hey if u notice that i tag my reposts in a unusual way it’s because i tag them depending on the fic or whatever so i could find it again, love yall 😚 (i know nobody asked nor cares 💔)
Summary: inspired by these Han Jisung photos because damn, does he look so girlfriend here!
Jisung has a little secret - one he can't tell anyone, but especially not you, his perfect partner. It's a secret that's lacey and frilly and girly, because Han Jisung has a little…hobby. He likes to dress up in girl's clothes, likes how pretty and small and cute it makes him feel.
And maybe, like an idiot, he forgets to lock his door. And maybe, you just happen to walk in.
(written in thought format, because this was meant to just be a little drabble, and I naturally wrote a whole fic!)
Warnings: sub!han jisung, dom!reader, implied switch!jisung and switch!reader, feminization (jisung), anal sex (jisung!receiving), humping (jisung), caught masturbating (jisung), penetration (reader! and jisung!receiving), dacryphilia, petnames (jagi, baby, pretty girl, princess), swearing
w.c.: 6.7K
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My wife, my sweet, sweet wife...there was something just so girlfriend about him in this outfit (abracadabra video I'm talking about YOU oh my gooooood) that I had to write about it. This was meant to just be a girlfriend!han jisung headcanon style drabble and then well. I got carried away...My finals are coming up soon so my posting will be slow but I'm excited to be back to writing!! I missed all of you lovlies so so much <3 Thank you as always for reading my fics!!
Boyfriend!Han Jisung, who loves to be the "man" in your relationship.
He's silly, sure, and he's a little bit clumsy and nerdy, but he tries. He holds open every door for you, fumbles to pull your chair out before you can grab it yourself, and insists you walk on the inside of the sidewalk, even when the street is empty. He's the picture of a gentleman (or at least, he's trying very hard to be) and it's endlessly sweet. He doesn't like the stereotype, but he likes taking care of you, so he does, in a very Han Jisung way.
Boyfriend!Jisung who everyone jokes is the "woman" of your relationship anyways.
Who's dramatic, who loves to gossip, who won't touch certain things because he's worried it'll chip his nails. He won't go out if he's had a bad hair day, he won't get anywhere near the tiny spiders that appear in the bathroom, and he certainly won't leave the house if his outfit isn't "serving" (his words, not yours). Neither of you care about stupid stereotypes like that anyways, but you can tell it digs at him a little bit. Makes him feel like he's not taking care of you well enough, that he's someone not doing enough for you despite being the best boyfriend you've ever had.
Boyfriend!Jisung who, under his facade, has a big, girly secret.
The secret is kept folded neatly in a little brown box in the back, back corner of his closet, behind his old guitar case and a handful of shoeboxes full of memories. Jisung's disorganization is his safety net, because no one wants to dig through his mess to find anything in his closet, so his little secret stays nestled away.
The secret is made of silks and lace and cotton, is sheer and soft and flowy, is everything everyone jokes he is.
Boyfriend!Jisung who has a box of pretty, girly clothes in the back of his closet.
It's something he holds close to his chest. It's not like he cares - hell, he's worn skirts for shoots before, done girl group choreo without "boy group-ing" it, loves the way that makeup softens his features - but there's something different about dressing in feminine clothes in his own home. Something domestic burns under his skin, something softer, something he absolutely refuses to unpack. So he doesn't. He waits until he knows Minho isn't home, until he knows you're going to be busy for a few hours, and he slips himself into his cute home clothes.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who walks around his shared dorm with skirts and thigh high socks on, the kind with the stripes rimming the top, in the name of it being "more comfortable". A skirt is so very freeing, the range of movement so much nicer than his sweatpants or the big shorts he usually wears around the house. He likes the ones with pleats, the ones with lace rimming the hem, because they swish so much prettier when he turns, make him feel small and cute and girly.
He has a whole secret photo album of photos, in a locked folder within a locked folder just in case. LEDs a deep red in his room, his phone angled to cut his face off, thighs spread and skirt riding just high enough on his thighs to be suggestive. Some of the photos are sweeter - soft beiges and browns against the white of his bedsheets, cute sweater paws and even cuter makeup, pouty lips painted a pretty pink - but there's something just so taboo about the whole thing that makes him want to take dirty photos.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who has a lacey surprise hiding under his skirt, too.
He hadn't indulged in lacey underwear right away. Lingerie always seemed uncomfortable anyways, and plus, the pretty ones weren't necessarily designed for his...anatomy, anyways. Other than the one time he had lost a bet to Minho and had to wear a red lacey thong under his clothes for the day, Jisung was sure he would never wear lingerie.
He proves himself wrong very, very quickly, because he stumbles across an online forum about lingerie for men and suddenly there's a package at the door in a discrete little box from a local boutique. He tells himself the first time it's just curiosity - that something shaped like that couldn't possibly hold his balls and his dick in - but on the fifth time a little box shows up in their mailbox in the span of two weeks, Jisung can't lie to himself anymore.
There's something so racy about having lace on under his clothes. Like another layer of secret under his skirt and the pretty sweater he wears that falls off his shoulder. If you caught him now, would you know that the lacey black strap peeking out from under his sweater is a bra? Would you cup his tits pecs, tell him how pretty he looks? Run your fingers up up up his thighs until they found the soft, silky material underneath his skirt? Would you tell him how cute his little cock looks, straining against the lace?
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who tries really, really hard to convince himself that he isn't into this.
It's just a fun little side hobby! He's an idol, of course he likes dressing up. It's part of his job, after all! He just loves all parts of his job, that's all. Is it so bad that a guy loves his job so much he brings part of it home with him to enjoy? He likes feeling pretty on stage, likes the way it feels when Stay calls him cute or pretty, likes the way it sounds when it falls from your lips more, so why would it be bad if he wants to feel pretty at home, too? Sure, he's not usually wearing skirts on stage, but he could be! The stylists certainly wouldn't complain, and he saw the way that the internet lost their minds over Jeongin and Seungmin's little half-skirts. Imagine how much Stay would enjoy it if Jisung just fully wore a skirt on stage!
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who shamefully gets off in his prettiest little outfits.
Shameful is a tough way to put it, because Jisung likes the shame. Likes the way it boils under his skin, makes him feel pathetic and needy. It blurs into pleasure, blurs all his thoughts into mush and makes him come harder than he ever has from just his hand and his imagination. It shouldn't feel good, the humiliation of doing something that feels taboo, but it does, and Jisung leans into it, lets it drape over his skin until he doesn't know who he is without it.
He likes to turn off the lights, to let the LEDs illuminate every dip and curve of his skin, to watch himself settle onto his bed from his full length mirror. Seeing himself like this makes the shame burn hotter, and the lust swirling in his gut feel like magma. He loves watching the way his lips part when he runs his fingers gently down his sides, loves to watch the way his hips jerk up when he runs the pads of his fingers over his nipples through his too-thin sweater.
He rarely gets off any other way anymore, because nothing else feels as good. It's shameful, makes him feel girly, when he doesn't even have to reach down to wrap his hand around his cock anymore to get off. Instead, he presses a plushie between his legs and ruts down onto it weakly, fingers dipping into his mouth or playing with his nipples until his brain is fuzzy with pleasure, and the poor lace covering his cock is almost sheer with precum.
Some nights, he doesn't take off the skirt or the cute little top he's wearing with it, plays with himself under his clothes instead. Watching the way his skirt tents, the way his tight-clad thighs try to squeeze together around the plushie, it's almost too much. He feels so much warmer, as he watches his cheeks go rosy and his fingers disappear beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingers can barely sneak below his bra enough to tweak at his nipples before he's coming with a moan, painting the inside of his skirt white.
He's started humping the night away pathetically, somehow teenager-levels of horny again. Minho's started making his coffee a little stronger in the morning, his eyes searching as he tries to figure out why Jisung's eye bags are sinking further into his head, but Jisung's too embarrassed to say it's because he's horny. Not like Minho wouldn't offer to help, or at the very least rat out Jisung's horny behaviour to you, but Jisung can't stomach the idea of Minho knowing about his secret. So he comes nightly in his panties alone instead, often more than once, and wakes up early enough to clean up his mess before Minho can walk in and catch him asleep with dried cum gluing his skirt to his thighs.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who knows he can't keep it a secret forever, who tries so hard to hide it anyways.
...but he's notoriously terrible at keeping secrets from people he's close with. It's easier, with the members, who don't pry into his personal life other than to poke fun. When his ears go red when Hyunjin calls him your "girlfriend", it can be excused as embarrassment. You're too busy defending his boyfriend honor for him to catch the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he swallows like his mouth is full of cotton, the way his tongue pokes into his cheek like he's trying to swallow down a needy sound.
Minho notices first, because of course he does. Jisung hates that he knows Jisung better than he knows himself, hates that Minho always knows how to read him like a book, even when Jisung himself can't read the words on the page. The eye bags were the first piece of evidence, and then Minho comes home late one night and finds Jisung's door locked, and he starts to connect dots.
He catches Jisung doing laundry at 5am on a Wednesday and that's when he knows for sure that Jisung is keeping a secret from him, and Minho will be damned if he doesn't figure it out. Jisung flushed so red when he saw Minho that morning that Minho thinks, perhaps, Jisung pissed the bed. But there's more than just bedding in the machine - not that Minho can get a good glimpse, not with Jisung shoving him out of the room and insisting he'll "cook breakfast" for the two of them - and Minho's curiosity has been peaked.
So he pokes and prods until Jisung spills the beans, because, actually, it's not that Minho always knows what's going on with Jisung, he just knows how to get him to talk about it. It's a gentle game of coaxing and convincing, not unlike getting a shy cat to allow you to pet it, and Minho's got Jisung across the table from him with his head in his hands in less than a week, confessing his sins.
"Okay." Minho says afterwards, evenly, like his roommate didn't just confess to humping himself to sleep in women's clothes every night.
And it's actually...normal, after that. Minho doesn't judge him, and Jisung finds that he doesn't quite mind wearing skirts around the house when Minho's there anymore. He comes home one day to see Minho holding a skirt up to himself and almost cries with joy. So maybe, maybe, things are okay again.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who still can't bring himself to talk about his little nighttime routine with you, his partner.
He knows you're not stupid, though, and that you're catching on. Jisung has never necesarily been dominant in bed before, but he's never quite been submissive either. The two of you have a push-and-pull dynamic, a perfect blend of both of you in charge in a way that makes it feel like no one's quite really in charge, at all. It's an equal act of giving and taking that makes your bed chemistry so good, and Jisung wouldn't trade it for the world.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's getting worse and worse at keeping any level of control when the two of you are fucking.
It's as if the box in his closet is calling his name whenever you roll on top of him, when you use your weight to hold him down and just take. He pictures, on nights when he's on his own, you guiding his hips, you wrapping your fingers around his neck like a necklace, you forcing his hips onto the bed as you ride him like a personal dildo. You, fully clothed, pushing that pretty pink dildo he's used on you before into him and making him take it like a good girl boy.
He tries it once, on his own, because he really just couldn't help it! He starts with his fingers, blunt and short, and finds quickly that it's just not enough. He wants more, wants you pressing him down with your weight on the back of his thighs, fingers spread his cheeks and forcing the pink dildo in and out of him. He can't do it well himself, his wrist giving out when it feels too good, and he can't keep the pace up well enough when his pleasure peaks that he can't bring himself to come with the dildo, despite the burn of pleasure under his skin.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's become a total pillow princess.
He's all glossy eyes and bitten raw lips, fingers digging uselessly into the sheets or the fat of your hips when you're having sex. He's sloppy when he's thrusting into you from behind, until you get sick of his inconsistent bucking and flip the two of you over, riding him until both of you come. He's babbling the whole time, begging for more and less all in one breath, because it's just so overwhelming to have you on top of him. He feels like a sick, dirty pervert, laying back and sobbing and imagining you calling him your pretty girl boy, imagining you fucking into him, instead.
You take the role in stride, because who would turn down a doe-eyed Han Jisung, begging to be fucked into the mattress? You certainly don't mind being the one in control - your ego certainly doesn't mind either, especially when his eyes roll back and his back arches so high off the bed he almost throws you off of him - and he's just so sweet with you afterwards. Face pressed to your chest, pinky linking with yours, taking big, shuddering breaths while you rub circles into his back until he melts against you. He mouths at your skin softly, pressing kisses wherever his heavy head can reach, mumbling about how "good you felt" and how he loves you "so, so much, love you so much, you know that?". You can't help but be soft on him, cooing and petting his hair until his legs are strong enough to carry him to the bathroom.
