you can feel him in your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs each time his hips meets your ass with that loud, wet smack.

“fuck... fuckin’ love the way she squeezes me when i fuck her deep," he grunts in your ear, talking as if your pussy’s a separate being from you. “love this fucking pussy."

his arm wraps around your throat to pull your head up, making you bite your lips to muffle your desperate moans and gasps. which makes him tut. “c’mon, baby, lemme hear those pretty moans."

his hips pick up pace, ramming his thick meat deeper into your poor sopping cunt that’s drooling juices onto his sheets with each brutal thrust. your insides grip him as if it wants to keep him inside you forever, making his jaw clench as he bites back a moan.

“juust like that... keep squeezing me like that." his arm tightens ever so slightly around your neck, muscles flexing against your skin—a telltale sign of him close to losing control.

but he wants you to come before he does, even if you did come a shit ton, more times than either of you can count. still, he wants to see you fall apart one last time before he fills your greedy pussy full to the brim with his warm cum. he wants to see his creamy mess dripping out of your well-fucked pussy.

his free hand snakes under your body, fingers easily finding your slick, swollen clit and circling it rapidly, groaning and gasping at the feeling of you clenching around him like a velvet vice.

“give me one more, sweetheart—mmhn—and then i’ll fill this pretty pussy up, ’kay?"

@xminato, @itsraininghyunebuckets, @ebnabi, @flippedccc, @persassyismysecrettwin, @chan1uv, @bunny-2473, @ykitsaura, @quinnofdrama, @angelhyuka, @hueningsgirl, @cinnamonrei, @shawnyle, @kristynaaah, @mamuljji, @nishirikiluvr, @pix3lkitten, @sugarcwtie, @stwrlightt, @yeonyeonbun, @ni-k1ttie, @rikisloverrr, @adorbu, @aeriville, @ineedchaninsidemethanks, @jadeluv143, @superhee, @hoonieslover, @evannski

eu1joo

— starving (18+) | byun euijoo

synopsis | your boyfriend has quite the appetite after his practice ends early.

details | boyfriend!euijoo x female!reader, idol au, detailed and frequent descriptions of food/cooking, 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI, oral (f rec.), established relationship, reader is shy, body worship, slight body description (curves, plush, etc.), tit kisser!wiju, biting and marking, burnt the garlic, soft dom!juju, lowercase intended, cursing

wc | 3k

from the author | im gonna eat him next... 1/3 wishes granted for @andrabunica

wanyangii

❤︎ i’m the jealous type — friend! nicholas

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ your friend ghosted you for months, leaving your messages on delivered.

tags ⸝⸝ x reader, nico ghosting you, make up sex, cream pie, overstimulation, rough sex, crying, slightly angsty(?), headlock, edging, fingering, whiny weno, little bit mean weno, dub-con at first.

it’d been days, no weeks, no more like months. your inbox dryer than you could tolerate, messages opened, some left on read.

others that you couldn’t bother to look at— even if you were lonely, some people you just didn’t care for.

it was that dreading, gut-wrenching feeling that nauseated you every time you opened social media. hating to glance at your pinned dm.

you had been active on social media ever since you could remember, mostly lurking around, never interacting much with anyone. that was until you spoke to nicholas. he shared all the same hobbies as you, passions aligned so perfectly you thought it was impossible.

you talked daily, long texts that you replied to. rants about life, interests, whatever came to your mind you’d pour it out to him. he’d reply with just as much spirit, it felt as if you two shared a heart.

then it all just stopped.

he didn’t text back, didn’t open your messages, left you with your thoughts— questions of what you said, what you did wrong. you didn't get closure, the thirst to know why exactly he ghosted you. it ate at you day by day, until all that was left was your unrequited rotted heart.

some days passed painfully slow— others passed as if they never happened. every unoccupied moment your finger swiped the notifications hub.

radio silence.

the only notifications are from your stupid instagram channels. the ones where celebrities spat random words at you all day. the kind of stuff where you questioned why you even stayed in them.

this continued, it never really stopped, lingering in the back of your mind— fingers swiping like a second nature. heart paining with every repetition, yet you were met with cob webs.

that was until today, you were just about to fall asleep. fingers mindlessly scrolling through your feed, barely getting at what any video meant. it was that kind of exhaustion that hit your mind more than your eyes, not processing much information but watching it happen. random asmr videos, mukbangs, edits, etc.

just as your eyes were fluttering shut, a bright notification lit your groggy face, a glow that covered your face in soft white rays. just enough emitted light to catch your fading attention.

