#lace me with grace

[mswild1]

🌸 Lace Me with Grace: Change is the Game 🌸

(Daily Message) Once I thought I’d never have what I desired, But it came upon me like a fire 🔥. Now I blaze with passion, burning bright 💥, Every day, I fight to change the world’s light 🌍. The game has shown me the truth in disguise, Some things stay the same, while others arise 🔄. We stand in both heat 🔥 and cold ❄️, Yet we seek the unknown, so bold 💫. To be known is to fear, to break…

[casino-lights]

Lace Harding: hear the song of the stone, children of titans

the Kal-Sharok dwarves: oh wow thank you so much. that was incredible. we really feel connected to the eternal hymn

the game:

my very dwarven rook, who was directly next to them the entire time:

[multi-fandom-imagine]

ミ★: Lucifer Morningstar giving you oral.

A/n: I said it was gonna happen so here it is.

It wasn't Lucifer's fault that he fell for you, you were so sweet, so kind to Charlie that it just happened. He was over the moon knowing that you felt the same way, I mean it's not like he knew you were Adam's wife...ex as you would often correct him given that the angel was the one that sent you to hell.

Though it was how you told him that you never had a real orgasm, that Adam refused to even go down on you. He knew that he had to fix that, he was going to make you scream his name.

Hovering over you, Lucifer ran his tongue over his lips. You looked so good, so beautiful, from your soft curves, the way your skin glowed in the dim light, it was a vision that never failed to captivate him.

As Lucifer shifted his body on the bed, he let his fingers trace a path from your collarbone down to the gentle swell of your breasts. His touch was feather light, teasing as a small whimper escaped your lips.

A smirked formed on his lips, his forked tongue poking through his lips as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. His eyes locking with yours, his voice low and filled with hunger.

"Spread your legs for me, my pretty little angel." His voice was laced with anticipation. "I want to taste you, make you scream my name."

He then delved between your thighs, his tongue eager to please you, his lips and tongue working in tandem to bring you to the heights of pleasure. He devoured you with a hunger, your gasp's and moans only fueling him.

Lucifer's forked tongue gliding across your clit, gently sucking the bud as your nails dug into the sheets.

He was smiling now, couldn't help but feel happy knowing that he was the one giving you pleasure. As he continued to tease and pleasure you, his fingers found his way to your entrance, slipping inside to further intensify the sensations. Lucifer continued to explore you with his mouth, his tongue tracing patterns over your sensitive flesh, his fingers thrusting rhythmically within you.

He relished in the sounds of your pleasure, the way your moans filled the room, spurring him on to push you further towards ecstasy.

He reveled in the taste of you, the way you quivered beneath your touch, your body trembling with each wave of pleasure that washed over you. He was going to commit these sound's to his memory.

And when you finally reached your climax, your body convulsing with pleasure, he held you tightly, his lips pressed against your trembling thighs as he rode out your release. Only when he was certain you had been thoroughly satisfied, Lucifer pulled away, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips.

He could still taste you and god did he already miss taste.

"My dearest" Lucifer's voice filled with adoration. "You are intoxicating as ever, I will make sure you will be treated how you deserved to be treated."

Leaning in, Lucifer nuzzled his nose into your neck. "Rest assured, I will alway's find you attractive. You are mine and I will make sure you are always satisfied."

Feeling warmth creep up your cheeks, you did your best avoid eye contact with Adam as Lucifer clutched you tightly to his chest.

"YOU FUCKED MY WIFE!"

A slow smirk formed on Lucifers lip's as he clutched you tightly to his chest. One hand moving to his lips as he made a v with his fingers. "We did a lot more than fuck."

[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Nanami who drops to his knees the moment he arrives home, the feeling in his chest; indescribable because he knew his wife was upset… so very upset…

He loathed the guilt that clung to him as he had to work late and miss the date they planned just a few days prior. The front door creaked open as you heard him tiredly shuffle in, tossing his keys onto the counter with a bit more force than he intended. He rolled his neck side to side, in a futile attempt to release some of the stiffness in his muscles. He kicks off his shoes, not bothering to bend down and untie the laces, before commencing his walk of shame to your shared bedroom. 

Each step felt heavier, causing his heart to only beat faster every second. A thin sheet of sweat began to form on his brow as he approached closer and closer to the room. His fingers, diligently thread into his tie to pull it undone, tossing it mindlessly on the floor. A few buttons of his shirt came undone but it did nothing to relieve the growing tightness in his chest. He hesitantly reached for the door knob, and with a deep breath he opened the door as slowly as possible. 

And there you were. The soft light of the room revealed your silhouette as you sat up on the bed, your arms crossed over your chest tightly, as your eyes bored into him like daggers. No, you weren’t actually upset and he had obviously a good reason for his absence, but it was the first time he missed something like this– and the sting of it lingered in the room. 

He tentatively stepped closer to you, his expression full of guilt and desperation, like a puppy who had been scolded. The weight of an unspoken apology creeping on him. 

“Darling… I’m sorry," he whispered, barely audible. But he knew it wasn’t enough. No reaction from you, you wouldn't even turn to look at him, the silence between the both of you was suffocating. His fingers graze over your hand as his knees buckled, threatening to give away under the weight of guilt.

