sorenelle

── ⋆ WELCOME݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

╰┈➤ ABOUT ME: my name is sorenelle, im 19 and i like to write. im pursuing a bachelors degree, i really like cars, im a spiritualist, and i have a pink anthurium.

╰┈➤ RULES: racism, bullying, harrassing, or just pissing me off will get you blocked!

જ⁀➴ mlist

જ⁀➴ wattpad

જ⁀➴ backup

𖤓 day post ☾ night post

hi!! honestly i could be doing better, my issue is im just feeling a bit displaced if that makes sense, since im in my home country for the summer im not in the best headspace because i dont like it here and i dont have the best family😅

so im kinda just waiting it out until september so i can head back to the UK and have my own space and life again yk?

honestly i just feel really unaligned with myself especially being here so ive been in my head alot

but dw i wont kms😛

omg stop imma cry

thanksss, and sure i can do that just not rn a girls got alot going on🫩

omg thanksss wtf😝 im taking a break rn tho im literally going through it unfortunately

but imma be back trust

-🦩

cw: smut, prohero!sero x dramatic influener!reader, established relationship, unserious softdom!sero, important gala, fingering, cunnilingus, improper use of quirk, semi public sex (?), orgasm denial, petnames: mami, baby. lmk if i missed anything <3

a/n: this was kind of a request? anyways we know sero is latino if you dont agree die. dk if i like this tho -_-

𖤓 “Sero, I’m actually going to die right now,” you whined, clutching his arm dramatically as you walked down the long red carpet. The annual gala felt endless under the barrage of flashing cameras and curious eyes.

Your nude corset dress hugged every curve like liquid silk, the fabric shimmering with a wet-look sheen that flowed beautifully with each step. Sero complemented you perfectly in his tailored suit with matching tones and a subtle corset-style vest that sharpened his lean pro-hero build. But comfort? Nonexistent. One of the hooks kept digging into your back, your stomach was empty and growling, and all you could think about was ditching this for sweats, ice cream, and Netflix on the couch.

Sero glanced down at you with a low chuckle, his hand warm and steady against the small of your back. “Easy there. We’ve only got two hours. Just flash that pretty smile for the cameras and we’ll be out of here.”

You rolled your eyes, though the soft lilt in his voice sent a familiar warmth fluttering through your stomach. “You should fire my stylist. Or sue her. I seriously can’t breathe in this thing, Sero!”

You gave a tiny, discreet stomp of your heel. To everyone else you looked flawless—years of PR training made sure of that. But with him? You could be as dramatic as you wanted.

He paused to greet another pro hero with a quick, easy handshake and a few friendly words, then turned back to you. “You’ve had the same stylist for years, babe. We’re not burning that bridge tonight,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as you huffed.

The photo wall was next. Bright flashes lit up your skin as you posed beside him—chin tilted, body angled just right, the perfect influencer couple. Between shots you kept leaning in with quiet complaints, and Sero just listened with that easy, amused smile. He was never annoyed with you. Not really. His dramatic little girlfriend kept life interesting.

He knew exactly what you needed.

It wasn’t long before he was guiding you away from the crowd, slipping into a side hallway and pulling you into a spacious bathroom stall. The second the lock clicked, his fingers worked the corset hooks with careful patience, loosening the fabric until you could finally draw a proper breath.

“Better?” he asked, voice low and soft. He nuzzled his nose against your cheek, trailing gentle kisses along your jawline.

You barely managed a nod before he shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing the sleeveless dress shirt that showed off his toned arms. He dropped to his knees on the tiled floor, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and disappearing beneath the flowing layers of your dress.

Your eyes widen. “What if someone walks in?” you whispered, nerves mixing with excitement. You didn’t stop him—deep down, this was exactly what you’d been craving all night.

“Shh… just relax,” he murmured. His tongue swiped slow and hot over your thong, pulling a needy whine from your throat. He chuckled softly against you. “Gotta stay quiet, yeah?”