You wash him carefully, not letting him do any of the work, because when he's like this, you just want to coddle him. Want to wrap him up in bubble wrap and protect him from the world. You use your softest towel to dry his hair afterwards, noting how his eyes are still a little glassy and unfocused when you take care of him like this too, not just when you're pressing him into the mattress. He looks so perfect, all thoughtless and pliant for you, and you tell him so as you tug him into your bed, wrapped in one of your oversized hoodies.
"Shut up." He huffs, but his words hold no weight when he's got little sweater paws balling into fists against your chest, and his ears are going bright red.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who gets caught in the middle of his nighttime routine.
He's gotten bad about locking his bedroom door at night, mostly because Minho already knows not to disturb him at night anymore, at least without knocking loudly at the door and giving him an obnoxious "are you decent in there?". Minho knows to give him a warning.
You, on the other hand, do not.
Because you don't know about his little habit. Well, didn't know, because now you're looking with wide eyes at your boyfriend sitting on the floor, clad in a little pleated mini-skirt and a soft, creamy white sweater, and wondering how the hell you missed this development. You can't take your eyes off of him, because he just looks so...right. There's nothing unnatural about it at all, no stiffness in his shoulders, no "this was for a bet" anywhere in the way he carries himself.
Plus, the pillow between his legs and the red light of his LEDs tell another story.
You close the door behind you, click! the lock, and tentatively step forward. Jisung's eyes are squeezed shut as his hips buck and you have to resist to urge to moan out yourself, because Jisung looks so gorgeous. A bead of sweat drips down his neck, and you want to trace the path with your tongue, want to grab his tiny waist and force him to rock harder and faster into the crumpled pillow between his perfect thighs, which look to be clad with something silky and soft. You think you might come before you even get your hands on him.
"Jisung?"
No response. His own moan drowns out your call of his name, a quiet but powerful sound, sweet and high-pitched, so unlike the deep groans you used to hear from your sweet boyfriend. His fingers drag up his thighs, up past the skirt, up under his sweater, and you bite your lips as he starts toying with his nipples underneath the soft fabric. You wonder what generous, self-sacrificing thing you must have done in your past life to have earned the right to see such a beautiful sight.
"Jisung."
Nothing again. He's lost in his own world, caught in the swirl of pleasure in his gut and the way each rut of his hips makes everything feel like static. It buzzes under his skin, the image of you behind his eyelids enough for him to fuck into the pillow harder.
"Jisung."
Your voice is firm, strict even, and that's what pulls him out of his reverie. Part of his is still sickly turned on, your voice so in control and in charge that he feels his cock leak even more under his skirt.
Part of him, though, is so fucking scared. Scared of what you're going to say. He can taste the acid on his tongue, the venom that you would spit at him for dressing like this. It burns his skin, peels back the layers and leaves him feeling raw, like one word from your mouth would be enough for him to bleed. He's ready to beg, to plead, to tell you "it's not what it looks like" and "please don't leave me" and he doesn't even realize he's sobbing until you're on your knees next to him, cradling his face so gently that he can't help but sob harder. He's going to miss this. Miss you, when you tell him you don't want anything to do with him anymore.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong, jagi?" you ask, concern laced in your voice, and he shakes, words heavy on his tongue.
He chokes on whatever he was going to say and pushes your hands away from him, arms wrapping around himself like it'll protect him. He knows what's coming. He's read enough romance novels, watched enough K-dramas to know that a secret like this is always the tipping point. The truth comes crashing down, and everything shatters underneath the weight of it.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's convinced he's about to be ex!boyfriend!Jisung pretty soon.
You're looking at him so tenderly, too. At least, that's what it looks like, through his tears and the dim glow of the red lights above the two of you. It makes it burn so much worse that you're going to leave, he thinks, arms curling tighter around himself, the soft fabric of the sweater under his fingers scrunched so tight he can feel it digging into his sides now, but he doesn't care. Nothing is going to hurt more than-
"Pretty boy, what's wrong?" you say, sitting yourself cross-legged in front of him, "I know it's probably not appropriate for me to say right now...but you look beautiful, you know that? How can I make you feel better, jagiya?"
Pretty? Beautiful? Jisung takes a shuddering breath. And he looks at you now, really looks, searching your face for an answer you'll readily give him. He hates that you know him well enough to know he needs to read your feelings on your face, hates how easily you share everything with him like you trust him. It makes something in his stomach constrain itself, twist and twist until everything comes tumbling out of his stupid, stupid mouth.
"You're not...you're not grossed out?" He squeaks, so quiet it's barely a breath, but you hear him, because you know him, know to listen for his little truths in the quiet, not in the loud.
"Sungie, what?" You look startled, like that was the last thing you could ever think, "Sungie. Did you really think that I would...me?? Jagi, look at me."
He swallows, wills himself to stop burning a whole into the wall behind your head with his eyes and lets himself hold eye contact with you.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who finds nothing but adoration in your eyes.
He hates that the dam breaking, the sweet wash of acceptance over his skin, is enough for his cock to stir back to life. Enough for his body to remember what he was doing, what he was thinking about when he was humping his pillow like a dog in heat. He remembers that same look in your eyes in his fantasies, so endlessly fond, so perfect and lovely and it tears a raw little sound out of his throat. He tries to swallow it, but it bubbles up anyways, and you give him a sugary sweet smile, a knowing look in your eyes as you reach a cautious hand out.
He doesn't let you reach him - not because he doesn't want you to, but because he's barreling forward into you before he can think twice, fingers reaching to wrap around you and hold you impossibly close. And you, perfect perfect you, just open your arms and catch him, careful fingers tracing up his back and tangling into his hair. Your legs spread open to accommodate him, and he feels small, curled up into you and shaking with your body surrounding him.
Fuck. There's his cock again.
He squirms in your hold and you just squeeze him tighter, mistaking his wiggling as a sign that he wants more. And well, he does, but not like this. He needs you to slip a thigh between his legs, needs you to slide your fingers under his sweater and find the lace there, needs to watch your pupils dilate as you realize he's wearing little panties under his skirt. He wonders if that's where you'll draw the line. Wonders if you'll call him disgusting and gross while still palming his cock through the gauzey material, wonders why the idea makes his cock leak even more.
"Can I..." you trail off, fingers digging a little harder into his skin as you think, "Sungie, can I ask you something? Feel free to say no."
He nods, not trusting his voice, and he feels you let out a slow exhale, body relaxing underneath him.
"Can I...can I help you?" You murmur, pressing kisses the the crown of his head to distract yourself from the heat spreading across your face and down your neck, "Help you here, I mean."
You accentuate your words with a drifting hand, sliding down until it squeezes his cock through the skirt lightly, like you're scared to cross a line. His body responds for him, arching into your touch, a weak sound escaping his mouth when your fingers pull away.
"No-" he whines, eyes wide and pouting as he pulls back to look at you.
"No?" you say, smugness settling into your skin as you tease him, "No, you don't want me to? Okay baby, we don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
"No, no, that's not - you know that's not - you're being mean," he whines, big, glossy lips curling into a frown, "Why are you being so mean?"
You watch reverently as little tears prick at the corner of his eyes, leaning forward to kiss at the corners there like it'll make him feel better. It doesn't, the softness of your actions just making the heat under his skin worse, and he makes an indignant sound when you pull back away from him to give him an expectant look.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who's so much more sensitive when he's like this.
To your touch, to your words, to everything. He's already leaking and hard again and you haven't even properly touched him yet. You haven't even been that mean - he's taken worse, asked for worse, and yet a little jab is enough to have him tearing up. It sends a twisted thrill through you, a spike of heat straight down, that you have this much power over him. It feels wrong, to want to make him cry more, to smudge the gloss on his lips across his cheek and watch it mix with his salty tears. You should feel guilty.
You don't.
Instead, you feel yourself sliding away from him, standing up and offering a hand down to him. He looks up at you like you're his god, irises swallowed by pools of black and tears making his eyes shimmer, and takes your hand. You guide him carefully to the bed, guide him to lay down on the sheets, skirt splayed across the sheets like a piece of art. You think he looks edible.
You tell him as much and he laughs, a wet thing, and then makes grabby hands at you. You strip yourself of your clothes as quickly as you humanly can, fumbling a bit with your underwear and snorting when Jisung whines in response. You can't deny him for long (you never can), and you slide on top of him easily, settling your weight on his thighs, just below the skirt hem.
Boyfriend(?)!Jisung who looks like he could be your pretty girlfriend, instead.
Now that you get the chance to really admire him, you can see the light dusting of blush painted on his face, the weight of mascara on his eyelashes. There's a little bit of eyeshadow used to frame his eyes and make them look big, and the gloss on his lips still glimmers in the low light. You want to know what it tastes like, so you lean in carefully, a hand coming to cradle his chin as you guide his mouth to yours.
It's your first kiss you've shared tonight, so it starts delicate, sweet. All the words that haven't been said quite yet are passed to the other in this moment, in the breath between your lips. The gloss tastes of something sweet, and your tongue peeks out to swipe a line across his lips just to get a second taste. He whimpers, fingers dancing across your skin and settling on your bare hips, digging in hard enough to leave the shape of his fingers printed into your skin tomorrow.
You pull away just enough to breath and enough to admire his face, smiling down at him when he grins up widely at you.
"It's uhh...peach," he says, swallowing when your brows furrow in confusion, "The uh. The gloss. It's peach flavoured."
"You are so hot." You tell him, with so much sincerity it makes his head spin, and swoop back in for another taste.
He already tastes so sweet, so the peach flavour just makes him taste like a treat, like a peach cobbler fresh out of the oven. The artificial flavour fades the more you taste him, but you can't be bothered, because all you really want to taste is Jisung. The peach is just an added bonus, the cherry on top of your perfect girl-boyfriend.
Your fingers slip down his body, down the soft sweater, down the pleats of his skirt, until they're toying with the hem of it, looking up at him carefully to read his expression. He's watching you with bated breath, eyes locked on where your fingers roll the soft fabric between them.
"Can I, pretty girl?"
You both freeze, the words still fresh on your tongue. Pretty girl. He would be, you're certain, and the lust had put a haze over your brain, but you hadn't meant to say it out loud. You wince, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Shit, sorry Sung-"
"Say it again." He blurts out all at once, looking anywhere but you.
"...pretty girl?"
BoyfriendGirlfriend!Han Jisung who lets out the loudest, prettiest moan when you call him pretty girl.
Both of you feel the shift in the air. It feels thicker, like the room is filled with so much lust and desire that it's hard to even take a breath. You're so turned on you think you might explode, watching with an open mouth as Jisung's cock tents his little skirt impossibly more, a wet spot spreading from where his tip is pressed to the fabric.
You're greedy, the desire to consume him whole overtaking your whole body so violently that you shiver on top of him, a jolt of lust-love-pleasure zipping up your spine so violently you think you might keel over. You steady yourself, if only to fulfill your greed and slip your wandering fingers under the hem of his skirt.
You expect to feel the smooth glide of his boxers or nothing at all, not lace. It's rough and wet against your skin, but you can feel the silk underneath it. You think this must be what it's like to meet god. You think you might come untouched.
"Han Jisung," you stutter out, choking on your own air, "Baby. Baby. You're going to kill me."
"In the hot, sexy way?" He jokes.
Only Han Jisung could crack a joke with your hand pressed against his erection through his panties - you can't believe still that he's been hiding these from you. You wonder briefly how many times he's gone out in public in these. How many dates that he's had pretty lace cupping his dick underneath his jeans, how many times he's hidden these where no one can see, a little secret between him and himself. You want to crawl into his ribs and live there, want to put him in a jar and keep him in your pocket forever.
Instead, you squeeze his cock through the flimsy material, grinning when his eyes roll into the back of his head and his lips fall open into a little 'o'. Your other hand flips up the skirt so you can stare, and fuck.
The lace is a pretty white, a deeper color where it's soaked with Jisung's precum. It hugs his skin tight, like it's molded to his skin, and it makes you want to take him into your mouth through the fabric, taste the lace and his precum under your tongue. But you're impatient, your own arousal burning between your legs, so you file the idea away for another time. God, you hope there's another time, because now that you've seen your boyfriend in a pretty little skirt and white lace, you don't think you can live without it ever again.
Girlfriend!Han Jisung whose fingers slide under his sweater on his own accord, fingers mindlessly playing with his puffy, sore nipples.