He falls to his knees before you, taking your hand in his. “Please, look at me, honey…” pleading eyes looking up at you, raw emotion in his voice as he presses a soft kiss on your delicate hand. His fingers intertwined with yours as you finally grace him with your gaze, the eyes he so dearly loved finally on him. His grip was soft yet pleading, almost as if he was afraid you’d let go. 

“I feel terrible…” kiss “It will never…” kiss “happen again…” kiss

Each one of his kisses had you in trance and you truly believed him, Nanami wasn’t the man to tell you empty words. You look down at the mess of the man on his knees for you, your hand comes to his cheek, caressing it. 

“I forgive you…” You utter, as you look at him, into his eyes of honey. 

Those three words…

That was all he needed to hear. His breath was caught in his throat and for a moment he just stared at you before taking a deep breath. Relief washes over him and all the guilt slowly disappears. His head drops into your thighs and rests there a moment, still holding your hands. 

“I will spend an eternity making it up to you…” he finally speaks up. His statement makes you smile. You thought he was joking but he wasn’t. 

“Starting now,” he declares, a spark of confidence returning to his body. 

Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head down, his lips brushing softly against your knees. His kisses are tender and calculated. He knew exactly what he was doing. His lips trailed along your thighs, the warmth of his breath sending soft shivers up your skin. 

You sighed softly, your fingers threading through his hair, delicately pushing it back from his face. You wanted to see him, to really look at him, at the man you loved now between your legs. 

His kisses trailed higher and higher. Nanami was a smart man. He knew just what to do and how to ease the weight of the situation from your mind, to make you forget. 

“You’re so gorgeous” He mumbles in between kisses. A red tint creeping up on your face at those simple words. “But you know that already, don’t you?” he presses a kiss just below your navel. “I tell you everyday…” He whispers, right into the heat between your legs. Your back arches up off the mattress and he knew he just had to have you already.

“May I?” he asks, his pointer finger hovering right over where you needed him most. You gave him a quick nod and that was all he needed. He slowly slides your panties down your legs before begging to devour you, entirely. 

Nanami learned everything that made his pretty girl feel good, and he planned to do everything tonight. Every flick of his skilled tongue had you in a chokehold, the way he held your legs open with his strong arms all while still on his knees. He explored every inch of you, lapping up everything you gave him, his fingers joining in to only make you feel that much better. 

Orgasm after orgasm had your mind hazy but Nanami had to make sure you knew he was sorry. And he did make good on his promise. He never ever forgot again. 

[nethereasypeasy]

Some fluffy head canons I have about the Baldurs Babes

mainly at camp :)

Gale stops tav to lace their boots, sarcastically tutting as he does it.

Karlach holds her hands round someones bowl and cups to warm them if they cool down too much. (Mama K microwave™)

Jaheira and Halsin share nightcaps and chat about the tadpole team. Mainly laughing at their comparative lack of experience - always ends on a 'they're good eggs tho' vibe.

Astarion and Shadowheart rate people's hair to eachother as an injoke, tav hears them mumbling numbers behind them whenever they speak to someone.

Lae'zel asks Gale to explain and pronounce things when no one is around because the 'annoying wizard' won't make fun, he's too eager to teach.

Jaheira has the best bedtime stories but they get Karlach hyped up and she asks a lot of questions till Astarion begs her to be quiet. Wyll takes mental notes for his own storytelling.

Karlach will force a game of 'I Spy' any time there is silence on the road.

Wyll is very good at little random gifts, he just remembers anything someone mentions to him. He's also low-key emotional if you return that kindness, 'you remembered?! 😭'

Halsin stops, kneels and whispers as he points and shows tav interesting plants or animals he spots when walking. 'look there's the mother and her babies' type shit. (He is camp dad(dy) ok)

Wyll teaches Lae'zel fencing. She's too keen though and tries to pin him down. She is not as graceful... But she has fun... chk!

Gale keeps a tiny portrait of Tara on him, you can't tell me modern au Gale's phone wouldn't be full of cat pics.

Astarion watches over the camp at night, he acts like he 'might as well/ I'm the only one lurking in the dark around HERE darlings' but sometimes he secretly gets a little teary looking at his first real friends all together.

Shadowheart writes moody poetry. She would tell Gale but she doesn't care for his taste... Or his possible critiques. If he ever did find her journal though he would be VERY enthused.

Astarion and tav will play with people's wardrobes when looting. Tav loves a funny hat and Astarion will do impressions of who he thinks would wear such god's awful attire.

Gale and Wyll play chess together after dinner some nights. They both say progressively cheesy lines when they take pieces, which is its own game itself at this point.

Halsin would quietly sing or hum to owlbear baby and scratch at night. Little lullabies and he'd probably tuck them in too. OR he'd be big daddy bear and snuggle up, especially when owlbear is scared and misses his mum.

The gang have played 'never have I ever' ONE time and ONE time only. It was a messy night.

... Jaheira was 100% last man standing.

[deosilplanarglitches]

Reason #345734 why I don't tell my mom shit.