1 new notification from *w_h_y_weno*

the familiar heart drop, in the way that made a pit form in your stomach, a sickening experience.

it wasn’t exactly in that overjoyed way you always imagined, you thought it’d be like floating in the clouds— but instead it was… dread, disgust, a wave of disappointment and sadness all mixed into one vile sensation.

your eyes scanned the messages, the texts that never addressed his absence. just continued the conversation as if it was never paused.

you sat up, posture slouched so horrendous it looked like a monster was occupying your body. your mind that was once in half a slumber suddenly jolted awake, reading his words, every short text that made your head spin. the texts didn’t stop, they piled like bricks that were too heavy to be moved.

17 texts, exactly in the same joking manner he always replied with, you never opened the chat— no you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of having you on a leash. you read the previews, wrapping your head around just how he could pull this on you, and yet no apology, no explanation, just the same jokes and memes he’d always spat.

you sat on those texts for exactly 23 hours, leaving 1 hour as if it meant you were superior— as if you didn’t really care all that much. but you did, you replayed his texts every second you could, while cooking, cleaning, washing up. forming a response— yet you weren’t exactly sure how to reply, mad? no right— he was far too kind to receive anger. but it’s truly what you felt deep down.

you did everything to clear your head, even replying to useless emails at your favorite coffee shop throughout the day, every free minute you used to form what exactly you’d say back at him.

when you arrived home, you threw the crossbody bag to the side. stumbling to the shower, heart heavy— wild thoughts intoxicated your every move, it was as if you were watching yourself in third person, you washed your body, but it didn’t feel like yourself, more as if you were on autopilot.

when your body hit the mattress it sparked something in you, cold breeze blowing over your wet hair, goosebumps that prickled with every breath. you opened the texts, reading every word with a delicate smile. fingers hovering to reply— but before you did you opened his story, clicking on the icon, his delicate face meeting yours.

or so you thought it would— your eyes met with the most breathtaking, thirst photo. the kind where his bare torso was on full display, rather than his sharp face. it felt like everything paused, ears ringing, eyes widening, skin losing that natural warm color to it.

then you texted back— you couldn’t recall much of what you said, just a lot of different words vomited into a sentence, with an even longer rant, summarized into a “what the fuck about you ghosting me?”

his response wasn’t straightforward, didn’t truly address anything. maybea uncomplicated apology at best, ending with an “i’ll be over soon.”

it was 3 a.m. what did he mean by “be over soon.”? it boiled your blood— a rush of bitterness and frustration that made everything feel so real.

setting your phone down. heart still pounding through your chest, head fuzzy, the soft embrace of your bed made your body melt into the plush cushions, silky sheets wrapped around you— forming your own little silent cocoon.

the sound of cars passing, the gentle hum of your fridge, a tranquil sanctuary that took your once unsteady thoughts into a deep rest. yet it was so violently interrupted.

loud banging— the deafening kind of loud that only came with someone who gravely needed you. your warm body rolling under the soft fabric that embraced you. now, only the warmth lingered, feeling the chilliness hit you, feet planted on the cold wooden floors.

a long swoosh, frigid outdoor air hitting you heated pink cheeks, fingers tightening around the long sleeves of your pajamas.

your nose picked up on the familiar scent, smoky notes of his cologne— the scent you could never really put a finger on the right way to explain it— musky yet refreshing, smoky with hints of clean cotton. than it hit— the gagging scent of cigarettes, not just a faint note that drifted in an intoxicating wave. it was fully slapping you in the face.

his eyes glare down at you— his dark hair, sharp eyes, body towering over you— in a way that made you feel too small in your own skin. his heavy breath beat down on you, cold air that followed his uninvited self into your apartment. “nico?” slamming the door behind him. “you show up now?” your head was heated, blood rushing through your hot veins. your name on his lips, yet not a peep. he tug at your arm, pulling you into your once peaceful room.

pushing your back into the bed, hands spamming your thighs— spreading them apart. your face froze, knowing all too well what was happening.

your were exactly fond of this reunion. your body squirmed under him, trying to break free of his grasp— but to no avail. “i'm sorry—” he rapsed, deep, his fingers hooked around your shorts. pulling them in a sharp motion. revealing your bare hips to him.

a smirk tugged at the corner of his dried lips, burying his body between your legs, his large hoodie covered in rain droplets now pressed deeply against your calves.

his jewelry rattling in your ears, deep huffs. nicholas’s cold finger tips pressed to your clit, circling around it, gliding along your wet folds. loving the way you tremble under his touch, watching as you crumble under him— your once reluctant words now breaking.