His sweater rides up just enough for you to see the shape of his tattoo, black ink creeping up his side and reminding you that this is your boyfriend. Your strong, capable boyfriend, reduced to mush underneath you, playing with his nipples like he can't get off without it.
You yank his panties to the side, just enough to free his dick and balls, enough that you can sink down onto him without the lace getting in the way. If you were more patient, you'd drag your own arousal over the lace, keep him trapped under that flimsy material as you humped against him for pleasure. Use him for pleasure until you're both desperate, until he's crying again and begging you for more more more, please-
You're too aroused for that now, your own heat leaking and dripping as you reach over to the bedside table and fumble for the little bottle of lube you know is hiding in there. Jisung toys with his nipples as he watches you, glassy eyes wide and unfocused as he tugs and twists at them. You wish he would slide the sweater up enough for you to see more than the shape of his hands moving under it, so you could see just how swollen and abused his nipples are, but your hands are covered in lube and Jisung has no thoughts left in his head, so you let it go for now. Another time, another time, you repeat like a mantra, hoping that perhaps your blind hope with manifest another time to happen at all.
You prep yourself lazily and quickly, already worked up enough that you can't help but want to get him inside you already. You use a generous amount of lube, enough that it drips down your thighs and sinks into the sheets, but you don't have it in you to care. The comforter below Jisung is ruined with a sick mix of both of your fluids already anyways, so it doesn't matter if you get a little lube on them now.
"Sit still," you hiss as you move to straddle him properly again, reaching back to stroke his cock once, twice and line it up with your hole, "Let me make you feel good, princess."
It was a risk to call him that, but a calculated one, because the word makes Jisung's hips buck up into you, and both of you moan in tandem as your legs give out at the sudden rush of arousal that floods over you and you take him all the way in one go.
Girlfriend!Han Jisung who comes the second he's fully seat inside of you, because he's just so, so sensitive.
He's been worked up for so long, his own pillow humping having gotten him so close to the edge already. It's not his fault that your warm, wet heat was so much better! Really, it's your fault for making him feel so good.
"Sorry, sorry, didn' mean to," he whimpers, blinking up at you with hazy eyes, "'m sorry, sorry, promise, didn't mean to-ahn, ahn, too much!"
Girlfriend!Jisung who starts crying when you start bouncing.
It's too much too little too everything for him, still so fresh from his last orgasm that he doesn't think he could possibly be hard already again. He must be, because his dick doesn't slip out of you, still stretching you impossibly wide open, but he can't feel anything other than a loop of pleasure, magma pulsing under his skin and melting him until there's nothing left of him that doesn't blur into you.
He's babbling, he's sure of it, can feel the dull pull of the muscles of his mouth and jaw moving, but he can't hear a word of it. His vision is black around the edges, dotted with stars and galaxies he's never seen before, and all he can see is you in the middle of it, using him like he's nothing more than a pretty little dildo for your pleasure.
You're not doing much better, the warm feeling of him coming so quickly giving you a head rush, the act of having this much power over him making your own orgasm seem impossibly close.
You can't shut up either, your mouth moving a mile a minute, because you have to tell him how beautiful he is. How much you want to spend hours with him dressed up like this, worshipping him from head to toe, exploring every inch of him with your hands and your mouth.
Your fingers splay across his abs as you use him for balance, your thighs shaking from the exertion, but it just feels so good you can't bring yourself to slow down and take a break. You need him more than you need to breath, more than you need to walk anywhere tomorrow.
Your head falls forward as you moan, the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening. You're so close, so near the edge you can taste it on your tongue.
"My pretty girlfriend, taking it so well for me," you pant out, words broken up by little moans and hiccups as pleasure muddles your mind and weighs down your tongue, "You like that? Like being my pretty girl? My pretty little sex doll, just here to lay there and take it?"
He moans, hips bucking up meet your movements, but you dig your fingers into his skin as a warning.
"Princesses don't move, they just lay back and let themselves be taken care of, hm? Stay still pretty girl, don't make me hold you there."
His cock pulses inside of you, a violent twitch, but he doesn't come yet. You can see how close he is in his eyes, in how they can barely stay open enough to look at you, that he's almost there, that he's just as close as you.
So you push your luck. "Can I play with your tits, perfect girl? Please, wanna touch your tits, can I?"
You whine a bit at the end of your question - a plea - and it has him nodding eagerly, hiccuping through tears enough to give you permission to play with him.
"Want that, wan' your hands on my titties," he wails, words slurring together in pleasure, "Please touch my titties? Please please please?"
Your fingers slide up up up his sweater, rolling it further up, and the sight in front of you is what pushes you over the edge.
Because underneath the sweater is a bra.
It's white and lacey just like the panties, clearly a matching set, little bows sitting at the peak of each cup just to tease you. There's a delicate little pink rose that sits right at the center of the bra, and it hugs him so perfectly that it really does look like he has boobs.
Your fingers can barely make it to rub at his nipples through the delicate lace before you're coming with a moan of his name, riding out your orgasm on top of him. Your hips move in fast little grinds as you fall forward, and you mouth finds one of his nipples through the lace, biting down, and he comes with a shout, a hand shooting up to cup your head to his chest. You continue to lick and suck and bite as he fills you up, the burn of oversensitivity worth it to have his come paint your walls white.
Girlfriend!Han Jisung who looks up at you with her big, fucked out eyes and begs for more.
Girlfriend!Han Jisung who's absolutely unsatiable now that you know his little secret, the two of you fucking like rabbits until the sun is peeking over the horizon to say hello. You can't help it, not when he looks so good like this, so gorgeous and perfect, your pretty pretty girl. You remind him over and over and over again, until you're both shooting blanks and too lazy to do anything more than spoon. You fall asleep like that, sticky and gross and perfectly content, because your pretty girlfriend was in your arms.
What more could you ever ask for?
I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3
getting fucked by enjin and gojo at the same time, both of them crammed inside your poor cunt. and while you are sobbing while they fuck your brains out, they just talk about you like you aren't even there.
"sssshit, she's so fuckin' tight, can't believe she'd let us use her like this," enjin groans against the back of your neck, fingers digging into the fat of your hips. "such a good lil' fuckhole, she takes it s'fucking good..."
satoru whines as he feels you cum again just from enjin's words, your face hidden in the crook of his neck as his hand holds you there. "she's so fucking good, such a good girl, love her s' much, 'n love her pretty pussy so much, taking two fat dicks like this, she's so gooddd..."
ang satoru always cums first, a choked cry of your name leaving him as he keeps fucking you through his orgasm, twitching inside you when he hears enjin curse under his breath, muttering how 'fucking hot' satoru's cum is and how much better it makes the glide...and satoru's perverted ass is gripping as you and enjin, begging pitifully.
"c-c'mon, cum in her, fill her up with me, yeah? give our girl what she needs, lemme eat it outta her, hurry up, she needs ittt, right baby? yeah? tell him, tell him you need his cum too, that you need 'toru to make it all better and clean up all that sticky cum outta you--"
"o-oh my fucking god, you jus' don't shut up!"
slapping his hand against satoru's mouth (who whimpers and cums a lil bit more from this by the way), he can't help but give in, leaning down to bite the nape of your neck as he pumps you full of his cum, mixing it right with satoru's load. the poor guy is practically vibrating under you as he feels it dripping out of you and down his balls, praying silently in his head that enjin wouldn't mind if he licked it off him too.
Pairing: Stein x GN!reader (Established Relationship)
Genre: Fluff
CW: Injury mentions, use of needles
WC: 422
Day 6 of To Halloween with Love Event
A/N: Gasp! An actual (acceptable) drabble length for the drabble event?
"Ow!" You wince as you bring your leg up and onto the bed.
"Stay still. You'll get more hurt if you move..."
"hmph-" You muster a small pout as Stein drags himself across the floor by his rolling chair with surgical thread and needle in hand.
"Don't sulk. I mean unless the reason you're sulking is because you got your first wound from training and not by me-"
"Stein! Be serious." He reaches out for your messed-up leg with a smirk.
"Sorry, sorry." You look down on him from your position and furrow your gaze. It's not like he wasn't right. You did feel a bit of disappointment getting hurt like this. "But realistically, you shouldn't have gotten hurt today."
"Right. As if it was something I could control, Mr. perfection." You bite your lip and tense as he brings the needle and thread up to your flesh.
"Don't do that, anticipate the pain but don't fear it. Also- You totally could've controlled it."
"Well I- AHH!" You yelp as he pierces through and grab at Stein's hand to halt his actions.
"We won't get anywhere if you keep stopping me." He keeps his hands in position to continue but the rest of his body relaxes to address you. "I'll give you as many forgiveness hugs and healing kisses as you want after this."
"Liar."
"Why would I lie?" There's a lilt in his tone that you know could mean anything, that monotone inflection that tells you he can't be read.
"Fine..." You release the grip on his hands and immediately you scream out with pain as he holds your leg down with his arms and finishes his job. Swift but not without some force on his end.
Stein ties off the knot with a practiced ease and grabs a towel and bottle of alcohol. You lurch at the contact as the burning alcohol hits your skin but is wiped off as soon as it lands with a warm towel.
You sink into yourself, curling your knees upward as you admire your partner's work right below your left knee. "I wouldn't have tripped if you hadn't come into the room so abruptly..." you say in a hushed tone.
"You have to learn to expect the unexpected..." He rolls around the room putting everything back in its place before wheeling back towards you. Stein stands and drops down next to you, scooping you in his arms with a heavy sigh, "Alright, like I said hugs and kisses in exchange for forgiveness. How many?"
A/N: Lol I'm working double time to get the other fics out rn. I have had such a rough patch lately... But I don't want to take a hiatus ;-; Not me writing for a fandom on here that is largely based elsewhere. Hope this finds the right ppl 🤞
Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)
hey hey!! I haven't seen you do soul eater on your blog before, so is it okay if I can request stein relationship headcanons with a gn! reader?
who's your light, now ? *ೃ༄
pairing *ೃ༄ dr. franken stein / gn reader
fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons, fluff, angst (a teeny-weeny bit)
cw *ೃ༄ mentions of dissection, neglect, sadism, thats about it methinks !
summary *ೃ༄ what it's like to date the mad scientist himself. :)
note *ೃ༄ i love stein i love stein i love stein; i hope you enjoy :D !!
masterlist *ೃ༄
ᡣ𐭩 . . So you want to know what it’s like to be romantically involved with the sadistic scientist himself? Well, you’re in for a ride, I’ll tell you that much. With Stein, you never really know what to expect unless you learn to expect the unexpected. He’s an incredibly simple and yet still somehow complex individual; Feelings do not come easy to Stein despite how ‘level-headed’ he might make himself out to be.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Stein, as we all know, has a tendency to dissect things — specifically: living organisms — and unfortunately, even as his partner, you’re not safe from his tendencies. This trait of his, though, I believe stems from his curiosity towards human relationships. He feels that dissecting, or experimenting, on those closest to him allows him to understand them in a better way.
ᡣ𐭩 . . So, if you wake up with stitches on your stomach.. Or thigh, or arm- just know that the culprit was probably your insane scientist of a boyfriend. If you express to him that you do not want him to experiment on you, there’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll actually listen, but you can tell he makes an effort to suppress his urges for your sake. He’ll feel even better if you explain your actions and thinking-processes to him, it’ll satisfy that urge to know more about you even if it’s a little.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Unfortunately, Stein does deal with the madness within him — being with you does not magically take that away, if anything, his attraction to you only amplifies it. Stein needs someone who is able to stand their ground regardless of their romantic emotions and tenderness towards him. He needs to know that he can rely on you to take care of yourself if he were to lose control, even if it was a little. At his core, he doesn’t want to hurt the people closest to him, it’s just the way he’s wired.