Her pain and suffering is the only kind she cares about, and she'll play stupid games with me like ghost me for 3+ weeks after a minor surgery, just to make sure I'm worried enough about her life to check, so she "has permission" to start in with the talking my ear off about her problems without boundaries or preamble. She won't know shit about my issues til after they're over (if she hears about them at all) bc she never asks a damn thing about my life, and literally only ever leaves room for herself and her feelings in any equation literally ever and then peaces tf out like. Bitch I'm permanently disabled and in a degenerative spiral that's gonna last my whole fkn life, and you're still bitching about yourself? Wanting me to cater to your emotions when you haven't even spared a CRUMB of consideration in return?

FUck all the way off.

Should have known that if she had died or sth bad happened, I'd have heard something right away. After 30+ yrs of her pulling the "yeah my kid tried to kill themself for the 7th time, but have you asked ME how hard it is to raise them doing the nothing I have been, bc I still don't know them as a person at all or even try to? Where's the compassion?!" shit... you'd think I would know better, but my compassion gets me fucked over YET AGAIN.

If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty. If she's being flighty, she's being petty.

Back to no contact.

Let the bitch suffocate if she can't self soothe.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Misunderstandings || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Sofia knew what she was doing when mentioning Rafe to you, and she also knew what she was doing when she told you that he never mentioned you, his girlfriend.

Warnings: swearing, fluff at the end, angst

Word count: 873

A/n: kinda really don’t like Sofia 😄

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Hey, what can I get you?” asks a smiling girl you don’t recognize. She approaches the three of you as you and your close friends settle into the bar stools at the country club, ready to enjoy lunch and catch up. It’s been two weeks since you returned from visiting family overseas, and this gathering feels long overdue.

“Just the usual, please, Sofia,” your friends Kaycee and Jada say with a smile to the brunette server. Her natural beauty was almost unfair. “Coming right up. And for you?” she asks, turning to you. “Oh, uh, the same as them, please,” you respond.

She nods with a soft smile before turning around to start on your drinks. “Is she new?” you inquire, gesturing subtly towards Sofia as your friends glance over at her.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. She started just when you left,” Kaycee responds, her attention shifting back to the menu. You nod slowly in acknowledgment, taking in the information before refocusing your attention on the conversation.

“Is Rafe joining us?” Kaycee inquires, her tone laced with curiosity as she turns her gaze towards you. Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sofia interjects with unexpected enthusiasm, her eyes lighting up. “Rafe’s coming?” Her bubbly expression catches you off guard, and you exchange surprised glances with your friends, wondering why she’s so ecstatic about your boyfriend’s arrival.

There’s a brief moment of silence as you all process Sofia’s reaction, the atmosphere around the table becoming slightly more charged with curiosity. You can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Sofia’s excitement than meets the eye, but before you can dwell on it further, Jada interjects.

“Rafe is—” Before she can finish her sentence, you quickly kick her lightly on the shin to shut her up. “Yeah, he is. You know Rafe?” you smoothly interject, trying to keep your relationship with Rafe a secret for now.

You watch Sofia closely, intrigued by her sudden enthusiasm. To your surprise, she responds with a wide smile, her dimples on full display.

“Yeah. Yeah— he’s pretty cute. Great company too when I’m closing up,” Sofia remarks casually, her tone tinged with a hint of admiration. You raise an eyebrow at her words, sensing a shift in the conversation.

“Really?” you inquire, trying to conceal your surprise. Sofia chuckles softly as she dries a few cups, her movements graceful and effortless. “Yeah, you’d think he has a girlfriend, right? With all that charm he has,” she muses, a small sigh escaping her lips.

You exchange a quick glance with Jada and Kaycee, both of them wearing wide-eyed expressions that mirror your own astonishment.

Ignoring the wide-eyed looks from Jada and Kaycee and the unsettling feeling creeping up from your stomach, you clear your throat, attempting to maintain composure. “I for sure thought that he had a girlfriend,” you say, feigning innocence as you try to mask the rising anger within you.

Sofia shakes her head, her demeanor casual as she continues drying the cups. “Nope. He never mentioned he had one,” she replies, her tone nonchalant.

You roll your tongue against your cheek as you lean back, a wave of frustration nearly bubbling over. Despite your efforts to keep calm, the revelation leaves you feeling betrayed and unsure of what to make of Rafe’s silence about his relationship status.

Your phone suddenly pings, breaking the tension, and you glance down at it, noticing a text from Rafe saying he’s on his way. “That’s really interesting. Thanks for letting me know, Sof,” you say with forced politeness, though your lips purse together and you cross your arms, staring down at your feet, trying to process the mix of emotions swirling inside you.

“Letting you know what?” Sofia innocently chuckles, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. Without answering her, you and your friends silently agree to move to another table to have your meals, needing some distance from the uncomfortable conversation.

“What the fuck,” Jada whispers angrily as you walk away from the bar, her frustration palpable. “How does she not know you’re Rafe’s girlfriend? Everyone on this damn island knows it,” Kaycee adds, her voice tinged with disbelief.

As you find a new table, the weight of Sofia’s obliviousness hangs heavy in the air, leaving you to wonder how Rafe could have kept such a significant detail about your relationship hidden from someone you thought was just a casual acquaintance.