his fingers that circled your clit slip into your dripping heat, 3 fingers mercilessly shoved into you, rewarded by a long cry. his cold silver rings send mixed shivers down your spine, a heated pool fills your back, the sensitive nerves numbing along your thighs.

his pace was steady, gentle pumps that stretched every tight inch of you, a deep roll into you, his long fingers curling against your walls, pressing into your sensitive spot. he loved watching as your body squirm beneath him, hips jerking, eyes rolling back into your head. moans that shake out of your parted lips, the pleasure that builds with every slick touch.

he was restless, a long painful pull-out, his sticky fingers now brought to his mouth— tasting your unreleased wetness, his dark eyes glaring back at you.

your chest rising and falling in rapid motions, legs still shaking, your orgams cruelly ripped away— the lack of made your brain fog. eyes slowly focusing back onto his, the way he hungrily watched you— tongue lapping at the slick fingers.

he had been dead silent, never a hush, not a peep, not a whispered word that reassured you.

he flip you around in a quick spin, the kind that makes your vision circle for seconds. your head buried in the mattress for an instant, the zip of his baggy jeans, again no warning— his thick tip pressing into you, a deep grunt, and his cock pounding into you. no prep— no time to adjust— just a dry pump.

a cry ripped from your throat, barely muffled into the lush mattress. followed by his forearm to your sweaty neck, wrapping his scarred arm around your neck.

his hips pounding every vacant inch full, his veins grinding against your slick walls, tip pushing into your guts— twisting them in pleasure.

your ears perked at the sound, muffled by the wet skin slapping was gentle sniffles, trembling whimpers that sounded full of sorrow rather than arousal. “nico?” gasping against his arm, nails clawing against his forearm— tone wary. he didn’t answer, your neck restricted by his hold— just listening to his soft sobs and whimpers as he fills your tight hole with every inch he could.

merciless, relentless ruts that crazed your thoughts. tight squeezes against your neck, hitting the last bits of air out of your lungs, his arm pulling your back into a painful arch— a deep breath trembles out of his lips, pushing his chest to your back.

letting his whimper flood your brain. “i’m sorry . . . i’m so sorry for leaving you for so long.” he whine into you, with every word he hit right into your spot, with a perfect amount of pressure around your neck that made your mind erase everything you once resented him for. it felt like the stupidest way to apologize— yet you had to admit that maybe the dick was that good.

his voice low, groans and growls that hiccuped after each whine and whimper. his tip slamming into your cervix, veins that throbbed against your walls.

you couldn’t form a word, messy cries that sounded like a foreign language. your teeth clamp down over his scarred arm, saliva dripping from your swollen lips.

eyes stinging, water welling in the corners, glassy tears that soon covered your face. your stomach tightened, legs losing their strength, knees buckling— only his choke hold carried your weight.

it all blurred, his rhythm messily collapsing in one last clumsy thrust. his cock twitches— filling you with warm ropes of cum. his body limp against yours, letting your walls flutter around him. mixing your arousal— vision blurring your room together into on abstract painting. his heavy breath hitting your sweaty neck, the heat of him burning against your skin.

he bring his free hand to your head, combing his fingers through your soft hair. placing soft peppered kisses on your wet cheeks. dissolving into your pleasure.

🗒️ hiiiii~!! please interact with this post and/or my page if you finished it, it helps motivate me to write more!! if you have any requests or ideas you’d like to share my inbox is open atm!! do not copy or translate any of my works.

smidare

❤︎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀some things are meant to be destroyed. your tights, for example. his favorite thigh-highs on your legs? never.

•⠀‎‎ masterlist ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎𓋰‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎💬 ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎2,082 wc ─── ᛫ フウマ x fem!r . tights kink, thigh highs kink, panty kink, clothing destruction, torn clothes, perv!fuma, soft dom!fuma, established relationship, unprotected p in v sex, missionary to mating press, creampie, slight size kink, a bit of aftercare ~ don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.

you’d learned the hard way that certain pieces of clothing had a death sentence the second fuma saw them on you.

you’d gotten home an hour before fuma, and still hadn’t properly changed out of your work clothes, a button up blouse, skirt and tights still on your body as laid on the best—scrolling in your phone when you heard his key in the lock.

“baby, i’m home,” he called, voice low and warm from the hallway.

you stepped out of the bedroom, shirt slightly unbuttoned, skirt swaying as the dark mesh clung to your plush thighs. fuma stopped mid-step, jacket half-off, eyes dropping instantly.

a slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“those again?”

you pouted. “its required for work—plus i thought you liked them.”