ᡣ𐭩 . . As you can tell, he isn’t an easy man to be with. Despite this however, Stein is still a wonderful lover. He might not express his love in the typical ways other people do but he does find his own way to express it to you. He might invite you to dissect an animal with him! However, if you’re not into that (or are a little squeamish) he doesn’t mind reading with you or going over case studies together — Anything can be a date to him as long as the two of you are doing it together. Hell, you could sit and meditate with him in silence and he’d still enjoy it.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Stein knows himself more than anyone else knows him, so of course he knows that he may not be the most ideal man for you. He might come off as blunt or insensitive, but he tells things like he sees it — so don’t put it past him to tell you all the reasons why he’s wrong for you. Make sure to take him into your arms and tell him all the reasons why he is. (poor man just needs some love <3)
ᡣ𐭩 . . Stein expresses his love through touch (he’s a hands-on type of guy); He likes having you in his arms, loves it when you peck his forehead and shower him in tenderness. It’s something he hasn’t really experienced much of, so he feels a little giddy inside when you tell him you love him through the way you aren’t afraid to interlock your fingers with his own clammy ones.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Stein is also quite the flirty fellow, but mostly because he likes to see your (delayed) reactions. He’s the type of guy that makes any normal sentence sound suggestive but only to you, so no one else gets it (except spirit maybe). He loves seeing the way you respond to him normally only to take a step back and hesitate upon realizing what he just said to you.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Something else about him: he loves it when you worry about him. Stein has a problem with taking care of himself — whether it be not sleeping or eating enough — he usually either needs to set up reminders or he’ll forget to do so altogether. It brings him warmth when you fuss over him and baby him. Maybe it’s because he’s never been cared for in that way before, but he gets addicted to it pretty quick.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Also also also!!! He hates being away from you. He isn’t clingy by any means (except maybe in private, away from others), but he needs to know you’re safe and taken care of at all times. If you’re a weapon, he prioritizes you when really it should be the other way around; He makes sure fights don’t last long so that he can tend to you.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Speaking of tending to you, he also loves it when you seek him out for knowledge. Whether it be a random science question or something completely bogus — Stein, somehow, always has an answer for you. It’s like he’s google incarnate if we’re being honest here. He enjoys teaching you things because it’s kind of like bonding to him (?). Stein likes helping you achieve soul resonance with him if you’re a weapon and the two of you get along pretty well due to the amount of time you both spend together. If you’re another meister, he definitely teaches you to fight even without a weapon if you don’t already know how.
ᡣ𐭩 . . Last but not least, Stein is also too much of a fool for you, more than he likes to admit. At the beginning he wasn’t really used to caring for other people but after meeting you, it’s become as easy as breathing to him (sometimes). He reminds you to drink water and sleep plenty so that ‘your brain can function properly’, as he puts it (really, he just likes knowing that you’re okay). Stein’s also the type of guy to ask for kisses under the guise of it being scientifically proven to reduce/prevent cavities).
ᡣ𐭩 . . Overall, Stein is a 9/10 boyfriend. He might have some baggage caused by his own nature, but if you learn to accept those parts of him and love him regardless, he’s sure to show you a good time. He’s a committed lover and honestly, once he’s found someone who sees him for him and not the shallow persona he puts on, he doesn’t need anyone else.
⡴ utterly whipped gojo forcing you to praise him during sex [kinda a pt 2 to this ? ] ⡴ didn’t even touch word count
he’s balls deep in you, and yet of course he’s still spouting stupid bullshit.
“i’m doing good, right baby?” he moans (moreso whimpers), still thrusting in that half-romantic half-what it’s actually supposed to be—a hookup—rhythm. his normally porcelain cheeks are completely flushed, his cool white hair falls in his face, some strands sticking to his forehead glistening in sweat.
“i—what?” you manage to say, still out of breath from how he’s fucking into you with his unfairly big cock. every perfect ridge and vein of it is dragging against your walls as he thrusts in and out of your sopping cunt—though you’ll deny how wet you are because of how large gojo’s ego will be if he knows he actually arouses you.
“say it.” he pouts above you, gripping harder on your shoulders he’s deemed a perfect leverage point in you to help with his strokes. “say i’m doing good… please?” his blue eyes pleading to you like a puppy dog.
“gojo, i’m not fucking doing th—” he shoves all the way back in and stops his thrusts. you moan without even meaning to from the sheer amount of girth being stuffed in you. he juts his lower lip out further, clearly upset by your answer.
“c’mon,” he looks physically pained as he restrains himself from continuing his thrusts. “just say it and i’ll keep fucking you.” he whines out, sounding a lot more weak and less intimidating than he thought he would.
you breathe out. you know he’ll hold on to this for the rest of the foreseeable future but you’re close anyway. you’ll come then kick him out like always and if next time he keeps mentioning it, you’ll just stuff his face with your pussy.
“you’re doing so good, gojo.” you moan out in a shaky voice.
he moans, loudly, near pornographic, and he gets back to thrusting immediately, except he seems more motivated. his strokes are fasting and more like he’s trying to impress you. his sounds are more desperate and huffy than before.
he reaches around your waist to hug you closer and shove his face deep in your neck, right below your ear.
“haaah, fuck, baby—say i’m the best you’ve ever had, please.”
“mm, god, gojo you’re the best i’ll ever fucking have.” he cries out. cries out and actually cries. tears start streaming down his pale face and cupping along your neck and collar bone where he’s found solace. he’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon.
unwantedly but admittedly, you say this next one yourself. it’s almost like you’re starting to… like him. ew.
“such a g’boy for me, satoru.” he nuts. immediately thick cum oozes into your pussy, spilling out from how overstuffed it already is with his girthy, oversized, genetic lottery winning cock. his whole body shakes and shivers while he releases, still trying to thrust so you could finish like the good boy he is.
unfortunately he forgets he’s not god and ends up overstimulating the hell out of himself by the time he gets you to cream by his thumb pressing along your clit.
he brings his head up, covered in sweat as he’s still shaking from the feeling of nutting the hardest he ever has.
he looks nearly completely out of it before his lips curl into a smirk. “you finally called me satoru!” and then he’s attacking your lips and shoving his tongue so far down you’re throat like he’s wasn’t just near seizing from cumming.
Synopsis: abandoned at the foot of a mountain in hopes of winning the favour of the Curse King, you have to navigate life as his bride, constantly fearing death, torture, and being eaten out— up. being eaten up. definitely up.
right?
Warnings: porn with plot, dark romance, forced marriage, true form!sukuna - 2 peepees!, cunnilingus (he's a certified munch), use of curse mouth, blood play, masochist!sukuna, pussyjob, thigh job, death/violence/body parts, primal play, dubcon, double penetration, upside down 69, hair pulling, brief spanking, pussy slapping, biting, outdoor sex, bondage, shadow tentacles?, period sex, multiple orgasms, honestly not as dark as it sounds — this is quite romantic I promise, angst, fluff (soft!kuna), not quite curse au in the canon sense, f!reader, not proofread
Word Count: 16.9k
A forced marriage with Sukuna, the king of curses, sounds like hell.
And it is.
The village chief wanted to receive the newly arrived Curse King’s mercy and be spared from his tyranny. That apparently meant offering you, his only daughter, up for marriage. You were dropped off at the foot of the mountain, bound and gagged, unable to scream for help, not that any would arrive.
Not even your best friend, Suguru, had met your eyes.
Everyone had abandoned you.
A servant, dignified and aloof, came. They, with their white hair stained with crimson, took one look at you before making a silent decision.
Carried by goblin-looking creatures inside the mountain, which parted as though unhinging its jaw, you could do nothing but accept that you were going to be eaten up by the very monsters that children were warned about.
Navigating the carved out hallways of the mountain, they threw you in the throne room. Jagged stone walls surrounded you. Glowing red rocks were embedded in the rocks and lit torches illuminated the grand space. You were laying on the rolled out red carpet, staring up at a giant of a being.
There he was.
Sukuna Ryomen.
He was resting his head on one of his four arms, legs crossed, with all four eyes gazing down at you. He looked bored.
“What is this?” he drawled.
The same servant you first met stepped up, head bowed humbly. They said, “Entertainment, my Lord.”
“Entertainment?” the king repeated, tasting the word. “Not a snack? Interesting. How, pray tell, will this woman entertain me, if not with the taste of her flesh, Uraume?”
It was an absurd situation — they were discussing you as if you weren’t there, as if you didn’t have ears, as if you were a pet the servant had picked up as a gift. Although, it was at least a small blessing that you hadn’t been killed on the spot, you supposed. The thought, however, didn’t permit much relief when unimaginable torture could have awaited you.
‘Uraume’ answered, “The humans intended for her to be your wife, my Lord. Perhaps you could humour them with brief belief that they have been spared from their inevitable fate.”
At that, Sukuna hummed.
His eyes met your own then. They inspected you through your very soul. You felt their branding touch rifling through your essence. Something passed in them, something to which you could not put words.
Finally, he waved a lazy hand, and said, “Very well.”
The servants rushed to take you away, afraid to waste a single second.
You’ve been living in a room somewhere in the heart of the mountain since.
It’s been about a week.
Meals on a tray are served to you three times a day. Porridge, fruits, bread, the sorts. You do your best not to eat much; they might have poisoned it.
Every day, every hour, is spent anticipating the wooden doors being kicked down, waiting for the Curse King to forgo delaying your fate and slicing your head off your shoulders with one, clean cut. So far, nothing yet.
In fact, you have not seen another soul since.
The first night, you couldn’t sleep, afraid that he would take the villagers up on the offer to make you his real bride, by plunging his cock into you and stealing your maidenhead. It didn’t, and hasn’t, happened. But ‘yet’ looms over you perpetually.
Your one consolation is that sleep comes to you easily now.
It’s all you can do — the room is barren of books, of people, of art. Only a bed, a table, and a chamber pot with a bucket of water decorate it. There are no windows with which you can view the outside world, can tell what time of day it is, can escape through, or jump off. Only your body’s natural instincts inform you when morning and time to slumber has arrived.
Though…
With the days blurring, and perpetual and dim light of the glowing rocks remaining unchanged, it’s beginning to grow more and more difficult to tell left from right.
The doors are unlocked.
That was the first thing you tested when you were placed here.
Of course you’ve considered walking out of the room, if only to have a change of scenery. You’ve also considered escaping. But your thoughts would always end up at ‘escaping to where?’
You’ve been abandoned by your village, by your family. They would not accept you. They would see your return as a sign that the Curse King had rejected their sacrifice and would be coming to collect the debt. In other words, you’d be seen as a bad omen.
It was your destiny to die, whether by the hands of your family or by the hands of the beast they were afraid of.
So if death is a certainty, why would you fear it?
That’s the final thought that pushes you out of bed and to the door. Your hand hesitated for a second. Then it was sure. You opened it, body tense.
No one’s outside. No guard, no goblins, no king.
You pad out, feet bare and wearing only a nightgown. How deep inside the mountain are you, you wonder. There’s a draught blowing past, but no sound of the forest to fill the space. No voices. No footsteps. No life.
“Where is everyone?” you mutter, padding forward.
Who can say how long you wander through the tunnels?
It feels like it’s been hours, though with the way time seems to pass differently, it could also have only been mere minutes.
Eventually, you spot light coming from a hollow in the walls. Carefully and with bated breath, you peer inside.
Steam wafts over your face.
It’s warm — startlingly so against the chill that seems to cling to every corridor of the mountain. You hesitate again, also only a moment before stepping inside.
The ceiling arches high above, rough stone glistening with condensation, droplets forming and falling in slow, steady rhythms that echo softly in the space. The air is thick, humid, curling around your skin. It tickles.
At the centre of the chamber lies a pool.
It’s set into a wide, uneven basin in the ground. The water glows faintly from beneath, lit by the same red-veined stones embedded along the walls, but here their light is softened, diffused through the steam until it casts everything in a hazy, molten glow.
The surface of the water ripples lazily, disturbed by unseen currents, by the quiet bubbling from somewhere deep below. Heat rises from it in waves, beckoning, almost inviting.
Who knew something like this existed inside a mountain?
Carefully, you approach the edge of the pool, crouching slightly as you extend a hand. Your fingers hover for a second before dipping into the water.
Hot.
But not scalding.
“A bath,” you mumble, smiling.
Here, of all places.
The servants had given you a bed to sleep on, a table to eat at, and a pot to do your business in that seemed to be cleaned out magically without you ever seeing anyone. What they hadn’t granted, however, is the luxury of a bath. Only a bucket to and a rag to clean yourself with.
You glance back toward the tunnel, as if half-expecting someone, something, to be watching. But there’s nothing and no one. Only the distant drip of water and the low hum of the mountain breathing around you.
Your reflection stares back at you from the shifting surface, blurred by steam and movement. The quiet stretches.
If you’ll be killed for stepping outside your room, at least you’ll die clean and fresh.
Shrugging off your nightgown, you dip your toe in the water, then your leg and the other, and soon you’re fully emerged.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you moan, letting the water soothe the aches in your bones. You sink deeper. The heat swallows you whole, up to your shoulders, then your chin. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head back, strands of your hair clinging damply to your skin.
For a moment, just a moment, you forget. Forget the mountain, the monsters, the fate waiting patiently for you somewhere in its depths. The tension bleeds out of your limbs, your breathing slowing, evening out as the warmth seeps into you.