You scoff, the frustration and anger boiling over as you aggressively put your purse on the table. “Obviously not her, because Rafe made her believe that he was fucking single. What a fucking dick,” you huff, the bitterness evident in your voice.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You thought you could trust Rafe, especially after being with him for years now and never bumping into an issue like this. You would have never thought he’d do something like this, keeping such a significant detail about your relationship hidden and potentially leading someone else on.m, especially with how protective he is of you outside.

Fifteen minutes later, you notice Jada and Kaycee awkwardly looking at something behind you, and you can sense that it’s Rafe approaching. You feel his arms wrap around your shoulders, and he leans down to kiss your cheek, but you keep your gaze fixed elsewhere, unimpressed by his display of affection.

The tension in the air is palpable as you struggle to maintain composure, feeling a mixture of resentment and disappointment toward Rafe for his recent actions.

“Hey,” Rafe says to you, but you remain quiet, refusing to engage with him. “Ladies,” he greets your friends with a forced smile as he takes off his sunglasses.

“Hi,” they both respond awkwardly, exchanging glances. The next few seconds are filled with tense silence as Rafe attempts to decipher your mood.

“Uh, we’re just gonna go to the bathroom,” Jada announces suddenly, her voice strained as she gets up, pulling Kaycee along with her. Rafe lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he watches them leave. The lingering tension between you and him hangs heavy in the air, leaving both of you at a loss for words.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Rafe asks, his voice laced with concern as he places his large hand on your thigh. But you quickly remove it, unable to bear his touch.

You can feel the hurt in his expression as he recoils slightly, his hand dropping to his side. The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Despite his attempt to reach out, you remain distant, the sense of betrayal and disappointment still raw within you.

“Do you know Sofia?” you finally speak up, breaking the tense silence. “Who? Oh— yeah. Sof. What about her?” Rafe responds, his confusion evident. You let out a scoff at the nickname, unable to hide your annoyance. “How come she doesn’t know you have a girlfriend?” you demand, your frustration bubbling over.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrow at your word, shrugging, “How would I fuckin’ know—““Oh, I don’t know, Rafe, maybe because you’re the one that made her believe that,” you interject sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his attempt to feign innocence. The weight of your words hangs in the air, the tension between you escalating with each passing moment.

“Don’t give me that fucking attitude,” Rafe snaps angrily, his frustration evident. “You’re so full of shit, Rafe. You purposely left out the fact that you had a girlfriend so you could get into her pants!” you retort, your voice rising ever so slightly with indignation. He hushes you, casting a quick glance around the room before grabbing your hand and pulling you away from the table.

Sofia’s wandering eyes don’t go unnoticed as she looks at the two of you with furrowed eyebrows, her curiosity evident as Rafe leads you outside.

“Let go of me,” you demand, pushing Rafe’s hands away from you as you stand your ground, creating distance between the two of you. The intensity of your emotions swirls within you, a mixture of anger, hurt, and betrayal driving your actions.

“Look, I dunno what the fuck she said to you, but it’s not what it seems.” Your lips part in shock at his words. “Then go ahead, Rafe! Tell me!” you demand, throwing your arms up in exasperation. One of his hands pinches the bridge of his nose while the other rests on his hip, a sign of his growing frustration.

“Okay, okay, what—what’d she tell you?” His tone begins to calm down slightly. “She said you kept her company and never mentioned having a girlfriend—” Rafe cuts in sharply, “—she never asked—” “Shut the fuck up while I’m talking!” you retort, your voice laced with irritation at his interruption.

Your grip tightens on your handbag, your knuckles turning white as Rafe throws his head back in frustration, his eyes closing briefly as if trying to collect his thoughts. “She was new on the island and had no one. I was only talking about the places that she could visit around the island- that’s it- I swear.”

“What?” you snap, your eyes locking with Rafe’s as he stares at you intensely. “My phone was literally right under her nose, Y/N. She would’ve seen my lock screen of you,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. His frustration is evident, but so is yours, each of you standing firm in your stance.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I thought I made it quite clear that I had a missus when I literally picked up your call in front of her on Saturday night.” Your eyes soften at his words. You remember the call vividly: the clinking of glasses and the murmur of conversations in the background when he mentioned he was at the country club.

You can still hear his voice, calm and steady, as he reassured you of his whereabouts. The memory tugs at your heart, causing a flicker of doubt about your initial assumptions. You begin to question whether you might have misunderstood the situation, your anger wavering as you process his explanation.

You let out a shaky breath, crossing your arms in an attempt to shield yourself from him. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the way Sofia made it out to be, you never mentioned me,” you quietly admit, your eyes fixed on your Hermès sandals. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken tension, until suddenly you feel his arms enveloping you in a hug.

His embrace is warm and reassuring, melting away some of the lingering doubt and frustration. It’s a silent acknowledgment of your feelings, a wordless apology for any misunderstanding. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to lean into his embrace.

“Babe, ‘s fine, should’ve known she was a jealous little thing,” Rafe murmurs, his lips brushing against the crown of your head as he sighs. With the side of your face pressed against Rafe’s firm chest, your senses are filled with nothing but him. His heartbeat reverberates against your cheek, a steady rhythm that grounds you in the present moment.