He hooked the fabric aside and dragged his tongue through your folds properly—long, deliberate strokes that made your thighs tremble. He licked and sucked at your clit with focused hunger, groaning quietly into your heat like he couldn’t get enough. The wet sounds of his mouth against your pussy filled the small stall, each lap sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

Your hips bucked against his face. “S-Sero—”

He pulled back just enough to kiss your inner thigh, lips glossy with your slick. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” he teased lightly, voice warm with affection. Then he dove back in, sucking your clit between his lips while his tongue worked you relentlessly. Your legs shook harder around his head, pleasure building thick and heavy in your core.

When he finally stood, he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “So fuckin’ pretty like this,” he groaned, pressing his obvious hardness against your thigh. “I know you’re irritated. Lemme me take care of you mami.”

He hiked one of your legs up again. Two thick fingers slid deep into your soaked cunt, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you. Your head fell back against the stall wall with a loud, breathy whine as intense pleasure flooded your body.

He nipped and sucked along your neck, careful not to leave visible marks, while his fingers pumped steadily. The lewd, wet squelching of your pussy around his digits echoed softly. You reached for his wrist instinctively, trying to slow the overwhelming rhythm as your back arched sharply.

“Ah ah, no touching,” he said with a playful grin. In the next second, his signature tape wrapped around your wrists, securing them firmly to the wall above your head.

He curled his fingers harder, stroking that perfect spot with devastating precision. Just as the pressure started to crest, the bathroom door opened. Two sets of footsteps entered, voices chatting casually.

Your eyes widened in panic and you tugged at the tape, but Sero didn’t stop. He slowed his thrusts into deep, grinding rolls that kept constant, delicious pressure on your g-spot. “There’s people,” you whispered desperately, pouting.

“Stay quiet for me,” he breathed against your ear, eyes sparkling with that slightly mischievous glint. His fingers never stopped their slow torture, rubbing and pressing exactly where you needed it. Your cunt clenched and drooled around him, thighs trembling violently as you fought to hold back.

Your eyes grew glassy with the effort. Sero noticed and slipped two fingers past your lips. You sucked them greedily, drool slipping down your chin as you tried to muffle every sound. The strangers kept talking, completely unaware, while pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.

“C’mon… hold it just a little longer,” he cooed softly, grinding his fingers deep. “You’re doing so good.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “Let it out baby.”

His pace turned faster, fingers thrusting hard and deep, curling relentlessly against your g-spot. Pleasure crashed over you in heavy waves, the wet sounds obscene and loud in the small space.

“M’gonna cum— Sero, I’m—” you whined, head lolling back, breath coming in shaky gasps.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me,” he encouraged, voice low and steady. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You shattered hard, creaming around his fingers with a broken moan. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as he worked you through every pulsing wave, drawing out the orgasm until your vision blurred and your body felt boneless against the wall. Slick dripped down his hand and your thighs, the aftershocks leaving you trembling and breathless.

He pressed soft kisses to your neck and shoulder as you came down, murmuring gentle praise. “There we go… good girl.”

Needless to say, you didn’t make it anywhere close to the full two hours at the gala.

so yall ik i always say you can gimme kinks you want me to write about….but PLEASE dont ask me for no fuck ass bullshit like scatplay, i love yall but please😭

cw: smut, olderceo!geto x assistant!reader, fem!reader, agegap, geto’s a whore, p in v, blowjob, condescending praise, cheating, bootycall, readers a bird lowkey, finger sucking, cunnilingus, established fucked relationship. lmk if i missed anything <3

a/n: im high asf rn plot inspired by the song often by the weeknd, need him so bad :( had to reeead so many times to make sure shit was write but i csnt read whem in high unfortunately

☾ You knew the rumors long before you signed the contract—how Suguru Geto’s assistants never lasted. They never quit. They were discarded.

Everyone in the building whispered it like gospel: he fucked them, then fired them. Cold, clean, final.