You drift, arms floating lazily at your sides.
A soft sigh escapes you. This is just like swimming in the lake near the village, except it’s warm and lovely and soothing.
It’s…peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Your eyes open.
Something feels…off suddenly. The water, once gently lapping, stills in a way that isn’t natural. The faint bubbling from below seems to deepen, shift. Like something moving far beneath the surface.
Your body goes rigid.
Slowly, you glance down. The water is dark there. Deeper than it should be. The glow from the stones doesn’t quite reach the bottom — it falls away into shadow, into something that looks less like a pool and more like a pit.
A pit that could swallow you whole.
Your breath catches.
“…Hello?” you call softly, though you don’t know why.
The surface trembles.
Something moves.
Your heart lurches into your throat. Instinct kicks in before thought does. You turn sharply, water sloshing as you begin to move, arms cutting through the surface, making for the edge.
Too slow.
Something clasps your ankle.
A gasp tears right through you, kicking hard, panic surging white-hot through your veins. “No!”
It coils.
Grabs.
Your leg is yanked downward with terrifying force.
The world flips. Water crashes over your head as you’re dragged under, your scream swallowed instantly. You thrash, clawing at nothing, lungs burning whilst bubbles tear from your mouth. Your hands grasp blindly, trying to find purchase, to find anything.
A shape.
A body.
You strike it. Push against it. Kick, struggle, fight with everything in you, nails scraping against something solid, unyielding.
Then it lets go.
You don’t wait.
You surge upward, breaking through the surface with a ragged gasp, coughing, choking on water as you scramble for the edge. Your hands slap against the stone, slipping once before catching, dragging yourself up just enough to cling to it. Your whole body trembles violently.
Air. You need air.
You suck it in greedily, chest heaving, water dripping from your lashes as your eyes dart wildly across the pool. “W-what…” you choke out, voice shaking.
A sound answers you. A low, amused exhale.
Your blood runs cold. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn your head.
He’s here.
The King of Curses.
Sukuna lounges against the inner ledge of the pool as though he’s always been there. One arm is slung lazily over the stone behind him, another resting loosely at his side, droplets sliding down the planes of his skin. And the remaining two are folded under the water.
He’s watching you.
No, observing you.
That smirk curls at his lips, sharp and satisfied, eyes glinting with something dark and entertained. “Well,” he drawls, voice echoing low against the stone walls, “your floundering was amusing.”
“W-why,” you begin, gulping air and frantically shoving the wet hair clinging away from your face, “why did you do that?”
A hum floats through the air, carried by the steam. It sweeps your skin. Sukuna says, “Because I could.” Then he barks a laugh. “When I came here to wash the stink of my latest massacre, I did not expect to find a human bathing in my onsen. How brazen of you.”
When he snaps his fingers together, you flinch.
Uraume appears.
Their head is downcast. They don’t look at your body, which you suddenly remember is bare and visible through the clear water. You throw your arms over your private parts.
“Who is this woman and why have you not killed her upon her first step of trespass?” he asks his servant. Sukuna doesn’t sound mad. Only curious.
“Because she is your bride, my Lord.”
You flinch at the term.
Sukuna barks a laugh again. “My bride? My bride! How comical that I would forget I have one.” He turns to you, eyes narrowing in with interest. “Why have you only now appeared before me?”
Gulping, you tentatively answer, “I did not think you would want to see me. And I’m sorry I intruded—”
“Wise,” he says, one of his massive arms running through his wet hair. “I am not usually fond of seeing humans; you are all so hideous and constantly quivering in my presence.”
There’s no possible way to reply to that, not without getting your blood spilled for insolence.
He stands upon the ledge and exits the pool.
He’s completely naked, as you are. His broad back, the impressive muscles that make it up, the perfectly symmetrical tattoos. He turns. His cocks swings with the movement. You quickly avert your eyes, cheeks warm.
If Sukuna notices that you noticed, he doesn’t say. Only, “Try not to drown — my pet swims beneath but he has already had his fill. Do not fatten him with your flesh.”
When you hurriedly climb out, squealing, his laughter echoes, filling the space even once his body, and his servant’s, have left.
You kneel on the smooth ground, panting, soaked and dripping, and thinking one thing:
The Curse King has a sense of humour.
And two giant cocks.
.
.
.
The next day, you find yourself back at the pool.
You tell yourself it’s simply because you want to bathe, but perhaps if you were more honest with yourself, you’d accept that maybe you were curious to see if he’d be there.
And he is.
Sukuna leans against the very same ledge he had been yesterday. He watches your every move, from when you first step in, to when you shyly shrug off your nightgown, and when you submerge yourself in the warm water.
Something has brought you here.
A pull you could not deny.
Thinking too much about it gives you a headache, so you let your body move on its own, unhindered by logic, by your mind’s concerns. You want to bathe, to be clean. He hadn’t killed you yesterday, and that counts for something.
Of course, you know the smart thing to do would be to not push it, to understand that two run-ins with him that didn’t lead to immediate death doesn’t mean a third would end the same, to count your blessings.
But…
Bath.
He says nothing, only runs a finger across the seam of his lips as his eyes drink up every shift of your body.
Boldly, albeit shakily, you ask, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
Sukuna’s eyes glint.
“I wonder the same thing myself.”
That’s not an answer, you note. But you don’t poke, scared if you do, if you push your limits more than you already have, he’ll snap your head as easily as he had snapped his fingers.
The way his eyes pin you down on the ledge opposite him has you squirming in your seat. It’s too intense. Too strong. Too dizzying. So you try to pretend it’s not cascading down the skin visible to him; you push forward, wading in the water. You stare at the ceiling, at the distance, at the darkness of the depths, at anything but him.
“My village offered me as sacrifice,” you remind him. “Will you spare them?”
Somewhere, he lazily replies, “I have yet to decide.”
Humming, as though you thought as much, you wonder aloud, “What will you do with me? I cannot imagine that the King of Curses would find much use in a human wife.”
“No, neither can I,” Sukuna drawls.
On and on, you swim. Arms cut through the water in slow, steady strokes, legs kicking behind you in a rhythm that’s begun to feel automatic. There’s no sense of direction, no shore to aim for, just the endless stretch of water surrounding you, thick and quiet, swallowing any sound you might make. Time slips, dissolves, until all that remains is movement for the sake of movement.
Then, as you turn, your hand meets something solid.
The impact is soft but jarring, your palm flattening instinctively against it. A wall. Smooth, unmoving, impossibly present where there had only ever been open water.
You gasp.
Sukuna stands behind you.
The bottom of the pool had risen. You still cannot reach it, but you’re aware that if you tried to, the water’s surface would be just above your head. The pool is under his command, bending to his will. How incredible.
Bare, wet skin meets bare, wet skin.
The heat of his body is hotter than that of the water.
He doesn’t step away despite how the water seems to be pushing you to him.
How did he get to you so fast? Last you saw, he was still sitting on the ledge. No, perhaps the better question is, why had he moved closer to you at all?
Hands grab your ribs. You gasp. They’re firm, callused. Burning.
“Wife?” he repeats, wide smirk revealing rows of flesh-tearing teeth. “You are not my wife. You are my bride. I am sure even a puny, little thing like you understand that there is a process to be followed, yes?”
A nail flicks your nipple under the water.
You let out a shuddery breath.
The other two hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting them till they’re wrapping around his hips. The top half of your body has emerged from the water, water dripping down. You throw your arms around his neck, a reflex to grab onto something before you fall.
Breasts presses to his chest. He must feel how hard your nipples are. You’re flushed with embarrassment, and an acute awareness of how much bigger his own body is to yours — if he wanted to, he could crush you with his bare hands.
Sukuna’s sharp fangs glint at the very peaks as he runs his tongue over them. “For you to be my wife, we would have to observe tradition. Do you understand what I refer to, little human?”
Breathless, you answer with your own question: “Do you refer to the wedding night, my Lord?”
One of his cocks pokes your entrance. You tense up.
You’ve seen their size; they are inhumanly big. They could not fit inside you, not without the preparation that the women in your village had giggled about, perhaps not even with.
But he doesn’t shove it inside you all in one go.
He doesn’t shove it inside at all.
The king merely slides you down his body, just a little, until that cock is sandwiched between your bodies.
It bumps a good spot on your cunt. You gasp.
“I do,” Sukuna says, huffing in amusement at your reaction. “I admit I have not been married before myself, but it is one aspect I am curious about.”
His strong hands are moving you up and down, testing every little sound that leaves your lips. And you’re letting him.
Is there something in the water? Some elixir that’s making you susceptible to his whims? An aphrodisiac stimulating wetness out of your pussy?
He must feel it, must feel how it drips down his length. Just like how you can feel the prominent veins of a cock that’s grown fully erect without you noticing. How long has he been like this? Since you walked in? Before?
Your nipples are scraping his chest. The sensation has you arching closer to him, grip around his body tightening. “M-my Lord!”
Sukuna tuts, moving you up and down like you’re a mere toy for his pleasure. He scolds, “That is not my name.”
“Sukuna?” you experimentally mutter the words. His cock throbs. You both groan. “S-something’s happening.”
Hips moving on their own, you feel as though you’ve been possessed. Your body is no longer your own — some invisible thing is urging you to grind down on his cock, on that burning heat between you, rubbing your clit on his flushed cockhead, on the veins that run up and down his length.
Humming, he says, quite distracted, “Yes. Something is. Allow it to happen. Do not fight it.”
This is pleasure you’ve never felt before. Pleasure you didn’t know truly existed. The women in your village always spoke of sexual pleasure as something only for men, joy a girl would be lucky to experience even once, if their partner was generous and not selfish, which was apparently rare.
Yet, here is, grinding your clit on the veins of his cock.
He licks his lips. “Go on, little human. Give it to me.”
With a loud moan, you throw your head back. Spasms wrack your body. A heady explosion warms your belly. Spurts of something even warmer paint your chest and stomach.
Sukuna grunts, fingers digging into the plush of your ass.
“Fuck.”
Your head falls back on his chest, slumping with sudden languishness. You pant. His chest rises with his own heavier breaths.
Coming back into your own senses, you tense. Then push away. He lets you.
“I’m so sorry,” you say, in near tears from shame. “Please forgive me, my Lord.”
You wade back, further and further away from him. Blood has pooled in your cheeks. What have you done? If he wasn’t going to kill you before, he certainly will now that you’ve defiled his body.
He pays you no mind. The water around his still body ripples. Sukuna grunts. Sucks in a harsh breath. Water laps at his contracting abdomen. Furious. Violent. You cannot tear your eyes away from the sight.
Oh god…he’s tugging furiously at his other cock whilst the other floats. His own spend is drying on his chest.
Mouth watering, you almost step forward to offer a hand.
But you don’t.
Instead, you turn around and make a run back to your room.
.
.
.
You haven’t returned to the pool. Not once in the week that passed.
He might not have killed you but one thing’s certain: you do not want to run into him again.
Especially now that you’ve caught his attention. Reminded him of your existence. Which is as one would expect: worse than being forgotten. So, so, so much worse.
For, every day since the meeting at the pool, he’s taken to dropping off severed limbs at your door. Still warm. Still bleeding. Often twitching. First it was a big toe. Then a whole foot. A finger. A hand. An arm.
And today, a head.
A scream shook the walls once your eyes landed on the thing.
Your scream.
Perhaps it’s adrenaline that urges every stomp your feet make. Perhaps anger or indignation. Whatever it is, it has you near-running through the halls, searching in every hollow for him.
An almost full circle has been carved at the very end of one tunnel you stumble down. Vines creep out of it. You step inside, heaving, and with fists balled at your side.
A garden.
It stretches farther than your eyes can follow, lush and sprawling, like the earth itself had been coaxed open and persuaded to bloom in defiance of everything you thought you knew about this place. The ceiling arches high above, fractured in places where thin shafts of pale light filter through, catching on drifting pollen and casting the entire space in a soft, dreamlike haze.
The air is warm here. Heavy with scent.
Sweet. Overripe. Almost intoxicating.
It’s not a human garden, you can tell immediately; the grass is black, as is the soil, and the roots which emerge from the ground are red. Things that couldn’t exist in the same place do, cohabiting quite well.
Flowers you’ve never seen before crowd the ground in wild abundance — petals like silk and flame, some translucent, others so dark they seem to drink in the light. Vines coil and twist up natural pillars of stone, heavy with blossoms. Leaves skim against your legs as you step forward, wide and waxy, or delicate as lace, each one foreign.