NEXT PART

[lizziesangel]

hi miss lizzie! i’m very much a sucker for a good “tell me who did this” “who did this to you?” trope. could you maybe write (somewhat)enemy!rafe x reader? maybe topper or some kook did something to her & she’s not sure how, but she finds herself going to rafe about it or maybe he finds her & takes care of whoever it was?? idk maybe just angsty & kinda fluffy ahh!! hope this makes sense 🫡🫡

hi my angel!! i love this omgg, i LOVEEEE that trope as well, oh myyy

the moon casted a pale glow over the winding road as you trudged home from the bonfire, the salty air clinging to your skin. the night had gone south faster than you could have imagined, and now, with a throbbing nose and mascara streaking down your cheeks, you just wanted to disappear into the shadows.

you wiped at your nose again, smearing blood across the back of your hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

headlights lit up the road behind you, growing brighter with each passing second. you groaned, stepping further onto the grass shoulder, hoping whoever it was would just keep driving.

but, no such luck.

the truck slowed, and a familiar voice called out, sharp and taunting.

“long night, l/n? or are you practicing for the next kook week 5k?”

rafe fucking cameron. of course.

you didn’t bother looking at him, just kept walking, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“seriously? what are you doing out here, l/n? trying to hitch a ride, or just making me feel bad for your poor life choices?”

“hello?” he called again, drawing the truck to a stop alongside you. “what, too good to grace me with one of your snappy comebacks?”

��come on,” he pressed. “at least give me some material for the next time you try to roast me. you’re making it too easy.”

when you didn’t respond, his cocky smirk faded, and something in his voice shifted.

he cut himself off abruptly as you turned your head, and his eyes locked on your bloody nose and tear-streaked face.

“wait—what the hell?” the door slammed, and within seconds, he was in front of you, blocking your path. his sharp eyes darted over your face, taking in the blood trickling from your nose and the tear-streaked remnants of mascara. his jaw tightened.

“who did this to you?” he demanded, his voice low and brimming with an anger that wasn’t directed at you.

you rolled your eyes, stepping around him. “go away, rafe.”

he grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough to stop you. “y/n. i’m not fucking joking. who did this?”

you yanked your arm free, glaring up at him. “why do you care? so you can laugh about it with topper and the rest of your kook buddies tomorrow? save it.”

his expression darkened further, the cocky edge gone entirely. “i swear to—tell me who did this before i lose my shit even more.”

you hesitated, torn between anger and confusion. this wasn’t the rafe you knew—the one who always had some snide comment or cutting remark. this rafe looked... furious. protective.

“ruthie,” you finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter. “topper’s girlfriend. she got mad because i didn’t let her trash-talk kie.”

“what the hell did she do?” he pressed, stepping closer, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I defended kie, and ruthie lost it. shoved me, got in my face. whatever. it’s done now, okay?” you snapped, tears threatening to spill again.

“why do you even care, rafe?”

he stared at you for a moment, his eyes scanning your face with a mix of anger and something softer—something you couldn’t quite place.

“because,” he said finally, his voice steady but laced with frustration, “no one gets to do this to you. no one.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over you.

“get in the truck,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

you hesitated, unsure if you should trust the sudden shift in him.

“y/n,” he said again, softer this time, his hand hovering near your arm as if he wasn’t sure whether you’d let him touch you. “let me take you home. and i’ll handle that girl.”

against your better judgment, you nodded, letting him guide you to the passenger seat. as he drove, the silence between you was heavy but oddly comforting.

for once, you didn’t feel the need to push him away. and for once, he didn’t feel the need to pretend he didn’t care.

[fear-is-truth]

𐙚⋆˙j’s note: found this in the drafts lol. warning: mature content 18+ cockwarming﹒nsfw

waking up to the glorious feeling of your boyfriend’s cock snuggled deep inside of you, filling you to the brim.

you’re impossibly tired, head resting against rafe’s shoulder, eyes closed in protest of the morning light streaming through the windows. clinging to him like a koala bear to a tree, arms draped around his neck and legs locked around his waist. his bare chest is warm against your body, skin still carrying the faint scent of sex, sweat and cologne. one hand is firmly gripping your thigh to keep you supported, while the other is busy rummaging through the top drawer of the dresser, muttering under his breath about something he can’t find.

“rafe,” you mumble sleepily, lips muffled against his skin as you cling tighter. he lets out a low, raspy laugh, his morning voice impossibly sexy.

“you awake, clingy girl? thought you were still knocked out.” too tired to respond properly, you tighten your hold on him, legs squeezing his waist. he shifts slightly, adjusting you on his hip without pausing his search.

“what are you looking for?”

“my wallet,” he replies, glancing down at you. “unless you hid it somewhere.”

“didn’t hide anything,” you mumble, pressing a lazy kiss to his collarbone. “jus stay here with me.”

“princess, i’m literally inside you while i multitask,” he pulls open another drawer. his grip on your thigh tightens slightly as he makes sure you’re secure. as he does this, the angle of his cock inside you shifts; prompting a weak whimper to escape your lips. rafe sucks in a deep breath.

“what more do you want?” he chides, his tone laced with mock exasperation. a sudden twitch of his cock makes you both groan in unison.