“i do.” he dropped the jacket on the couch and crossed the room in three strides, crowding you back against the wall. one big hand slid up your thigh, fingers catching in the fishnets. “too much.”

riiiiiipppp

“fuma—! i-i just bought those!”

the words came out high and breathless, half-protest, half-moan as the fishnets split wide open under his hands. the sound of tearing mesh was loud in the quiet apartment, followed by the cool rush of air against your inner thigh.

fuma didn’t even have the decency to look sorry.

a low, warm chuckle rumbled out of his chest—the same one that always made your stomach flip even when he was being a menace. he pressed closer, crowding you harder against the wall, one thick thigh sliding between yours to keep you open.

“sorry, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice dripping with false sympathy. his fingers pushed straight through the fresh rip, stroking over the damp lace of your panties like he had every right. “i’ll be careful next time—won’t happen again, princess.”

you frowned. “you said that last time. and the time before that.”

fuma’s chuckle was low and warm against your ear, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. he didn’t even try to deny it. instead he nipped lightly at your jaw, fingers still stroking slow, teasing circles over your clit through the torn fishnets and damp lace.

“i know,” he murmured, voice thick with false regret. “mmm—i’m the worst, aren’t i? keep promising i’ll be good and then the second i see you in something that makes your legs look like that…” his fingers pushed the ripped mesh aside and slipped under the lace, two thick digits sliding through your wetness.

“i lose every bit of self-control i have. but it seems you don’t mind, yeah? look at how wet you are.” the rough tips of his finger pressed against your already throbbing bud.

you gasped, hips jerking. “mmph—! don’t tease—” you whined.

fuma wasn’t one to deny you.

not when you were already this wet, not when your hips were rolling helplessly against his hand, and definitely not when you made that soft, desperate sound in the back of your throat.

“so impatient,” he murmured, voice low and fond even as his fingers pushed deeper. two thick digits curled inside you, finding that spot that made your knees buckle. his thumb pressed firm circles over your clit, the torn tights still framing everything, the ragged edges brushing your skin every time he thrust his fingers. a constant reminder of how easily he destroyed the things you bought.

“you complain about me ruining your clothes, but look at you—dripping all over my hand because i tore them open.”

fuma kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “but you’re right, baby. i said it last time. and the time before that.” he pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, thumb brushing your clit on every stroke.

“but i just couldn’t help myself, love how tights look, hugging your pretty thigh…” he used his free hand to grope at your flesh before hooking his fingers into the ruined fabric again and giving another sharp tug, widening the hole until the lace of your panties was completely exposed.

“these ones were asking for it. look at you. walking around the apartment like this, knowing exactly what it does to me.”

you whined, half-protest, half-pleasure, hands fisting tighter in his shirt. “fuu—”

“shhh.” he kissed you quiet, tongue sliding deep while his fingers worked you closer to the edge. just when your thighs started to shake he eased off, pulling his hand free with a wet sound that made your face burn. “not yet.”

before you could complain he was already lifting you again, one arm under your thighs, carrying you into the bedroom like it was the most natural thing in the world. the air brushing against your skin with every step.

the lamp was still on. on the bed sat the thigh-high socks and the delicate lace lingere you’d set out earlier—items you’d bought specifically because you knew they were safe.

fuma laid you down on the edge of the mattress and stepped back for a moment, eyes dragging over the ruined tights still clinging to your legs in ragged strips. something soft and possessive moved across his face.

“cute, you were prepared hmm..?” he knelt in front of you.

the next few minutes were slow. painfully, deliberately slow.

fuma helped you out of the rest of the ruined tights, then took the first thigh-high in both hands. he rolled it up your leg himself—smooth, reverent, like he was wrapping something precious. his palms smoothed the soft fabric over your calf, your knee, higher. when he reached the top he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above the band, then another, lips warm and lingering.

“lift your hips, princess.”

you did. he slid off your lace panties with the same careful attention, slowly. carefully. not a single thread caught. he folded them neatly and set them on the pillow beside your head.

“keeping these for later,” he told you, voice low and rough with want. “when i want to stuff them in your mouth while i fuck you. or keep them in my pocket when i’m at work and missing how you smell.”

your face burned hot. god, your boyfriend was such a pervert.

fuma just smiled—that soft, devastating smile that always undid you—and reached for the second thigh-high.

he rolled it on with the same worshipful focus, kissing every inch of skin as it disappeared under the fabric. by the time both socks were in place you were trembling, thighs pressed together, the lace gone but the memory of his mouth still burning.

fuma stood. his eyes dragged over you—bare from the waist up, nothing but the perfect thigh-highs framing your legs—and he let out a quiet, shaky breath.