You told yourself you’d be different. You had iron discipline and a boyfriend waiting at home. You weren’t going to be another notch on the CEO’s belt.

Then you met him.

Those heavy, tired eyes that looked like they’d already seen every sin the city had to offer. The sharp, sculpted lines of his face framed by long, raven strands that always looked slightly undone, like he’d just run his fingers through them after ruining someone. The way his tailored suit clung to his frame, expensive cologne clinging to the air around him, dark, woody, addictive.

And the way he looked at you… like you were the only thing in the room worth keeping.

You lasted a month.

One month before he had you bent over his desk, moaning his name like a prayer you couldn’t stop reciting.

But you were different. He kept you.

He liked the way your lips formed that permanent, pouty little frown whenever you stepped into his office. The sharp click of your heels down the marble hallway. The way your ass moved in those tight pencil skirts. He liked you reactive, how your breath would hitch when his fingers brushed your waist, how easily you melted under his touch.

He spoiled you rotten. Private lunch dates in the back of a Maybach you couldn’t even name. Designer bags that made your boyfriend narrow his eyes and ask questions you dodged with practiced smiles. Heels that cost more than your rent, until he bumped your salary and quietly started starving the rude bitch at the front desk who’d made your life hell.

In stolen moments he’d pull you close, lips brushing your ear with that low, velvet voice:

“So reactive… my favorite.”

When you’d whine, he’d chuckle softly, dark and knowing, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Pretty little thing…”

Then he’d go quiet.

And the cycle would start again.

He’d call another girl into his office while you were still on his floor—knowing you could hear everything. The moans, the rhythmic slap of skin, the filthy things he’d growl to her that you wished he’d only say to you in that moment. You’d sit at your desk with jealousy burning like acid in your chest as they left hours later, legs shaking, throats raw, necks and thighs marked by his mouth. By him.

He never tried to hide it. Never cared enough to.

Later, he’d summon you in like nothing happened. One lazy look at your glassy eyes, your barely contained frustration, and he’d coo, soft and mocking,

“Come here, baby.”

You’d go to him—every damn time—until you were settled in his lap, his large hands possessive on your hips, his breath warm against your neck.

That’s when everything truly got fucked.

── ⋆

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the amber glow of his penthouse. Low lighting spilled across dark marble and leather like liquid gold, and there he was—lounging on the far couch, completely naked.

Your breath caught. You knew why he’d called you here, but this felt different. He felt different tonight.

You let the trench coat slip from your shoulders the moment you stepped inside, the heavy fabric pooling at your feet as the elevator doors sealed shut behind you. The expensive lace set he’d bought you clung to your body like a secret, paired with the sky-high heels that made your legs look sinful. Every step echoed through the quiet penthouse—sharp, deliberate clicks that announced your surrender.

He didn’t look at you at first. Not until those heels carried you around the couch and you sank to your knees in front of him.

Only then did his heavy-lidded eyes drag over your body, slow and possessive. A low groan rumbled from his chest.

He liked you like this—on your knees, looking up at him with those wide, almost innocent eyes. His god complex was disgustingly obvious, but some sick, needy part of you craved it. Craved him.

Suguru leaned forward, his long fingers caressing your jaw with surprising gentleness. Your gaze flickered down to his cock, thick and hard, a glossy bead of precum already leaking from the tip like an offering. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

He watched your face openly, thumb tracing your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth. You sucked without hesitation, eyes fluttering.

For a split second, your mind betrayed you, flashing to your boyfriend, asleep in the bed you shared. The guilt twisted sharply in your chest. But Suguru’s fingers tightened on your jaw, dragging your gaze back to his.

“Mhm… stay focused on me,” he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough.

Your eyes dropped back to his cock, aching with want. You needed him. Needed to taste him, to please him, to be his.

“So impatient,” he said, reading you effortlessly. “Haven’t even asked properly.”

You dragged yourself closer between his spread thighs, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“Please…” you whispered.

