aali ⭐️

the golden lights from the setting sun were shining through the blinds of his studio, hitting your glistening body while you were sprawled out on piles of unwanted sketches.

the papers stuck against your sweaty body, shuffling with every hard thrust you were receiving.

rafayel was situated between your legs, ramming into you while holding one of your legs up to somehow fuck himself impossibly deeper inside of you.

“my beautiful muse,” his voice was low, rough “look at you, cutie, falling apart on my cock”

you could hear the smile in his voice but you couldn’t see it through your teary vision.

he was stressed - artist’s block was irritating him and he was barely sleeping lately.

this was the first time he decided to take his stress out on you, finally giving in to your idea to take his stress out on you instead.

but he’s never fucked you like this - in this angle where you feel his tip abuse your cervix again and again and again.

his eyes were glued to your expressions, to the way you gasped his name and rolled your eyes. he could feel your walls clench around him, milking him.

your whines got louder, your nails dug into his biceps deeper - tell tale signs of your approaching orgasm.

his free hand moved below your stomach and his fingers landed on your sensitive nub - the sensation mixed together making you see fucking stars.

you could feel your orgasm approaching hard and fast - it was like a jolt of electricity suddenly ran through your body.

“R-Raf- hngh!” you breathe heavily, arching your back. “I-I think i’m-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence because it hit you instantly.

rafayel’s composure was lost. the way your pussy squeezed the life out of him was driving him absolutely insane - and as your orgasm hit, he could see water try to gush out of you.

“oh would ya look at that” he was breathless, eyes wide in almost disbelief.

he pulled his cock out of you, hand still toying with your clit, and with every pulse - you squirted fountains, hitting his lower torso.

“that’s my girl-“ it took him a moment for him to register the fact that he got his lower body wet because of you.

but it was too late.

you opened your eyes again through heavy breaths, absolutely wrecked.

a yelp echoed in the big studio, and this time it wasn’t from you.

in front of you you watched as your boyfriend plopped down on the pile of papers -

big, beautiful tail coming into view, wiggling around.

you propped yourself up on your shaky elbows and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the sight in front of you.

he was flopping around like a fish out of water, huffing and swearing under his breath as he tried to get himself used to his tail.

“a little help here cutie.” he put on a strained smile, chuckling nervously.

but you couldn’t stop laughing, clutching your stomach at the sight.

“hey!” he pouts finally managing to hoist himself up. “youre gonna regret laughing when i get my legs back”

you throw your head back in laughter and wipe away stray tears -

you raised a brow, biting back another laugh. “doors usually don’t attack people. maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

he chuckled, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “fair point. maybe i was distracted by the smell of sugar. or maybe—” his gaze flicked to you, eyes glinting— “by the view.”

you rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you. "smooth. come in before you freeze out there."

he could feel your gaze on his face as he stepped inside.

"it's you." you state, a small smile on your face.

he blinked, furrowing his brows. “what do you mean ‘it’s me?’”

your cheeks flushed pink, confidence folding into something shy. “i—well—” you rubbed the back of your neck, stuttering. “i’ve seen you around a lot. you always leave before my shift starts, so i never got the chance to talk to you.”

you wanted to talk to him? why?

his confusion must’ve been obvious, because you laughed nervously. “my parents usually serve you. they say you tip really well and… i just wanted to say thank you. for supporting our shop.”

gratitude. directed at him. it had been so long since anyone had looked at him that way.

he cleared his throat, heat creeping up his neck. “they’ve got good pastries,” he muttered, offering a small smile. your eyes sparkled when you looked up at him.

“thank you.” you gave him a little bow. “now… what can i get for you, mr…?”

“gojo. satoru gojo.” his name fell like an introduction, not a title. “and i’ll take the strawberry cheesecake.”

your lips curved down into the most dramatic little pout. “you mean… the last slice?” you pointed sadly through the glass.

his eyebrow quirked. “uh, yeah. it’s got a strawberry on it, so i’m guessing that’s strawberry cheesecake.”

you bit your lip, gaze lingering on it. “are you sure you want that one? the matcha cheesecake’s just as good.”

he smirked, amused. “nah. strawberry. unless there’s a problem with it?”