“fuck. there’s my girl.”

he stripped quickly until he was naked and hard, cock flushed dark and already leaking. he climbed onto the bed, caging you in, and kissed you deep while his hand slid between your legs. two fingers pushed inside you without resistance, curling just right.

“so ready for me,” he murmured against your lips. “did you like when i tore your new tights open like an animal in the hallway? dirty girl.”

he lined himself up and sank in with one long, smooth thrust.

the stretch was perfect. yet you still let out a pathetic whimper as he stretched your cunt. the veins of his thick cock bumping against your walls beautifully.

fuma groaned low in his throat as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. for a moment he just stayed there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“love you,” he whispered, rough and honest. “love you so much. even when you make me ruin your clothes.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist, the thigh-highs rubbing against his sides. he made a punched-out sound and started moving—long, deep strokes that made the headboard tap softly against the wall. his hands stayed on your thighs the entire time, fingers flexing over the fabric like he couldn’t stop touching it.

his thrusts punched the air out of your lungs with every deep, deliberate snap of his hips. fuma fucked like he meant it—like he’d been thinking about this exact moment since the second he saw the tights hugging your thighs.

the thick drag of his cock stretched you open again and again, veins rubbing against your walls in the most devastating way. every time he bottomed out he ground his hips in a slow circle, pressing right against that spot that made your toes curl inside the thigh-highs.

“fuck—look at you,” he groaned, voice wrecked. one hand stayed braced beside your head while the other slid down to grip the top of one sock, fingers flexing over the soft fabric like he couldn’t stop touching it. “wearing these for me… keeping them perfect while i ruin everything else.” he gave another sharp thrust that made you cry out. “my good girl. my perfect girl.”

you could only whimper, legs tightening around his waist. the thigh-highs rubbed against his sides with every movement, the contrast between the preserved socks and the torn tights left forgotten on the floor making everything feel more intense. fuma leaned down and kissed you messy and deep, swallowing your sounds while his hips never stopped moving.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and full of that dangerous mix of love and hunger.

“gonna make you come again,” he promised, voice low and rough. “want to feel you squeeze around me while you’re wearing these.”

he shifted, pushing your thighs higher—folding you into a deep mating press that made him sink even deeper. the new angle was almost too much. every thrust punched right against your cervix, the head of his cock dragging perfectly over that sensitive spot inside you. one of his hands stayed locked around the top of your thigh-high, the other braced by your head as he fucked you with pure, focused passion.

“fuma—fuma, i’m—!”

“i know, baby. i’ve got you.” his voice was strained now, hips stuttering as your walls started to flutter around him. “come for me. come while i’m buried inside you wearing my favorite socks. that’s it—fuck, that’s it—”

you came hard, back arching off the bed, a broken sob tearing from your throat as your cunt clenched and pulsed around him. the orgasm rolled through you in long, shaking waves. fuma groaned like he was in pain, hips jerking as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release.

“gonna fill you up,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “gonna come so deep—fuck—love you, love you so much—”

he came with a low, guttural sound, hips pressed flush as he pulsed hot and thick inside you. his cock twitched with every spurt, filling you until it leaked out around where you were joined. he stayed there for a long moment, breathing hard, one hand still gripping your thigh-high like an anchor while the other stroked soothingly over your side.

eventually he eased out carefully, watching with dark eyes as his cum slowly dripped from your spent hole. he reached a cloth you’d left on the nightstand earlier and cleaned you up with gentle touches, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs—right above the bands of the thigh-highs.

when he was done he crawled back into bed and pulled you against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around your waist. his other hand traced lazy patterns over the sock still on your leg.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, voice soft again—the fuma who healed just by existing.

you nodded, still floaty, and tucked your face into his neck. “more than okay.”

he smiled against your hair. after a minute he reached over to the pillow, picked up the folded lace panties, and brought them to his face for a second, inhaling deeply before tucking them safely into the drawer of his nightstand.

“later,” he promised, voice already going drowsy and content. his hand settled possessively on your thigh where the sock met bare skin. “when i want to hear you beg with your own panties stuffed in that pretty mouth.”

you laughed softly, the sound muffled against his collarbone.

“you’re such a pervert.”