“for you to stop moving,”

“princess, you can’t just hang on me all day,”

“yes, i can,” you insist, your words slurred with drowsiness. “you’re comfy.” rafe lets out a low chuckle, pausing his search to glance at you.

“you’re impossible, you know that? i’ve got shit to do.”

“you can do them with me right here,” you insist, clenching around him. his free hand finally snags his wallet from the drawer before sliding the drawer shut with his hip.

“so this is it, huh? i’m just your personal mode of transportation now?” rafe shakes his head, but his hold on you stays firm as he starts moving around the room, grabbing his phone and a hoodie.

“uh-huh,” you murmur, nuzzling into his neck as if to make your point. “and i’m not getting off, so don’t even try.”

“yeah, yeah,” he drawls, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his grip on your thigh.

“but if you fall asleep on me, i’m pulling out.”

“you wouldn’t dare,” you reply, cracking one eye open to glare at him.

“try me,” he teases, though the slight curve gracing his lips as he leans down to kiss you tell you he’s full of it.

[mswild1]

💕💗 Lost & Regrouping Ready 💗💕

I fumbled. I fell. I lost my grip on who I thought I was, slipping through the cracks of my own foundation. The world spun faster than I could hold it, and I crumbled under the weight of my undoing. I cried— not just tears, but fragments of my soul, fractured and desperate, bleeding into the void of “what if.” I became humble, not by choice but by necessity, terrified of the lies I fed…

[sexbot300]

‧˚₊•୨୧ Ya know, just crushing on your friends older dad (toji pls corrupt me) quick messy drabble of his fine ass

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

It just started off as tiny thoughts… Broad ass shoulders, thick thighs, huge arms that can put you in a chokehold… You can go ON. You couldn’t even bring yourself to admit the way this man could absolutely degrade you and you would smile in the entirety of it.

‘Sleepovers are so fun’ another one of your thoughts. Not only do you get to stay over with your friends but there is eye candy to admire every once in a while. You just so happened to be wearing your shortest black spandex shorts that accentuate every curvature of your ass and a cream-colored cropped tank top that spills out half of your cleavage. I mean! What if it gets stuffy and sickly hot when you sleep? Completely innocent!!

This leaves you in a predicament. Megumi asked of you to get a snack downstairs, but poor you! Too short to reach the top cabinet :(

You huff and puff while standing on your tippy toes, sleek cabinet opened, one hand gripped at the edge of the granite countertop for support. Your other arm outstretched, nails lightly grazing the colorful box of candy your dear friend wanted. With every muscular push from your calf muscles, you bounce a little and recoil the exposed parts of your body.

Sneakily, unaware, a presence loomed behind you, enjoying the pathetic little effort of what you decided to call “clothes.”

A musky scent engulfed your senses as a chiseled body pressed up against you. Before you had time to process what was going on, the body proceeded to press slightly more against you, adding on pressure. Your hand that was once extended to grab the box, soon had a veiny, stronger, and massive hand gripping onto your wrist.

What you can make out to be a pelvis, pressed against the own fat of your ass, paired with another hand clutching the indent of your waist aided in lifting you up. Soon your feet were completely off the ground and you couldn’t help but feel something, hard, press against you. You quickly understood that this was him offering a helping hand, as the thicker hand stretched your own to grab the box. By the grace of God, you managed to grip the object that got you in this dilemma without dropping it.

“There you go, you got it.” A rumbling occurred against your back as his chest released the deep voice that almost felt taunting. The voice that spoke was smooth, laced with a grin.

Slowly looking up you realized he hasn’t dropped you yet. Ass still pressed against his dick, feet in the air. Did he notice your light blush scattered across your face? No, play innocent. Staring, you found his emerald eyes that showed every hint of amusement, his scarred lip that curved up a bit and his raven hair that fell across his face. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to die right then and there or leave every bit of dignity behind. He looked down at you like prey, you decided to play in.

“See? Wasn’t so bad.” He spoke in a silky voice, never losing his smirk. You only gave him a look of pure innocence; brows furrowed, rosy lips puckered out, and big doe-like eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Fushiguro. I really appreciate it.” His cock twitched. “But, can you please put me down now?” Lacing every word you say with the most saccharine voice you can muster.

His face only softened up. “Of course.” As he let go of the tight embrace on your wrist, he still held a firm position of his pelvis against your ass. Your toes slowly touched the ground but clumsy you, you dropped the box onto the counter! Still maintaining eye contact with the man that looked like he wanted to dig his teeth into you, you let out a tiny, “oops!”

Proceeding to fully touch the ground you quickly look down onto the countertop to grab the contents. But oh, no, no, no. You just had to be a brat. Slowly arching over, you wiggled your ass against the older mans hard on. Eliciting friction to your cunt that needs to be touched so desperately wasn’t the smartest idea. But the other man found himself even further amused by this, his clothed dick loosely making out the indents of your folds. You finally grabbed the box you ‘dropped.’

You blinked looking at him, feigning innocence while his grin deepened. “I can go now Mr. Fushiguro.” Quickly, he slender fingers dug into your hip bones making you pathetically let out a gasp. Forcing your ass almost impossibly close against his dick, even with the barrier of clothes. He slowly, rocked himself up and down, creating lewd noises you choke back.