His cock twitched hard at the sound of your voice. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“S’good at that,” he strained, thumb still resting heavy on your tongue.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop. You chased it instinctively, lips parted, and a low, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest.

“Needy little thing you are,” he murmured, voice dripping with dark satisfaction.

Suguru wrapped a large hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly—once, twice, three times—before leaning forward and resting the swollen tip right against your waiting tongue. A thick bead of precum smeared across it like sin.

He never quite understood what it was about you that drove him this insane. But that mouth… fuck, that mouth was one of the reasons.

You engulfed his tip first, sucking softly, reverently, before sliding down and taking him to the back of your throat in one smooth motion. His fingers caressed your jaw, guiding your rhythm with deceptive gentleness.

Eventually he took over, slowly fucking into your mouth while you gagged softly around his thick length. When his eyes met yours, he nearly lost it—you looked so fucking perfect like this, teary-eyed and full of him.

He gripped the back of your head, holding you steady as he pushed a little deeper. “Good girl… so, so good for me,” he cooed when fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

His breathing grew heavier, ragged. He fucked your mouth like it was your cunt, deep and possessive, and you let him, your own pussy throbbing painfully between your thighs. Whines vibrated around his cock as you tried desperately to show him how badly you needed him.

He was close. You could tell by the way his long raven hair fell messily into his face, by the dazed look in those heavy eyes, by the way his rhythm started to falter.

“Fuck… this mouth is so much better at this than complaining about the other girls I fuck, hm?” he groaned, shoving himself deeper into your throat and holding you there, savoring the way it fluttered and tightened around him.

Finally he pulled you off. You coughed, gasping for air, strands of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening cock. He gave a lazy signal for you to stand, but instead you climbed straight into his lap, pressing your soaked lace-covered pussy against his length. His sensitive tip dragged right over your clit and you both moaned—his low and guttural, yours high and desperate.

Suguru’s hand shot up, gripping your throat firmly as he pulled you nose-to-nose. “You drive me fucking nuts,” he strained, before crashing his mouth against yours in a deep, filthy kiss.

He broke it just enough to whisper against your lips, breath hot.

“S’he taking care of you, baby?”

You hesitated, the question burning. You knew exactly who he meant; your boyfriend, asleep back in the apartment you shared. You shook your head slowly, unable to meet his eyes.

You swore you loved him. He was sweet. Safe. The best… but in bed he was nothing like this. Too gentle. Too vanilla. You told yourself you were satisfied.

Until Suguru came along and scratched that unbearable itch you didn’t even know you had.

He cooed, the sound condescending and dripping with mock sympathy. “Oh, I know, pretty girl…” His thumb brushed your bottom lip, eyes gleaming with dark hunger. “He doesn’t understand what this pussy needs.”

In the next breath, he had you bent over the couch, face buried deep in the soft cushions, ass high in the air like an offering.

Suguru pulled your soaked lace panties to the side with one finger. His warm breath ghosted over your dripping cunt, making your thighs tremble. He didn’t tease for long.

He dove in like a man starved, tongue lapping greedily at your folds, moaning into your pussy as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. You cried out his name, broken and needy, echoing through the dimly lit penthouse.

He rarely ate you out—tonight was only the third time. And each time, you lost yourself a little more to him.

His tongue dragged slow, deliberate circles over your swollen clit before sucking the aching bud into his mouth. Your voice cracked into a pretty whine.

“Please don’t stop, Sugu—”

He groaned against you, spreading your ass wider with both hands so he could bury his tongue deeper. Obscene, wet sounds filled the apartment as he devoured you. Your eyes rolled back, back arching so sharply you thought you might break.

“F-fuck— fuckkkkk—” you whimpered, thighs shaking violently as you fought to keep your ass up for him.

His tongue pushed inside you, curling, licking, tasting every inch like he wanted to ruin you from the inside out. You were dripping down his chin, lost in the filthy heat of his mouth.