“yeah.” he kissed the top of your head, the smile audible in his voice. “but you knew that, hm? you usually change as soon as you get home. seems like you like me being a pervert, so i think we’re doing alright.”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i got carried away w this one... oopsies ! i combined two asks i got (perv fuma and fuma ripping panties) so i hope those anons like this ~~ ! as well as everyone else ofc hehe i rly love writing perv nasty lowkey desperate obsessed w u men quick everyone get on that pill so i can write more stuff like this

𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 open . . . . . : @ikigaijo @blueuijoo @0wisewisdoom @d3adg1rlie @yudaism @sh1n3-4h4na @starl0stt @yeonyeonbun @vickiluvsjo @ampiesworld @rubyidk @maytaurus20 @whoisgwyn @simplyscrewed @meowieshibal @zzniya @1014b @deerhuntings @tokunodoll @crushonfuma @enha-crumbs @zucchini-thepowerfull @pendragonfaye @guliexe @natthefreak @sailorinthesie @rikusqirl @mitsuyas-version @freetobeey @xukeiko @fumaid @livelaughloveseventeen @berrysoft7 @gummiiiee

𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻 𝗳𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲, 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.

chrryspell

nakakita yuma ✶ sleepy & slow unprotected sex soft talking creampie yuma is really sweet pronebone

› notes . just something sweet that i've been thinking with my yuu >_<

the room was bathed in the dim, golden glow of yuma’s bedside lamp in the middle of the night. you were barely awake, drifting in that hazy space between dreams and reality, lying flat on your stomach with your face pressed into the warm fabric of the pillow. the weight of the duvet was comforting, but the heat radiating from your boyfriend behind you was even better.

yuma moved with a sluggish, affectionate grace, his body pressing firmly against your back. he didn’t rush, taking things slow, synchronized with the rhythmic, heavy breathing of two people who didn’t want to leave the bed.

he leaned down, his chest brushing against your shoulder blades, and pressing a lingering, soft kiss to the nape of your neck.

“still sleepy, yeah?” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against your skin.

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, making you moan softly into the pillow. the menace—bratty, cocky and even mean—yuma abandoned now, giving some space to the affectionate and sweetheart of a boyfriend you had.

maho6any

church outfit

i momentarily dragged myself out of my rut and this was the result. yes the title is based off poppy's song. yes there's blasphemy. ofc its not proofread, what are you nuts?

priest!yunho x f!reader

content: early 1800's setting, corruption, choking, begging, idolization, use of "father"

wc: 2k

thinking about yunho...

“f-forgive me!”

a deep, heavy nudge in your belly.

“again. like you’re counting.”

chrryspell

wang yixiang ✶ unprotected sex creampie a hint of breeding kink cervix fucking headlock reader is in a subspace dumbification begging dirty talk minor daddy kink pronebone

› notes . no but this one... had me thinking and drooling and screaming like bro i need this ok not even funny anymore.

nicholas gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you flat against the mattress in a deep pronebone.

your chest was smushed against the sheets, your ass hiked high in the air, offering him a perfect, unobstructed view of your soaking wet heat. he didn’t wast a second, driving his thick cock forward in one heavy, relentless thrust that buried him to the hilt.

the impact knocked the breath out of you, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he bottomed out, hitting your cervix with a blunt, satisfying thud. he didn’t pull back far, keeping the friction constant, sliding out just enough to tease the entrance before slamming back in, over and over.

“that’s it, baby,” nicholas whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble right against your ear. “just take it all. you’re such a good little slut for me, aren’t you? just a mindless fucking hole.”

the intensity of the penetration was overwhelming. every deep, rhythmic plunge sent sparks through your brain, scrubbing away every coherent thought. you felt your mind slipping, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his cock stretching you open and the heat of his body pressing against your back.

cerezitamour

idk if u have done this already but could you do &teamies reacting to the reader calling them a good boy ? ^^

the phrase good boy acts as a psychological trigger for yudai, fuma and nicholas, though each man reacts to the praise through a different lens of desire and submission. while the words are the same, the internal collapse they trigger varies from desperate need to quiet surrender.

yudai is the type to fight the effect until he can't anymore. he likely carries himself with a certain level of pride or stoicism, making the moment he is called a good boy a total breaking point. for yudai, the phrase is a tool of domestication.

when he hears it—especially after he has struggled to complete a difficult or degrading task—his composure shatters. he doesn't just accept the praise; he craves it with a hunger that borders on pathetic.

the words strip away his defenses, leaving him panting and eager, his body instinctively leaning into the touch of whoever is praising him. for yudai, being your good boy means he has finally earned the approval he secretly starves for, turning his strength into a tool for your pleasure.

fuma, by contrast, sinks into the role with a fluid, almost instinctive grace. he doesn't fight the submission; he leans into it, finding a profound sense of peace in the relinquishing of control.

when fuma is called a good boy, his eyes glaze over, and his breathing slows, falling into a trance-like state of obedience. it is a reward that validates his utility. he finds erotic satisfation in the power imbalance, the words acting as a leash that pulls him tighter toward his pretty little master.