“no! no problem,” you rushed, then hesitated, voice dropping quieter. “i was… kind of saving it for after my shift. i’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

he watched you fidget, the way your shoulders curled as you slid the glass door open. “but… customers come first.”

something in his chest clenched. you looked so soft, so human, standing there torn between duty and desire.

he clicked his tongue, sighing. “fine. you can have the last slice.”

your eyes widened, a smile tugging at your lips. “really?” you gasped, then caught yourself, glancing at him. “but—you looked like you really wanted it too.” your voice softened, almost tentative. “unless… you’re not opposed to sharing?”

a smile curled at your lips. hopeful. inviting.

and for the first time in a long while, satoru gojo felt that ache in his chest loosen.

he sat at a table, still feeling a little dumbfounded.

you moved with an ease that unsettled him—untied your apron, brought over two mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream, and the last slice of strawberry cheesecake on a tray. two forks placed neatly beside it.

“this is like… a little routine of mine,” you admitted sheepishly, curling your hands around your mug. “you should take the first bite of the cheesecake.”

he arched a brow, smirking. “you’re not just saying that because you poisoned it, right?”

you chuckled, sipping your drink. “only one way to find out.”

he dug in dramatically, eyes rolling back as he slumped in his chair. “mmm. that’s actual crack.”

“it was served with love!” you wiggled a finger at him.

“oh, so you love me already? i’m starting to think you’re some kind of stalker.”

your cheeks flared as you clicked your tongue. “i serve all my treats with love. you’re nothing special.”

but to him, you were.

he found himself watching you more than the food—your little expressions, the way you hummed when you tasted something sweet, how you didn’t shrink back from his teasing. you weren’t intimidated by him. you didn’t treat him like the strongest, the honored one. you just… treated him like a person.

“so,” you said softly, “tell me about your day, mr. gojo.”

and for the first time, the chair across from him wasn’t empty.

from that night on, he came back. again and again.

the bell above your door became his favorite sound. even when there were plenty of strawberry cheesecakes on display, he always shared one with you.

he told you about the mundane. his favorite color. the weird dream he had. the kind of things no one had ever asked him.

and slowly, he realized he had a reason to get out of bed in the morning. a reason to keep going through the chaos of his days.

you.

until one night, he didn’t come.

you waited, longer than you should’ve. watched the clock tick closer to closing. packed up the cakes. your gaze lingered on the strawberry cheesecake.

your lips pressed together. he had told you where he lived, once.

maybe—just maybe.

with your heart in your throat, you packed the slice and locked up, walking to his place.

the house was massive, intimidating, just like him. you knocked, nerves buzzing, but there was no answer. you sighed, ready to leave, when you heard your name.

“what… what are you doing here?”

you turned—and froze.

he stood there, battered and bruised. shirt torn, blood streaking his face, hair a mess.

“satoru—” you rushed forward, eyes scanning him. “what happened?”

he winced, trying to straighten. “i got, uh… attacked. by a… duck.”

you gave him the flattest look imaginable. “really.”

“big duck. vicious.”

you clicked your tongue. “you don’t have to tell me. but you’re not standing out here bleeding.”

you helped him inside, his arm draped over your shoulder. he hissed with every step, fumbling for his keys. finally, he slumped onto the couch, forcing a grin. “look, i’ll be fine. you don’t have to—”

“satoru.” your voice was firm, cutting through his façade. “let me take care of you.”

he blinked at you, something unsteady flickering in his chest.

you returned with warm water, a cloth, the little first aid kit you carried for emergencies. your hands were gentle but steady as you cleaned his wounds. he tried to joke—about how bad he must look, about how you’d probably seen worse—but his voice kept faltering. because the way you touched him was soft. tender. like he wasn’t just the strongest, but someone worth caring for.

and when your hand brushed his cheek, lingering just a second too long, he realized his heart was racing.

you cleared your throat and averted eye contact with him, your cheeks heating up. it was unfair - how beautiful he looked even in the state he was in.

"you should be fine if you don't move-" you felt his hand curl gently around your wrist, stopping you from getting up.

his adams apple bobbed in his throat as he stared at you, baby blues twinkling.