“How…?” you whisper, though there is no answer. It shouldn’t have been possible to have a whole forest inside a mountain. But then again, a great many things shouldn’t have been possible, yet they are.
The path, if it can even be called that, winds forward through the growth, barely visible beneath the encroaching green. It feels endless. Like you could spend your entire life sprinting down the path and never make it to the end.
There, some distance ahead, partially obscured by the curtain of hanging vines, a figure moves.
You freeze.
Bare feet press against the dark soil, soundless. A loose robe hangs from his shoulders, open just enough to reveal the breadth of his chest and the markings etched into his skin stark against the softness of the garden around him. One hand drags idly along the leaves as he walks.
“Hello, little bride.”
It still surprises you that he can utter the word so casually. You don’t flinch this time however. You only glower and maintain the distance. “Why have you been giving me body parts?” you interrogate, grateful that your voice is as firm as when you had rehearsed.
Sukuna lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Why have you not stepped foot outside your room since?”
He resumes walking.
Toward you.
Each step is unhurried, deliberate, crushing petals beneath his feet without a second thought. The garden seems to part for him, bending subtly to his presence, vines shifting, leaves snaking aside in quiet submission.
You don’t move.
You tell yourself you won’t.
Your pulse stutters anyway.
“You fear me,” Sukuna observes, like he’s stating something obvious. His eyes drag over you, taking in every inch, every subtle shift in your breathing, the way your fingers curl tighter at your sides. “And yet you came looking.”
“Because I want to know why you’ve been giving me body parts,” you snap.
“Mm.”
He’s closer now.
Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, even in the thick, perfumed air of the garden. Close enough that you can see the faint sheen of moisture still clinging to his skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the loose fall of his robe.
Another step.
Instinct finally kicks in; you shift back, just one pace.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I was curious.”
Your brows knit. “About what?”
“How long it would take,” he says lightly, “for you to stop hiding.” A finger traces the curve of your cheek. You hold your breath, staring up at him, waiting for his next move. Sukuna mutters, “How odd that your scent would be so much sweeter than the flowers that grow here. It makes me wonder.”
Why is heat travelling down your body? Why aren’t you running away, revolted by his touch or the gravel in his voice? Were you still thinking about the feel of his body against yours, both naked, in the pool? Of the cocks whose soft lengths had been engrained in your mind?
His nostrils flare.
A flash in his eyes.
“There it is,” he rasps. “A scent I could not escape, so much more potent now.”
In a blink of an eye, you’re flipped over, dangling in the air. He has you by the ankle, lifted high up.
You grab onto his robe, which has parted. Right in front of you is his cock. Both of them. Neither soft now. Definitely not soft. One smacks you right against the face. It leaves a wet mark.
The musk of a refined monster hits you. It’s…it’s addictive. Your mouth waters again, stronger this time than the time at the pool now that they’re so much closer to you. Irresistible.
Sukuna presses a nose to the apex of your thighs. Skin on skin. You jolt.
Your dress had fallen down your body, ballooning around your face. You hold the material away — he can see everything. That fact has you aware that you can see him too. The thickness of his cocks, the lengths rivalling your forearm, the weight of the balls beneath. Everything about him is massive. Intended to subjugate. Designed to dominate.
“You are already wet. Soaked,” he muses, thoroughly humoured. He rubs his nose on your clit, nuzzling the little bud. You dig your nails into his thighs. “Filthy, little human.”
That’s all he says before he licks a stripe through your slit.
“Sukuna!”
“Mm. Dessert. Just in time.”
The beast licks and laps and sucks. It isn’t anything like the women at the village described — men are supposed to be reluctant, they’re supposed to be frightened. Sukuna isn’t. He’s consuming your juices as though starved, needing nourishment.
In front of you, something emerges from his skin.
A wolfish grin.
There’s a mouth on his stomach, lips curled up and teeth gleaming. You scream, fighting to get out of his tight hold.
SMACK!
Sukuna slapped your ass. A dull heat blossoms on the flesh. He commands, “Stay still. I cannot dine when you worm like so.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Cruelly, he lays short slaps right on your clit, sending juices splashing onto your skin. The way his palm sticks, the sloppy noises, it's all so degrading. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s revelling in your clear desire for him.
You’re almost too distracted by the sight of a second, bigger mouth. Almost. But nothing can truly, wholly tear your attention away from the sucking of your clit and the way a fire is being lit in your very core. Soon, a thick tongue finds your entrance and buries itself inside. Your eyes roll back.
A hot, wet thing slides up the valley of your breasts. Slithering. Testing. Tasting.
The mouth, you realise. It’s sticking its fat tongue out, licking your breasts the way Sukuna’s face mouth is licking the inside of your cunt, stretching your walls, teasing the pleats there.
“Delicious,” one of them says. You can’t tell which. So much is happening at once. Too many to process.
At your lips, one of his cockheads smears its seed. You lick your lips. It’s salty. Eyes fixed on the frighteningly red thing, you open your mouth to suckle at it. That familiar possession has returned. You’re being controlled by an invisible force — your jaw has to widen to take the bulbous head. Your tongue runs over the tip, where there’s a slit.
Sukuna groans, pleased. Then he growls, “Do not neglect the other.”
Slightly afraid, you do as he says. The other cock is just as hard, just as big and long as the one you’re sucking on. It throbs approvingly when you tug on it.
“Good,” he groans out. “Very good, little bride.”
Obscene squelches are coming from above. It’s a reminder of how wet you are for him. Of how delirious the pleasure is. Of how you aren’t disgusted by the magical tongue flicking your tits, playing with the mounds, running the tip of it over your nipples. You’re not disgusted by the salty taste of him, of how he seems to be constantly leaking.
He’s lapping up at your pussy so furiously that he makes frustrated, wrathful sounds; he’s mad that you’re not producing enough wetness to match the pace in which he’s drinking it up.
“More,” he commands. “Give me more. Now.”
Sukuna pushes his face closer, uncaring of the fact that you’re making a mess all over his cheeks. He only has one thing on his mind.
“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, mouth full and words garbled. The unfamiliar word leaves your lips so naturally you think you’d been warning him all your life of your impending orgasm.
Unfortunately, the warning is wasted. You don’t think he even hears the words with your thighs muffling his ears.
“Sukuna!”
The very same feeling, the same sensations, as the time in the pool rushes through you. Bolts of lightning thrum beneath the surface of your skin. You shudder, moaning lewdly.
He doesn’t stop. If anything, he’s only emboldened by the juices overflowing out of you. Slurrrrrping! so animatedly. So viciously. So animalistically.
A feral beast sucking your sensitive clit into another orgasm only minutes later.
It’s too much. It almost hurts. You slap at his meaty thigh. That seems to snap him out of his mania.
In a flash, you’re flipped back upright. Blood descends down your body. Lightheaded, your knees weaken. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms all while he’s collecting as much of your juices off his skin he can reach with his tongue.
Thud…thud…thud…
Sukuna strolls through the garden and back out into the rocky halls, robe discarded. Your dress is soaked with a mix of your juices, sweat, and his saliva. You’re filthy. He doesn’t complain.
Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallways to witness the remnants, of the proof, of your mutual debauchery.
“I have never considered myself as having a sweet tooth,” Sukuna begins, musing to himself, “but now I believe I would very much like to have dessert after every meal. What do you say, little human?”
“Hmm,” you sleepily hum.
“Then we are in agreement,” Sukuna concludes, pleased.
Your eyes flutter shut, too tired to keep them open. Before you fall into slumber, you feel a bed much softer than you remember cushion your body.
A hardness flanks you.
You dream of many hands brushing your hair, patting your hip, rubbing your belly, and tracing your cheek.
.
.
.
Since you’ve come to accept your odd relationship with the King of Curses, you’ve been spending an awful amount of time with him lately.
It started off with him keeping you in his room.
It’s a much nicer room than yours. Infinitely so. Almost triple the size and more lavishly decorated — a huge bed with silk sheets and a canopy with deep velvet curtains, a plush rug, dark red orchids in intricate and complex positions upon a table, paintings of different moments in time of human suffering that concerningly do not bother you.
You always find yourself back in here.
Whenever you wander through the halls, the walls seem to shift. They lead you back to his room. At first you were hesitant to enter, and you’d try to go a different way, but the caves insisted.
He isn’t here ever.
So you’ve started to think of it as your own.
During meal times, that’s when you’d see Sukuna.
Uraume would often escort you out of the room and into the dining hall. Another enormous space. You’d dine with him, and only him. There’d be curses posted inside, but they always step out, to give you privacy you assume. Naturally, these mealtimes were awkward for you in the beginning.
Sukuna didn’t speak. Not at first. He would just watch you eat, which only made you feel more awkward.
You were the one who broke the silence. “Are you… are you not going to eat, my Lord?” you asked tentatively.
A devious grin came upon his face. Happy he won a competition you didn’t know you signed up for. He replied, “I will. I am simply fattening up my pig before I devour her.”
Heat flushed through you. Cutlery clinking against the fine china, you gulped. There was a dangerous awareness of the darkness of his eyes feasting upon your flesh — you felt its weight sliding down the plumpness of your cheeks, the length of your neck, your collarbones, and your breasts which threatened to spill out from the confines of your dress.
Perhaps fear should have overtaken you at that moment.
Only relief and desire did.
What set you on edge most was not knowing what he wanted from you, why he had Uraume collect you, why he was wasting his time here when he could be doing kingly duties.
Now that he had made clear what he was seeking, you could allow yourself to rest easy and actually taste the food you were shovelling into your mouth.
“I am the pig in question?”
“Yes,” he replied immediately. A hand shoved a plate of pancakes towards you, encouraging. “You certainly squeal like one.”
Frowning, and pushing the plate away because you have too much to eat already, you argued, “I do not.”
“Do too,” he said, pushing the plate back towards you.
“Do not!”
An arm wrapped around your waist faster than you could see. Another swiped the food off the table. Everything fell with cacophonous clangs and bangs and splats!
Sukuna placed you on the table, which was now bereft of food. Your back met the hard wood. Your legs were thrown over his shoulders. Dress hiked up your waist. You were bared to him. Two of his callused hands yanked you closer to his face. Those four eyes, all scarlet and glinting up at you, didn’t look away.
He wanted you to watch him take a long whiff of your cunt.
His grip tightened on you once your scent hit him with full force. His eyes rolled back. Sukuna snarled, “Let’s see which of us is right.”
There were no soft kisses upon your sensitive skin, no caresses. Only unrestrained feasting. He immediately latched onto your clit, sucking on the thing with a fury. You cried out.
The king was frightening in his aggression.
He was gulping down every drop your pussy produced to please him, and it wasn’t nearly enough. Terrifying growls shook the table.
Sukuna seemed addicted to making your cunt let out vulgar squelchessss!
They came in quick succession. One after the other. Loud and clear. Displaying how well he was playing with your clit.
“Look at how your cunt flutters, searching for my cocks,” he mused, thumbing the entrance but not pushing in. “And look how your petals have grown swollen with blood. Oh, I bet your blood tastes as good as your pussy. We’ll test that too, another day.”
Stammering, you pleaded, “Don’t look!”
He stared too intently. Saw too much. It was more intimate than being tasted.
“Nonsense,” Sukuna said, waving you off. “I will look as I please, and I very much do.”
In response to his renewed lapping of your juices, you could only writhe and run your nails down the wood for anything to ground you.
“Do not waste your claws on the table,” he spat, spare hands snatching your ups and offering his wrists for you to dig into. You hesitated, chest heaving and vision swimming. Then he asked, “You do not find my flesh good enough to mark? You wish to offend your groom when he is at the altar of your legs?”
You didn’t want to know what he was like when he was offended so you clung to his thick wrists. You made a mental note not to actually scratch him — that seemed a more criminal act than offending him – but the pleasure born from his ravishing of your pussy bordered on pain and you could not help yourself.
The very moment your nails caught on his skin and broke through, one of the hands that was keeping your shaking legs apart darted out. It landed on your chest. With brutish finesse, it ripped your bodice. Cool air grazed over your breasts. That hand latched onto a tit.
“W-what– Oh God!” you screamed.
Something…
Something on his palm was suckling your nipple, like a babe.
Sukuna’s amused huff vibrated through your pussy, sending shivers up your spine. “No, not God, little bride. It is me. My mouth is making you feel good. But,” he adds after a little thought, “I do not mind being worshipped as a deity, heh.”