He pulled back for a moment just to watch the way your pussy pulsed and clenched desperately for him, glistening under the amber lights.

“Such a pretty cunt, princess,” he whispered, voice rough with lust. His thumbs dragged through your slick folds, spreading you open, watching you squirm and push back against his touch like you couldn’t help it.

But then jealousy coiled tight in his chest, slow and venomous.

He had known about your boyfriend from the start. It had barely registered before. Now the thought of that man seeing this pussy, claiming it, being inside what belonged to him—it ignited something darker behind his eyes.

“Mine,” he growled, low and final.

Your head turned sharply, catching the raw intensity carved into his usually composed face. Something possessive and unyielding lingered there, unspoken.

He lifted you without another word, carrying you through the penthouse with effortless strength. The bedroom door swung open under his kick, revealing the dark, luxurious space—shadows and low amber light, black silk, and that sweeping wall of glass framing the glittering city below. Your apartment building sat visible in the distance, small and distant under the night sky.

He didn’t head for the bed.

Suguru pressed you against the cool glass instead, your bare breasts flush to the surface, breath fogging instantly in soft, trembling clouds. His tall frame enveloped you from behind, one hand pressing firmly between your shoulder blades, the other sliding around to wrap loosely around your throat. The thick head of his cock nudged your entrance, teasing for a heartbeat before he sank in—slow, deliberate, inch by devastating inch.

A broken moan slipped from your lips as he stretched you open, filling you so completely it stole the air from your lungs. He stayed buried deep for a long moment, letting you feel every heavy pulse of him inside you, the way your walls fluttered helplessly around his girth.

Then he began to move.

Not frantic. Not rushed. Each thrust was measured, deep, and unhurried—like he had all night to ruin you. The slow drag of his cock against your sensitive walls made your eyes flutter, pleasure blooming thick and heavy in your core. The city lights blurred in your vision as he rocked into you, hips rolling with controlled power that pressed you harder into the glass.

“Look,” he murmured against your ear, voice low and velvet-rough, calm as ever. “Right there.”

His fingers flexed around your throat, tilting your gaze toward the distant glow of your apartment building. The contrast was cruel and intoxicating—you, naked and impaled on him high above the city, while your boyfriend slept unaware below.

Suguru’s pace remained agonizingly slow, each thrust dragging out the sensation until you felt every ridge, every vein, every time he bottomed out and ground against that spot that made your thighs quiver. Your hands pressed flat against the glass, nails scraping uselessly as soft, needy whimpers escaped you.

“So fucking wet,” he breathed, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “This pussy always takes me so well… like it knows who it belongs to.”

His hand drifted down, fingers finding your swollen clit, circling it with lazy, firm strokes that matched the rhythm of his hips. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting were obscene in the quiet room—slow, slick, filthy. Pleasure built in heavy waves, thick and suffocating, making your knees tremble and your breath fog the glass in uneven patterns.

He fucked you like he was savoring it. Like he wanted you to feel every second of how completely he owned you in this moment. His chest pressed warm and solid against your back, long raven strands of hair tickling your shoulder as he leaned in closer.

“That’s it… just feel it,” he cooed softly, condescending and intimate. “Feel how deep I am. How full you get for me. No one else gets you like this, do they, princess?”

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, fogging the glass in front of your parted lips. Each slow, powerful thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your body trembling, cunt clenching greedily around him. The jealousy in his grip—tighter on your hip, the way he pressed you harder into the window—said everything his sparse words didn’t. He wouldn’t share. Not really. Not this.

But as the pleasure crested, slow and devastating, a quieter truth settled deep in your chest.

He would never give up the others. You knew it in your bones—the late nights, the other girls leaving marked and shaky, the way he’d summon you right after like nothing happened. He was addicted to the power, the variety, the control.

Yet you’d settle for this.

For being his favorite.

For the way he ruined you so perfectly while the rest of the world stayed far below.