"thank you." he breathes out - in a tone you've never quite heard from him.

your lips part as you lock eyes with him, encaptured by him. his grip on your wrist moves to your cheek, his finger brushing over gently - like you were made of porcelain.

“satoru…” you whispered.

his walls crumbled. he leaned forward, hesitant at first, as though asking permission. and when your lips finally met his, soft and trembling, it felt like the answer to a question he hadn’t dared to voice.

the kiss was gentle, almost uncertain—like he wasn’t used to giving something of himself away. his lips brushed against yours with a kind of carefulness that felt foreign on him, like he was terrified you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. clumsy. sweet. hesitant. the kiss tasted faintly of strawberries and chocolate, but it carried something heavier—trust. safety. warmth.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breath warm and uneven.

“wow,” he murmured, lips quirking. “you taste better than cheesecake.”

you let out a startled laugh, smacking his shoulder lightly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously handsome? ridiculously charming? ridiculously injured in my own living room?” he grinned, dimples deepening despite the bruises.

you shook your head, biting back a smile. “more like ridiculously lucky i don’t just leave you here to fend for yourself.”

he leaned back just enough to look at you, blue eyes soft but teasing. “mm, you wouldn’t. you love me. remember? you said so. served with love, right?”

your cheeks burned. “i was talking about the cake, not you.”

“same thing,” he said smugly, closing his eyes like he’d won some great victory. “we’re both sweet. and irresistible.”

you rolled your eyes, but your hand lingered against his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his skin. “you’re insufferable.”

“and kissable,” he replied, grin wide.

soft laughter, teasing, quiet comfort stretched between you. for the first time, his house didn’t feel empty.

and in that quiet, glowing light, he realized— he had someone to make cookies with on christmas eve. someone to share crepes with, to talk to after a movie. someone to enjoy doing laundry with, to spend lazy sunday mornings under the sheets. a face he could close his eyes on and see again in the morning. someone he pictured carrying his child—a product of their love. someone he could grow old and brittle with.

satoru gojo finally had someone.

ᯓ★

"mmm, look at you," he breathes, lips brushing your ear. one big hand cups your jaw, forcing your dazed gaze to meet your reflection. you—pouty, messy, flushed—so, so fuckable.

his other hand trails between your legs, and you spread them for him without even thinking. your cunt is glistening in the low light, and he groans like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. two fingers sink inside with no resistance, his pace quick and steady, scissoring you open while you whine and paw at his cock pressed hot against your back.

"you want it, baby?" he murmurs, fingers curling just right, making you jolt. "you gonna watch me fuck this pretty little pussy, hm?"

when he pulls his fingers out, you whimper at the emptiness—only for him to tap his cock against your swollen clit. the sharp jolts make you yelp out broken little "ah, ah, ah!" noises, and he chuckles darkly at your reflection.

then he’s lifting you, guiding you down slowly, so slowly onto his cock.

your mouth falls open—his too—as both of you watch the stretch in the mirror, your pussy swallowing him inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt.

you throw your head back onto his shoulder, whimpering, and he peppers sloppy kisses to your temple, your cheek, your nose.

"thaaat’s it," he groans, eyes glued to the mirror. "my pretty angel."

his grip on your thighs is bruising as he starts thrusting up into you, cock slamming deep, the fat tip bullying your sweet spot again and again.

and this time—this time—he keeps one hand clamped on your jaw, making you watch yourself come undone, while the other slides down to your clit, circling it in tight little circles that have your whole body twitching.

your face in the mirror—your parted lips, your glassy eyes, the tear slipping down your cheek— he swears it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

"fuck, baby—look at that face—" he groans, black hair sticking to his forehead as he bounces you on his cock, sweat dripping down his chest. "you’re so fucking beautiful when you cry on my cock—"

your voice is breaking, words slurred. "t-tetsu—holy sh—shit—"

"yeah, that’s it, angel," he grunts against your neck, fingers rubbing your clit harder, faster. "fuck yourself down on me, show me how bad you need it—"

your tits are bouncing with every thrust, your pussy fluttering wildly around him, and he’s babbling now—"babybabybaby—fuck, this pussy’s mine—‘s made for me, angel, ohhh fuuuuck—"

he’s staring at your reflection, at your ruined little face, and it pushes him over the edge.