for fuma, the phrase is a signal that he is performing exactly as expected, and that validation fuels a desperate need to do even more, pushing himself to the limits of endurance just to hear those two words beautifully whispered in his ear again.

nicholas experiences the phrase as a sharp, electric jolt of arousal. where yudai is desperate and fuma is serene, nicholas is reactive.

being called a good boy triggers an immediate, visceral response in his body—a tightening in his chest and a sudden, heavy ache between his legs. he is the most likely to react with a soft moan or a shudder, his body betraying how much the praise affects him.

for nicholas, the phrase is a mark of ownership. it tells him exactly where he stands in the hierarchy, and that clarity is what turns him on. he thrives on the feeling of being "handled", and the verbal confirmation that he is behaving correctly sends him into a state of high-voltage readiness, making him a pliable, eager toy for you.

while yudai, fuma and nicholas react to the phrase with a sense of surrender of ownership, euijoo, yuma and jo process the good boy trigger through a different set of emotional and physical vulnerabilities. for them, the phrase isn't just a reward: it's a catalyst that unlocks specific, hidden facets of their sexuality.

euijoo reacts to being called a good boy with a sudden, overwhelming wave of tenderness that quickly curdles into raw, needy lust. he is the most likely to be emotionally affected by the praise, his eyes welling up or his lip trembling when the words are spoken.

for euijoo, it feels like a warm embrace and a strict command all at once. it makes him feel seen and cherished, which in turn makes him want to be completely used. when he hears those words, his body goes soft and pliable, his inhibitions vanishing instantly.

he becomes an open book, desperate to please you in any way possible, whether that means taking your fingers down his throat or arching his back to offer his ass, all while looking up with wide, pleading eyes, begging for more of that validation.

yuma views the phrase as a challenge and a victory. he has a playful, perhaps slightly bratty streak, and for him, being called a good boy is the ultimate prize after a period of tension or defiance. he doesn't just sink into the praise; he preens under it.

when he finally earns the title, a smug, heat-filled shiver runs down his spine, and his cock throbs violently against his underwear. for yuma, the words are the "click" of a lock falling into place. it transforms his playful energy into a focused, intense desire to serve.

once he's branded a good boy, he becomes obsessively attentive, his movements becoming precise and eager as he tries to maintain that status, pushing himself to be the most efficient and satisfying toy in the room.

jo experiences the phrase as a total mental shutdown. he is often the one who tries to maintain a facade of competence or coolness, but good boy is the kill-switch for his brain. the moment the words hit his ears, his thoughts scramble, leaving him in a state of pure, mindless arousal.

he doesn't think, only feels. the phrase strips him of his autonomy, reducing him to a creature of pure instinct. jo's reaction is the most physical—his breath hitches, his toes curl, and he often finds himself instinctively kneeling or bowing his head without even realising he's doing it.

for jo, being your good boy means he no longer has to carry the weight of decision-making; he's simply an object for your pleasure, and that liberation sends him into a state of shivering, high intensity heat.

for harua, taki and maki, the phrase "good boy" acts as a psychological key, unlocking reactions that range from a fragile, desperate need for approval to a primal, animalistic surrender. while the others might find peace or arousal, these three experience the phrase as a profound shift in their internal power dynamics.

harua reacts to good boy with a fragile, almost heartbreaking intensity. he carries a deep-seated need for external validation, and when those words are spoken, it feels like a lifeline being thrown to him.

his reaction is characterized by a sudden, breathless stillness; he freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs, as if he's afraid that moving might break the spell. for harua, the phrase is an emotional anchor that grounds him in a state of absolute devotion. it transforms his desire into something sacred and desperate.

he doesn't just want to be fucked; he wants to be owned and kept. when he's called a good boy, he becoms an eager, shivering mess, clinging to you and whimpering, his body trembling with the need to prove his worth through total, selfless submission.

taki experiences the phrase as a spark to powder keg. he possesses a high-energy, almost frantic nature, and good boy is the only thing that can truly center him—by completely overwhelming him.

the moment he hears it, his energy shifts from chaotic to focused, laser-beaming all his attention onto you. it triggers a visceral, physical hunger; his pupils dilate, and he begins to pant, his cock leaking as he instinctively seeks you.

for taki, the phrase is a reward that fuels his stamina. it pushes him into a state of hyper-responsiveness where he will do anything—no matter how degrading or exhausting—just to hear the words again. he becomes a whirlwind of activity, sucking, licking, and rubbing himself against his beautiful princess with a manic, desperate eagerness.