How could he be so nonchalant when two sets of mouths were eating you up, when your eyes were at risk of being permanently lodged at the back of your head? How could he make conversation so easily when his tongue, which felt so impossibly long, was wriggling through your walls and teasing the entrance to your womb? When the mouth at his palm was suctioning your nipple into that impossible space?
“Delicious,” he snarled, positively starved of your taste. “So fucking sweet. How can a human be so…so…divine? It defies nature.”
He wasn’t talking to you anymore. He was manically muttering to himself, reasoning with his own understanding of the balance of life. It baffled him. Bewildered him. Excited him. Sukuna could not get enough of you.
Whining, you called out his name, “S-Sukuna! It’s too -hngh!- much. I can’t.”
“Cum,” he said.
Your head shook, thrashed. “No, I -hah- can’t!”
“Cum,” he repeated. No, commanded. Ordered. Demanded.
And you could not deny a king.
You fell apart on the dining table with a scream. Wetness rushed out of you as though a dam had broken. He drank it all up. Slurrrrrpeddd! every single drop until you were writhing again. And when he growled, “More,” and, “Again,” you could not deny him then either.
It might have been hours later before he decided he’d had his fill.
Aside from meal times, you don’t see him during the day. He’s always gone. No one will tell you why, and you don’t feel brave enough to ask. You merely assume he’s doing kingly duties — keeping the curses of the Underworld and of the forests in line, maintaining balance between humans and monsters, and protecting his people.
In the meantime, you read in his room, which is now your room. There are plenty of books here. More than you could ever read in a lifetime, and certainly more than there ever were in your village. It’s hard to imagine he read any of the books in the collection but there are signs of use: folded pages, cracked spines, yellowing.
He read each one you had opened.
Poems.
Novellas.
Journals of travels beyond.
You don’t mind the hours spent on your own; the goblins walking along still scare you so you avoid running into them. Of course, there’s always the option to ask during your mealtimes, in between him eating you out and actually consuming food, if you could visit the village (for you know returning was too much). Not that you especially wanted to go home.
The villagers had sold you.
Abandoned you.
They would not welcome you home.
So you must consider the heart of the mountain your new home.
It’s simply about asking, about knowing the answer, about having the option.
But each time you considered bringing up your village to him, you backed out at the last second. He was not your husband. Not really. Not yet. He’s not even really your groom. That just seems like an excuse to do the salacious things you’ve been doing. At most, he’s your friend, and you cannot burden your friend more than you already have.
Truthfully, it hardly matters what exactly he is to you. He’s nice. Attentive. Generous. He hasn’t killed you, he hasn’t hurt you, hasn’t massacred your village and your family, and hasn’t thrown back in your face any of those facts.
That’s why every morning, when you know Uraume will escort you, you make sure never to be late.
You obediently, possibly excitedly, wait in front of the door for the knock.
You slide a hand down your new dress; it appeared in the closet, and is your size. It certainly isn’t Sukuna’s. Red lace, soft silk, dainty bows, easy to move in and breathe — it’s a beautiful dress. Far more expensive and luxurious than anything you’d ever owned. The chest area’s a little tight; it pushes your breasts up more than you’re used to, and somehow you’re sure that was on purpose.
When the door opens, Uraume’s patient self leads you out. They’re quiet. Respectful. They have been since the very first night.
“Thank you.”
Cold eyes flit to you. “What ever for, my lady?”
“For saving me,” you say, fiddling with the lace on your dress. “If you hadn’t suggested that he humour me, Sukuna would have—”
“The king,” Uraume cuts in, spine straight and gaze fixed ahead now, “does only as he pleases. It is his right. He grows bored of his new toys very quickly, and it is my duty to keep him entertained. I saw an opportunity to fulfil my responsibility. That is all.”
You have no response to that. You only blink, surprised and berating yourself for being so. Sukuna may be your friend, in your eyes at least, but Uraume is not. Sukuna may not mind the fact that you are human, but others may not share the same sentiment. Maybe Uraume thinks you are a plague. A rat. That’s often the story humans spread about curses and their philosophies.
Soon, you reach the double doors leading to the garden. Before the doors are opened, they add, “It is also my duty to throw old toys away.”
When you turn to look at them, they’re already gone.
“Finally,” Sukuna says, exasperated. “I resent being kept waiting. Walk here with haste, little bride.”
Uraume’s words linger in your mind; Sukuna’s sharp rows of teeth flash washes them away.
He’s in his loose robes, bottom set of arms tucked into the wide sleeves. A hand beckons you over, and the moment you are within reach, he snatches you up. You’re carried up in his arms, high enough to come face to face with him and see all four of his eyes watching you.
Sukuna nuzzles the crook of your neck. He starts walking down the path. Branches tickle the top of your head. “Did you sleep well?” he wonders. His voice vibrates against your skin. It tickles.
Gripping his hair for purchase, you murmur, “Yes.” Then, shuddering once his lips explores the length of your neck, you ask, “Did you?”
“I do not sleep,” he casually replies.
Within minutes, he’s managed to walk so deep into the garden that the surroundings have changed from exotic flowers full of vibrant colours and shapes to a forest of cherry blossoms. Petals whirl around you, swirling with the gentle wind.
Above you, the cave walls have shifted into the blue and vast open sky.
You gasp. “Are we…are we outside?”
The brightness almost sting your eyes; you have to narrow them with a wince to avoid being blinded. The smell of fresh air too nearly burns your nostrils. The chatter of live animals and insects are near deafening at first. Everything’s so different, so new, yet so familiar, so ordinary that it becomes magical to your senses.
He parts from your neck to eye your reaction. The smile on your face makes his grip on you tighten. Sukuna says, “Yes. Your complexion looked rather dull without sunlight, and my bride must be at her very best at all times. So here we are.”
That doesn’t sound quite true upon his lips but you don’t question him on it.
Instead, you beam at him and gush, “Thank you! Oh, it’s wonderful out.”
It’s easy to forget what the world above is like when you’ve spent countless nights under the mountain with rocks for company.
Sukuna sets you down. You waste no time running around, laughing at the green grass that tickles your bare feet.
The grass inside the mountain’s garden is black, with roots being red, for reasons you could not fathom. It’s coarser too. The softness of this green, human grass, in comparison, sets your heart racing.
There’s no wind inside the mountain, only a draught. This calm air is fresher, warmer, soothing on the body and doesn’t settle.
And the warmth of the sun…
Beams of distant fire soaks into your skin. You sigh, a small smile on your lips.
When you turn back, he’s sitting under a tree, all arms crossed and watching you. Always watching. Always aware of your every move, every position, every shift.
Somewhat shy with the realisation that he’d seen the entire display, you stroll back to his side.
“It is a lovely day out, yes?” he says.
You nod, grinning. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”
About to sit beside him, you let out a squeal when he snatches you up again and sits you down on his lap. All of his arms cage you. Sukuna rests his chin on the top of your head.
“Now it is,” he mumbles, chest rumbling against your back.
You smile again, more coy this time, and grateful he can’t see it.
The grass is untouched. No footprints mar it. No broken twigs, no distant rustling of hidden creatures. It is a forest, yes, but stripped of all the unease that forests usually carry.
It is only you and him.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve as another petal lands on your lap. You pick it up, studying it like it might vanish if you blink too long. Glancing back at him, you tilt your head slightly. “Did you…make this place like this?”
His chin presses a little more firmly into your hair, a quiet, possessive weight. “It exists on its own,” he says. “I allow it to remain.”
Another petal skims your lips. Without thinking, you laugh — light, bright, unguarded — as you try to catch it, only for it to slip away again, carried by a breeze that barely stirs the trees.
“You’re noisy,” he mutters.
Yet he does not tell you to stop.
You lean back into him instead, comfortable now, warm from the sun and from him both. One of his hands idly flicks a petal from your shoulder, the motion almost absent-minded, as though he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. Or perhaps he does. And simply doesn’t care.
Your gaze drifts across the clearing again, softer this time. Slower. Relaxed, you ask, “You said you don’t sleep. What do you do at night?”
Sukuna hums, fingers drumming on your stomach. “I take care of my business.”
That’s vague, you think, but you don’t push. Instead, you ask another question: “Why do you not return to the chambers?”
He chuckles, teasing. “How forward of you, little bride. We have not yet been wed and you’re already asking to share the marital bed. Is this how you humans do it in this day and age?”
Heat flushes your cheeks. You smack one of his wandering hands, which has crept up to cradle a breast, and huff, “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just mean, everyone needs sleep. Surely even you, the King of Curses. I wonder how you rest is all.”
A moment of contemplation passes.
Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far?
Did he hate that you smacked him?
“You are right,” he eventually says, head coming down to nudge you. His lips gently touches your cheek. “I do need rest. So allow me.”
His strong hands easily lift you off his lap, placing you down on the grass. Sukuna unfolds his large body and comes to lie perpendicular to you. His head weighs your thighs down.
With a wave of his hand, a book appears in your left hand at the same time he takes your right and cradles it to his chest. “Read,” he instructs. “Read to me. And after my nap, I will eat your little cunt and slap your clit thrice to punish you for smacking my hand even just once.”
A flutter at your core has his eyes peering up at you, glinting. He must have sensed it. Somehow. Whether by feeling or by smell. How mortifying.
“Or,” he starts, “I can eat you out now. I am fine with whatever order you prefer.”
“No, I’ll read,” you hurriedly say. You flick to the first page, reading the words out loud and only sighing in relief when his eyes flutter shut at the sound of your voice.
Sukuna’s lips curl up in the corner.
And so a new tradition is born.
.
.
.
“My Lord,” Uraume repeats outside the door, “they wait for you.”
Sukuna growls out, “Let them. I am preoccupied.”
You’re pressed to the door, the cold wood warming up to the flush of your cheek. Bottom lip bitten in a desperate attempt to keep quiet, you can do nothing else but let him rut his scalding length between your thighs.
This evening, he’d woken you up with his tongue buried inside your cunt. It seems after another whole day out in the garden, reading and strolling with him and tasting each other beneath trees before or after his naps, you fell asleep and were carried back into your chambers.
Has it been days or weeks since you’ve built up this routine of spending the days together and spending evenings apart?
Time seems to pass so quickly and yet so slowly. It’s begun to lose all meaning to you. It’s not a fact you lament.
You jolted with a shriek at the hulking figure under your covers. “About time,” he said, throwing the heavy thing off and baring how his skin glistened with your spend to you. “I thought I might have to fuck you with both my cocks at once to wake you.”
He was joking, you were sure. Or hoped…
“Wake me?” you repeated, back arching. “W-why?”
Sukuna replied, a fang rubbing your clit and being especially careful not to cut you, “Because I must leave again, but I did not want to without hearing my name upon your lips.”
A whine tore through you. “Why couldn’t you just wake me up the normal way?”
Red eyes flashed mischievously from below. He licked a strike up your inner thigh all while not breaking eye contact. “Because normal does not taste as good.”
Uraume’s voice called out soon after, reminding him of the evening meeting. You stiffened. Could they hear you? Do they know what he was doing with you on the bed?
Feeling embarrassed, you kicked Sukuna off and tried to push him to the door. You hissed, “You need to go. They need you.”
A hand slid inside your dress and groped your breast, cursed mouth appearing to nurse on your nipple. Another lifted your skirt up so that a third can coat its fingers in your cunt’s essence with the intention of easing the entry inside.
“So does your cunt,” he said. “And I know which I would rather attend to first.”
Oh, he was filthy. So, so filthy.
And so persuasive.
With you continuing, and struggling, to shake him off — legs quivering from the number his mouths had done to you today — you eventually made it to the door and was about to open it when something hot and heavy rested upon the curve of your ass and a second parted your puffy pussy lips.
It was almost like he planned this.
“Do not make a noise,” Sukuna rakishly rasped to your ear. Two rough hands gripped your bare hips, dressed hiked up over your ass. “Lest you’d like for Uraume to know what we’re doing.”
You definitely did not — they don’t like you very much. This wouldn’t help your case.
But…
His cocks are rubbing you up and down and back and forth. His fat cockhead keeps catching on your pulsing clit, bumping the thing over and over again until your cunt’s drooling on his veiny length.
“Press your thighs together. Tighter,” he commands, and groaning once you do. “Every part of you feels so good. It’s maddening.”
The pleasure building up in your core from a few thrusts is maddening. Truly. Irrevocably. You can’t tell him that, however. You can’t speak; if you do, a loud moan might slip out.