“Go ahead… give it to them upstairs. I can then accidentally “drop” your panties on the ground as well.”

You blankly stared, mouth agape suppressing any noise, while he still rocked you back and forth on him. “What’s with the blank mind now princess? We’re still playing fair aren’t we? It’s about time you got dick from the man you practically eye fuck.”

He let out a chuckle, “Sick girl. Don’t worry. You won’t need to dress like a slut in my house any further. I’ll take real good care of you, if you can just shut up and take it.”

You pulled your bottom lip in slightly sucking it, testing your luck, knowing that this day will finally come. “Okay, Daddy.”

An even wider grin appeared on his face, “Looks like you came already trained for me? Good girl. Hope that little cunt of yours can take the abuse your mouth should be getting instead. Go, now.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly jumped out of his embrace throwing the candy at Megumi, Nobara, and Itadori leaving them in a confused state. Muttering some excuse of having to need to use the restroom… for the rest of the night oddly.

:(((( poor little cunt, couldn’t sit down properly for days straight. He made sure to ruin your hole so no one else got to :(

[misswynters]

Desperately seeking something more with you

a short drabble

featuring. Silco x brothel worker!reader

requested. by anon

Silco sat in the booth, his presence commanding, as always. One hand lazily cradled a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly as he took a drag, the smoke curling from his lips like a seductive whisper in the quiet. The other hand was resting casually against the edge of the table, his fingers tapping lightly on the worn wood. His mismatched eyes glinted in the low light, constantly surveying his surroundings but it always came back to you.

You were seated next to him, close enough that the heat of his body seemed to radiate toward you, but not so close that you couldn’t feel the space between you, the challenge hanging in the air. The dress you wore was a small thing, little more than fabric that barely covered you. But it wasn’t just the revealing nature of the dress that made you feel the tension. Maybe it was the way you could feel his eyes on you, watching every movement with that unsettlingly calm intensity.

Taking a sip of your drink, you leaned back slightly, letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat. You knew his gaze never left you. He liked watching you. More than he probably wanted to admit. And you enjoyed it just as much, teasing him with every little movement. Slowly, you traced your fingers up his arm, the touch light, lingering, until your fingertips brushed his skin just above the cuff of his sleeve. The movement was deliberate, almost like a challenge, and you could feel the faintest tension building in him, though he didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” you remarked, your voice soft but playful. You set your glass down, your fingers lingering just a moment longer on the edge of the table. “Not the usual Silco I’m used to.”

He took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled toward your face. You leaned into it, savoring the sensation of the smoke swirling around you. It was strange and ntoxicating like everything about him.

“I’d prefer to listen,” Silco replied, his voice low, almost a growl. It was a voice meant for the shadows, a voice that demanded attention without needing to raise itself.

“To what?” you asked, curiosity making your voice teasing. You leaned in just a little, letting your breath tickle his ear as you did.

His lips curled upward, the smallest of smirks forming. “To see how far you’ll go,” he said, his words calculated, laced with an undertone that was almost… dangerous. But you were never one to shy away from danger.

You smirked back, your fingers tracing along the edge of the table until you reached his cigarette. Without breaking eye contact, you reached for it, stealing it from his fingers with a practiced grace. Bringing it to your lips, you took a slow drag, the smoke filling your lungs, adding a heady weight to the already thick air between you. The sharp taste of it filled your senses, heightened the unspoken sensations. You could see the slight shift in his expression as he watched you, the faint glimmer of approval mixed with something darker.

You exhaled, a cloud of smoke rising between you as you leaned in, close enough that your lips almost brushed against his ear. “I can go as far as you like me too,” you whispered, the words barely a breath.

There was a flicker in his mismatched eyes, a challenge of his own. Without another word, he shifted, his hand finding your waist with the precision of someone used to taking control. But there was no force in the movement, just the weight of his hand as he gently guided you to straddle his lap. You felt the shift in the air, the change in his posture as he settled beneath you, his body tensing beneath yours. His hands were firm on your hips, guiding you in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You could feel him. All of him. His body pressed against yours, hard and unmistakable, one that simmered beneath the surface. It made your heart race and your skin flush.

His hand slid slowly from your waist to your back, pulling you closer as you shifted on his lap, feeling the bulge beneath you. He didn’t try to hide it, didn’t seem to care. Instead, he simply watched you with those dark eyes of his, amusement flashing across his face as you continued to tease.

And then you did something unexpected. Without warning, you lifted yourself off him slightly, still straddling him but giving just enough space to make the tension thicker, heavier. Your legs stayed on either side of his hips, your hands sliding up his neck to tangle in his hair. He inhaled sharply, the breath caught in his throat.

“Bold,” he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something darker. “I like that.”

And you smirked, the taste of smoke still lingering on your tongue. “Don’t act surprised now,” you replied, leaning down just enough that your lips brushed against his jaw, teasing the skin there.

He growled low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver through you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress, but you could feel the way his entire body reacted to the proximity. His breath came a little faster, his pulse quickening. But he didn’t let go of the control he had towards himself.

“You’re a lot of things, but you’re never predictable,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a ripple of electricity through you.