maki processes good boy as a total collapse of his ego. he often presents himself with a certain level of confidence or detachment, but the phrase acts like a physical blow that knocks him off his feet. it is the ultimate "off-switch" for his pride.

when he's called a good boy, he doesn't just submit, he dissolves. his muscles go slack, his gaze becomes glazed and vacant, and he sinks into a state of heavy, drugged-like arousal. for maki, the phrase is a permission slip to stop pretending and simply be a toy.

he becomes incredibly passive and receptive, his body opening up instinctively. whether it's his mouth working relentlessly as you ride his face or his ass relaxing to take a thick plug, maki becomes a mindless vessel of pleasure, his only goal being to remain in that state of praised, mindless oblivion.

@spacejip @lyvhie @strawikus @pgwkzworld @nichozzystuffs @andrealvsmakii @kurimurii @guliexe @sh1n3-4h4na @lyrarinn @fraktisify @haerinvd @taelvvrzz @riri4andy @saturnsfae @maytaurus20

medicli

ZAYNE is overworked and underfucked — mdni

cw. #dryhumping

zayne had a rough day at work—so many patients, too much paperwork, an excruciating surgery in between—he was absolutely beat. so when he trudges through the door with his tie loosened and very prominent bags under his eyes on his otherwise perfect skin, you tell him to go sit on the couch and relax while you finish whipping up dinner.

he wants nothing more than to shower the day off of him and crawl into bed with his wife, but you insist he needs to eat—the same way he would if it were you in his shoes. and because he can’t resist you—especially when you’re wearing a cute little apron—he begrudgingly obliges, letting his bag hit the ground and slumping on the couch, a single button on his crisp shirt unbuttoned showing off a beautiful sliver of skin.

he throws his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking of anything to take his mind off his grueling work, and he’s successful when his mind finally lands back on you. his sweet, sweet wife.

he tries to keep his thoughts innocent… tries not to think about you in your little apron looking like you came straight out of a male fantasy. tries not to think about all the things he could do to you. tries so hard not to think about how you could take care of his cock—the very same that’s growing harder and harder in his confined slacks.

mwphisto

Imagine Sylus being so pussy drunk that he doesn't even process that he's overstimulating the life out of you?

You've already snapped your thighs shut around his head, one hand pushing desperately against his hair as if it will somehow detach him from your poor, throbbing clit.

Your entire body is writhing to get away from him.

But his hands are iron-clad in their grip on your skin. You're not going anywhere, even as you manage to fight through the overwhelming pleasure and twist your upper half. Grabbing at the pillows, the sheets, anything for leverage to pull yourself up the bed.

But, Sylus holds firm, mouth latched on to your slippery cunt. You're nearly begging, trying anything to somehow dislodge your beast of a lover from your cunt.

Imagine somehow being able to get yourself from your back to your hands and knees.

Trying so hard to crawl away on trembling legs but you just can't seem to make them move fast enough.

Not that Sylus is letting you get very far. Large arms encompass your lower half in a bear hug, and his face is smushing itself embarrassingly deep into your sloppy sex.

Succumbing to the fact that you're not escaping him, nor are you escaping his eager mouth. Melting into the pillows, slack jawed and watery eyed as you fully give in to the pleasure he's giving you.

Sylus isn't quite about it either, no, he's a loud eater.

He's moaning and groaning into your cunt, slobbering down your thighs, nuzzling his entire head into the warmth between them.

What a fucking mess...

yungistiny

it’s just mingi

[ J. Yunho + S. Mingi ]

╚═════════

summary: in which your boyfriend’s best friend wakes up and watches

warning: possessive dom yunho, sub mingi, sub reader, unprotected sex, oral, squirting, masturbation, overstimulation, choking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, creampie

genre: smut

pairing: idol yunho x afab reader x idol mingi

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The hotel room was dim, lit only by the faint amber glow of the city lights bleeding in through the curtains. The hum of traffic far below was a low lull, and Mingi had been out cold for nearly an hour, one arm flung over his head, mouth parted slightly in deep sleep.

You were lying on your side, facing Yunho, your knees barely brushing beneath the sheets. You felt his fingers first, light at your waist, then his breath, warm, sweet with sleep as he leaned in close. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and low, heavy with need, “you’re killing me.”

You whispered back, amused, “He’s right there.” Yunho glanced over your shoulder. Mingi was a statue. If statues snored. “It’s just Mingi,” he said, fingers sliding beneath your shirt, his touch feather light. “Even if he did wake up… he’d probably just turn over and go back to sleep.”

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