"oh my god—" he chokes, head falling back, giving you one last brutal thrust before spilling hot inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.

he fucks you through it, hips stuttering, before finally pulling out with a shaky groan. his cum spills out of you immediately, running down your thighs in thick, messy streaks.

you collapse against his chest, trembling, and he doesn’t let you move—big hands holding you steady, grounding you. his forehead presses to the side of your head, both of you breathing heavy, sweat cooling on your skin.

"baby," he murmurs, voice low and wrecked, "you did so good for me. my pretty girl."

he tilts your jaw gently toward the mirror again, but this time there’s no teasing in it. just a soft kind of awe.

"look," he whispers, lips brushing your hairline. "look how beautiful you are like this. my angel."

your reflection stares back: hair wild, cheeks flushed, lashes damp with tears, lips kiss-swollen. you can’t even believe it’s you, not when you look so completely undone in his arms.

kuroo presses tender kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. "i could stay like this forever," he says between each kiss, voice husky but soft. "holding you. keeping you all to myself."

his hand strokes down your thigh, slow and soothing this time, and he hugs you tighter against his chest.

then, with a lazy grin curling at the edges of his mouth, he murmurs against your skin—warm, almost fond:

"but you know me, angel… one round is never enough."

OSAMU

mating press !

osamu craves the feeling of your skin like it’s oxygen. he’s addicted to it—the heat radiating off you, the way you’re always soft and warm under his hands. he loves the press of your body against his, loves being surrounded by your scent, would sell his soul to be wrapped up in it forever.

but especially when he’s inside you—god, nothing compares. no matter how deep he sinks, no matter how tight he holds you, it never feels close enough. he could bury himself in you for hours and still ache for more.

he gets drunk off of you. off your face when you fall apart for him, off the way your cunt flutters and grips him like you’ll never let him go, off your sweet little moans that spill out every time he slams into your g-spot.

his pupils are blown, lips swollen, hair a mess—he’s looking at you like the world might collapse if he even thinks about stopping.

you gasp when his hands clamp around the backs of your thighs. "s-samu, what are you—ah!" the question cuts off in a cry when he shoves your knees to your chest, folding you in half, pressing you into the filthiest mating press. the angle makes you see stars.

"need more," his voice is gravel, broken. osamu’s gone. "you can take it, baby. hm?" his hips roll forward, testing, and you claw desperately at his chest, your back arching off the sheets.

"s-s’too much—fuck, please—"

but then he sees your face. your teary eyes, your swollen lips, your chest squeezed against your knees. so needy, so pretty. and the last shred of control inside him shatters.

"shhh." he hushes your pleas, mouth pressing to yours, kissing you sloppily as his thrusts pick up pace. "wanna fuck you like this forever," he mumbles against your lips, breath mixing with your broken moans.

your pussy is soaking him, clenching so tight it feels like you’re trying to pull him deeper.

"god, you’re perfect," he groans, head dropping so his tongue can lick up the sweat-slick column of your throat, moaning at the taste of your salty skin.

the room is filled with the sound of wet skin slapping, your cries melting with his ragged groans. his abs flex with each brutal snap of his hips, and when he looks down at you—at your wrecked little face, your trembling body—his brows knot.

and then your quiet, stoic man breaks. he throws his head back, lets out a guttural moan that sounds ripped from his chest.

"fuck—baby, your pussy’s squeezin’ the fuckin’ life outta me—"

you’ve never heard him this loud, this desperate. osamu, who’s always so calm, so precise, is fucking you like he’s breeding you, like he’ll die if he doesn’t fill you.

the sight of him like this—sweaty, messy, lost in you—tips you over the edge. you scream his name as you cum around his cock, back arching off the sheets as your body writhes in bliss.

"oh, fuck—" his voice cracks, hips pounding through your orgasm. his eyes are locked on your face, watching you cry and twitch on his cock, and he sounds pathetic when he begs, "can i cum inside, baby? please—"

"y-yes!" you cry out, nails raking down his back.

his whole expression crumbles—wide eyes, lips parting with a choked groan—and then he’s grabbing your ass, slamming in even deeper. his face buries in the crook of your neck as his cock pulses, spilling hot inside of you, his body trembling as he moans your name into your skin.

he stays there, cock buried, panting like he just ran a marathon in the dead of summer. his arms keep you folded tight against him, refusing to let go.

eventually, his head lifts, sweat dripping down his temple. he presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed, lips brushing soft breaths over your mouth.