“I sure am full of surprises,” you said, your lips hovering just a fraction away from his, teasing him with the promise of something more. You could feel his breath on your skin, the warmth of his body pressing against you, but neither of you made a move just yet. The space between you was filled with desire, each moment stretched thin, vibrating with anticipation. And then you leaned in, brushing your lips lightly against his, a kiss that was sweet but far too brief.

His hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the kiss deepened. His lips were insistent, hungry even, as he tugged you against him. His touch was bruising, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you have been craving for.

note. any mistakes let me know and i’ll fix it! thanks 🙏

banner. @anitalenia

[guummy]

“what the fuck are you wearing?” jason asked in amusement when his eyes met your approaching figure.

ever since moving in with jason, you coincidentally found yourself clad in his clothes more often than not. it started with his jackets, the fabric seemlessly enveloping your body, the smell of his fragrances radiating through the seams. a few of them ended up on your acclaimed section of the closet after jason charitably offered them.

from such an occasional thing, it quickly turned into an everyday affair once you began to wear his shirts around your homely, shared apartment. they were undeniably suitable for the circumstance ( and jason had confessed many times about what lustful acts he wanted to do to you whenever you wore them ), and soon all of his clothes smelt like you.

so, the fact you were stood in his black boxer briefs, he simply had to accept it.

"'m wearing clothes," you shrugged with a small smile, standing beside him as he prepared a cup of coffee for himself, "is there a problem?"

his gaze graced over your playful grin, his entire body sighing at your teasing.

"clothes, aka, my boxers," he corrected, leaning against the cold counter as his olived hued irises practically stared at your body without any hint of shyness or shame. "we might as well not have two seperate closets."

"i like my clothes though," you hummed, closing the already small proximity between the two of you, your head tilting up to meet his gaze.

"but i can't wear yours?" he joked, his hand now resting against the surface of your back.

"i can't wait for the day i get to see you in lace," you grinned, your cheeks warm at your bubbling laughter as he leaned down to mash his bruised lips against yours, your body weakening at his touch. his lips enveloped yours in a heated embrace, his exhales untamed. after a few more moments, he pulled away in a mess of hushed inhales before planting a kiss to your temple.

"you look good in them though," jason hushed, his prodding fingers dusting shapes down the valley of your spine.

"i do? well, maybe you could help me take them off later," you teased, earning a uncomposed laugh from the vigilante.

"lets have breakfast first ── ."

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[pulcen]

q escrita boa mdss!! preciso de um pussydrunk!geto

pussydrunk!Geto who tries to appear like the stereotypical tough man in the relationship, but as soon as you take off his favorite white-laced panties, he turns into your bitch.

pussydrunk!Geto who can't help but immediately fold you into a mean mating press, skipping past the usual missionary position the both of you do as prep—mewling at your dripping cunt as the tip of his ears turns pink.

pussydrunk!Geto who drags his swollen head up and down your folds, collecting your wet slick and mixing it along with his precum, his gaze hazy watching your sex, not daring to break away with how infatuated he is with the dirty scene. 

pussydrunk!Geto who lets his whines echo around the room as he finally pushes into your fluttering walls, one of his hands previously gripping onto your thighs now escaping to secure a tight hold around your neck, as the while he's the one gasping for air.

pussydrunk!Geto who pounds you deep into the bed, leaning down to whisper "love this pussy s'much baby—too much," whilst angling his hips with a pat! pat! pat! to find that sweet spot that has your back arching against his toned muscle.

pussydrunk!Geto who only laughs into a grunt at your slutty expression when he does find it, prompting him to grind down and grip your neck harder and harder—until you think you can't possibly take anymore—but of course your boyfriend beats you to it, rigorously rubbing your sensitive clit, not caring how messy he's being if it gets you over the edge.

pussydrunk!Geto who ignores your pleadings to slow down as you hit your first orgasm has you too overstimulated with gut-twisting pleasure, only muttering how, "You're doing s-so good for me, gnna'turn us beautifulll family after this," leading him to lock your lips with his plump ones to quiet your cries, even if it's just for a few seconds.

pussydrunk!Geto who now is panting like a whore deep into your ear as you clench hard around him for the third time, his dick decorated with white rings of your cum as your pussy spurts with the overflow of both of your pleasure combined.

pussydrunk!Geto who stills in your soft heat after his third orgasm and your fifth, feeling the sting of your nails that raked along his back, leaving a nasty red trail flaring across his silky skin.

pussydrunk!Geto who graces you with a kiss to the top of your forehead as thanks, removing his hands and slowly lowering himself down to your drained sex, whispering against your skin that "you did so good," and "m'gonna clean youup—, interrupted only by his mouth attached your overstimulated pussy because of course, a dirty boy always has to clean up after his messes.

muitooo obrigada pelas palavras carinhosas! espero que você aproveite ᯓᡣ𐭩

[osachiyo]

“HERE K!TTY-K!TTY—”

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

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

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

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

✰ now playing — kitty kat by megan the stallion ✰

✦ ZAYNE— feasting on his master

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ XAVIER— sleepy catboy turns feral?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✦ RAFAYEL— “stringy” situation?…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Raf—”

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

✦ SYLUS— the collared beast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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