"my pretty girl," he whispers, voice hoarse. "you wreck me."

you give him a shaky little smile, kissing the tip of his nose.

"didn’t know you could be so loud, ‘samu," you tease, your voice a giggle.

he pouts instantly, cheeks flushed, and grumbles under his breath: "…shut up."

KITA

cowgirl !

there’s nothing in the world shinsuke kita loves more than you. he adores you. would do anything for you without hesitation.

he loves taking care of you—especially when it’s just the two of you like this. kissing every inch of your skin, asking if you’re okay when your face twists in that mix of pleasure and pain, praising you softly, holding your hand while he fucks you slow and deep, like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the chance.

you’re always beautiful, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the way you look when you’re on top of him. riding him, using his cock like it’s yours to ruin—like he’s just your toy.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and hazy, lips parted as you sink down on him. his fingers dig into your hips as his cock disappears inside your tight heat, and his breath stutters.

"good girl," he whispers—more to himself than you. he doesn’t move yet. he waits, patient, until you’ve adjusted, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

you look down at him with just as much love, your eyes soft, your lips curling as you roll your hips slowly. "does this feel good, baby?" you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

he nods instantly, eyes fluttering shut before snapping back open so he can watch. "y-yeah," he breathes, watching your pussy drag up and down his throbbing cock.

"look so pretty like this, my girl," he says softly, knuckles brushing down your back, his voice broken with want. little grunts escape him with every grind of your hips. "keep using me, yeah? keep using my cock, sweetheart."

you mewl at his words, throwing your head back as you move harder, faster, the coarse hair of his happy trail rubbing perfectly against your clit with every roll of your hips.

"shit—" he hisses through his teeth when he feels your cunt clench down around him, tighter, hungrier.

his hand settles at the small of your back, grounding you, while his other arm falls across his forehead, lips parting in pure bliss. "good girl. my good fucking girl. f-fuck, just like that," he groans, watching the way your tits bounce with each movement.

your pace doesn’t falter, even as your little whines get more frantic, spilling from your lips like music to his ears.

"shin, i-i’m close—" you gasp, your hands pressing against his slick chest for balance.

his hazel eyes snap back to yours instantly, his hips giving the tiniest thrusts up into you to help. "yeah, baby? you wanna cum?" his hand snakes between your thighs, thumb finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing tight circles that make your whole body jolt.

"wanna cum with you," he whispers, voice wrecked, sitting up so your foreheads touch, breaths mingling, eyes locked.

you moan in perfect sync, his lips crashing into yours just as his hips snap up into you, and the sound you let out is muffled into his kiss.

"cum for me, pretty girl," he breathes against your mouth, biting your bottom lip gently.

you fall apart together, trembling and moaning into each other’s mouths, his strong arms locking around your body to keep you flush against him. he fucks you through it, holding you close, refusing to let you go.

and even when the high ebbs, when your body shudders weakly against his, kita doesn’t stop touching you. his hands rub slow circles into your back, down your thighs, grounding you as if he’s reminding you he’s here, you’re safe, you’re his.

"that’s it, sweetheart. you’re okay. you did so good for me," he whispers, forehead pressed against yours, voice warm and trembling. "my perfect girl."

he peppers soft, lingering kisses across your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose—before pulling you even closer against his chest. his cock still sits deep inside you, and he makes no move to pull out.

"let me stay here a little longer," he breathes, voice quiet and earnest. "wanna feel you, wanna keep you close."

your lashes are wet when you look at him, lips wobbling into the softest smile. "shin…"

he hushes you gently, thumb brushing away the dampness at the corner of your eye. "shh. i got you, baby. i’ve always got you."

his lips find yours again—slow, tender, worshipful—before he rests his head against yours, eyes closed in contentment.

"i love you so much," he murmurs, every word dripping with devotion, like it’s the only truth he knows.

your voice is quiet but steady as you whisper back, brushing your nose against his: "i love you too, shin. always."

ᯓ★