Sukuna’s grunting in your ear. The sounds are driving you wild. As is the fact that your tits are out and are being squeezed relentlessly by two hands. Mouths take over his palms. They don’t hesitate to latch onto your nipples. You gasp, head thrown back into his chest. “Sukuna!”
“Mm, I know,” he huskily says. “Me too. Be good, pretty human. Just allow me to use your thighs for now.”
He’s so tall your hips have to be lifted up to reach his cocks. Your toes dangle over the ground. You hang precariously but you never worry for a second that he might drop you.
Shlick! Shlickkk!
The sounds are obscene and they’re all you can hear. Uraume must hear them too. Yet, they’re still out there, saying, “My Lord, please. The council grows restless.”
Sukuna’s livid growl shakes the door. “They. Will. Wait. Do not interrupt me again.”
His rutting speeds up. The sucking of his cursed mouths intensifies. The tip of the cock behind you is smearing pre-cum on your back, and the sensation has you clenching around nothing.
“I’m cumming,” you whisper, eyes shut tight. “Nghhh!”
“Good,” he breathes out. “Good girl.”
You bring a hand down to your cunt, cupping the cockhead appearing and disappearing with every shallow thrust through your lips. It nudges your palm, squelching! and leaving wet sploodges of his cum and yours. Sukuna snarls.
And just like that, he cums too. His hot cum explodes into your hand, spilling through the cracks of your fingers and splatting onto the floor. More cum bursts on your back, dirtying your dress.
It’s so hot. Scalding.
He keeps ploughing between your soft thighs, wringing out every last drop until he shudders with a growl and you slump completely in his grasp.
When he pivots you around to check on you, specifically the cheek that had been pressed up against the door, you see his loose robe had fallen open. Some of his cum has ended up dripping down his skin. He’s tattooed and chiselled and hard everywhere. A true killing machine. You run your fingers down his chest, smearing his cum around, all the way to his stomach where a massive mouth manifests in time to clamp onto your wrist with a grin.
His teeth don’t break skin. They don’t even hurt. They merely keep your hand inside, huge tongue slithering to lick every finger and every inch. Curiously, you grip the appendage. It really does feel like a real tongue. You stroke it.
Sukuna grips the back of your neck. He glares down at you. “You are trying to bring me to my knees, aren’t you?”
You blink. “No! Forgive me.” You try to pull your hand out on your own but his sudden grasp on your wrist stops you.
“I did not say I did not like it.” He steps closer, licking his lips.
“My Lord…” Uraume grits out through the door.
Sukuna groans. “Yes! Alright!”
The door opens with a wave of his hand.
“I should massacre the whole council, then I will have all the time in the world to bury my tongue inside your cunt. One day…” he mutters under his breath, seemingly actually considering the idea. You swat his back, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
Your dress falls back into place just in time for you to shield yourself from anyone else’s eyes but Sukuna’s. Not that it’s enough.
Uraume’s chilling eyes see all — the sweat on your skin, the mess of your hair, the quivering of your legs, and the droplets of cum on the floor. They do not look disgusted by it. They look disgusted by you.
“Be good for me, little bride,” Sukuna says, already stomping away. “I will look for you as soon as I am done with these fools.”
You take a step forward to Uraume, an apology on your tongue.
They step back, straightening up. “These meetings are important,” they begin. “They ensure the other lords feel seen and heard. It maintains peace in our domain, and in yours. You mustn’t keep him from doing his duties. Not only is it impolite, it is also dangerous.”
“I’m sorr—”
“Do not apologise to me. Apologise to the king for wounding him,” they snap. You frown, confused. “The marks you left on his wrists that he refuses to heal himself? He leaves them open and bleeding. He openly plays with the cuts in front of the council, in front of his audience, smiling. Whispers are making echoes of a weakness in our king. If you do not care about your safety, then you must care about his.”
Thoroughly scolded, you stay rooted in place, watching Uraume follow after Sukuna.
.
.
.
You take a walk through the garden this evening to clear your head.
What Uraume said forced you to contemplate your relationship with the king. With Sukuna. They reminded you why you were spared in the first place — you’re a toy. A thing for entertainment.
He is entertained by you now, by the pleasures your body provides. That, however, is not something unique to you; any woman can spread their legs, which is a crass thing to say, you know. But it’s true. To save their village, their people, to earn another day of life, or to even have the honour of serving a king, many women would offer their body up.
And you are no special woman. You are quite average, all things considered. Never the most beautiful woman in the room, the most intelligent, or most pure of heart.
The fact of the matter is, Sukuna will soon grow bored of you.
What is left to be considered now is, will he spare you once he finds a new toy or will you be ‘gotten rid’ of by Uraume?
Will you be sad?
The pang in your chest at the thought seems to suggest so.
Without realising it, you end up back in the cherry blossom grove.
It looks different at night. Just as beautiful as during the day, of course, but different. Fireflies light up the air, mingling with the stars above you. If not for them, you wouldn’t know where you are, wouldn’t know that the tree whose bark you’re grazing with your fingertips now is the very same tree you sit under with Sukuna.
You were always under the impression that being a king meant you could do whatever you wanted. Uraume’s warning proved otherwise — Sukuna had people to please. And you’re who pleases him.
For how long will you be enough?
With a sigh, you wonder if Sukuna really will come to find you after his meeting. He’s always busy in the evenings, and though you spent the hours of the night sleeping anyway, it’d still be nice to talk to him. His thoughts on books you’ve read are quite funny.
He hates silly heroines who make bad decisions and always fall for the gloomy, morally grey men, yet hates the morally grey men more for their cheesy lines. “‘I control shadows and I have wings,’” he’d mimic, lowering his voice to a deeper rumble than his own. Then he’d say in his own voice, “Yes, so do about a thousand other fictional men. You are not special.”
Sukuna’s brows would furrow and he’d scoff whenever you’d get flustered by the erotic passages you’d be forced to read aloud to him as you sit in his lap, but he never suggests changing books. You theorise he really just likes complaining.
“Pretty girl?”
You jolt.
That voice…
“Suguru?”
Behind a tree, a silhouette hobbles over to you. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the heavens!”
The man falls into your arms. He’s really here. Your bestest friend. But he isn’t how you remember him — long raven hair have turned matted and dull, clothes torn and dirtied, and skin scratched up. You can hardly recognise him.
He grips your face, dirt rubbing into your skin. Scanning for any harm that might have befallen you, he smiles with relief upon seeing you’re perfectly well. “I’ve spent so many weeks wondering what had happened to you. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
His words are going in one ear and out the other; you can only question, with terror and trepidation, why his hands tremble, why he’s jumping at every little sound, and pulling you away inch by inch.
“What happened?”
Suguru’s eyes harden. His grip falls on your shoulder. Tight. Insistent. You wince. He says, “Listen to me carefully. We need to leave. We need to leave now. We’re too deep in the Curse King’s territory. There are beasts about. We must run now. Come!”
Bewildered, you’re yanked forward, stumbling over your feet.
“Wait, no, I have to stay!”
He’s not listening.
Deeper into the forest, you’re pulled. The cherry blossoms morph into scraggly trees, leafless and with jagged branches like teeth reaching for you. The fireflies are gone now. You have to force your eyes to adjust as you trip over rocks and logs, and as your bare feet are caked in mud and moss.
Looking back towards the light, you start to heave. “Sukuna…Sukuna’ll be mad. I have to go back.” You try to tear his hand off your wrist, digging your nails, but he can hardly feel it. “Suguru!” you yell, in near tears.
The man whirls on you, eyes wide and red. The bags under his eyes are darker than even the dark. They startle you. “What’re you doing? Why’re you fighting me? I’m trying to save you, like I should have done when your family decided to sacrifice you to the mountain.”
You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m not mad at you, so if you’re doing this out of guilt, then you don’t need to. Just go, alright? Go before someone notices you’re here. I don’t know what the goblins, Uraume, o-or Sukuna will do if they find you here.”
Suguru recoils. “Sukuna? You call the monster of the mountain by his first name?”
He doesn’t wait for you to answer. Something seems to dawn on him. His eyes properly take you in from head to toe — your clean skin, fresh hair, the plump in your cheeks, the expensive dress you wear, the lace, the silk, the jewels.
He releases you, like you’d burnt him.
“The king spared you…” he whispers in horror. “He spared you. And you’ve been living a life of luxury, as our village burned to the ground. You call him by his first name when his name was the last thing my family had screamed in their final moments. You wish to go back, to that thing, when I’m here and I’m taking you away…”
“What do you mean?” you ask, brows knitting together. “What happened to our village?”
It’s an impossible thing to imagine. Yet it shouldn’t have been. Many villages have suffered the same fate, or worse, over the many years since the rise of the curses. But your village was spared because of you, because of their offering, right?
A scathing laugh slaps you on the cheek. “You don’t know? You’ve been cozying up to that monster and you don’t know he wiped our village out from the map? That he massacred our people in one night? Are you just stupid or did he poison your mind?”
You fall back, shaking your head. “No, no, he wouldn’t.”
“He’s a killer!” Suguru roars. “He’s killed so many. Every single night. The very few of us that had survived have fled from village to village, trying to fight against him and his army of curses, but they always win. I’ve watched my friends, my allies, fall again and again. And yet, I thought of you every day. I fought for you, so I can return and save you from his torture.”
He scoffs.
“But he hasn’t been torturing you, has he?” Suguru grips your face suddenly, bruising your cheeks as he spits out, “No, he hasn’t had to use force to get you to spread your legs!”
Tears stream down your face. “Stop it,” you cry out. “Stop it!”
Suguru presses his forehead to yours, lips trembling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeats. “Let’s just go, alright? We need to go. You’re not safe even if you’ve earned his favour for now. He’s proven he isn’t a man of his word, and it’s only a matter of time before he tears you limb from limb like he had done to your mother and to your father, and to mine.”
Images of your home ablaze, of the night sky filling with the screams of the dying, of blood turning the ground crimson flash in your eyes.
You’re a fool. You’d actually convinced yourself that he isn’t the King of Curses, that creatures from the Underworld don’t bow to him, that he hasn’t been keeping you to laugh behind your back.
You’d allow yourself to believe you’re Sukuna’s bride.
That you’re something special to him, even momentarily, even just for now.
He’s looking at you impatiently, bouncing on his feet and listening out for any signs of hostile life in the forest.
Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself. “Yes, yes. Let’s go. He’s in a meeting right now, he’ll be busy.”
And off you two go, running in the dark, hand in hand.
Branches whip at your arms as you run.
The forest is different at night.
Where it had been soft, warm, almost dreamlike beneath drifting blossoms, it’s now a maze of shadows and silver light, the moon caught in the petals overhead. Your breath comes sharp and uneven, lungs burning, feet barely finding the ground as you stumble over roots and fallen bark.
Beside you, Suguru’s grip is firm. Unyielding.
“Don’t stop,” he says, low, urgent, pulling you forward when your pace falters. “We’re almost past the boundary—”
A roar splits the night.
It shakes the air. Rips through the trees. Sends petals scattering like frightened birds. The ground trembles beneath your feet, a deep, violent pulse that travels straight up your spine. It rattles your bones, grips your very soul and squeezes. It’s in equal parts wrathful and tortured.
You freeze.
Suguru doesn’t.
“Move,” he snaps, tightening his hold on your hand, dragging you forward again. “He knows.”
Of course he knows.
This is his domain.
Every inch of it.
You run faster.
Faster than you ever have before, lungs screaming, vision blurring, your hand clutched in Suguru’s like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. The trees thin for a moment, moonlight spilling across a clearing—
THUD!
The earth cracks beneath the impact. You both skid to a halt.
He stands there, between you and whatever hope you thought you had.
Sukuna.
Tall. Unmoving. Waiting.
That deranged smile curls slowly across his lips, too wide, too pleased, too knowing. His eyes gleam in the dark, sharp and bright and utterly unhinged, drinking in the sight of you: your dishevelled state, your trembling form, your hand still clasped in another’s.
For a moment, he says nothing. Then, “You are leaving me?” His voice is almost light. Almost amused. “For some pathetic human?”
The words hit harder than the roar. Your chest tightens, a hot and jagged thing rising up your throat, drowning out the fear, the instinct to shrink, to hide, to obey. “No,” you snap, breath shaking. “I’m leaving because you slaughtered my village. You killed my family. You lied to me.”
He laughs. Low. Disbelieving. Growing. Sukuna tilts his head, as though genuinely intrigued by your accusation, by the audacity of it. “You mean the village,” he begins, voice slow, deliberate, “that threw you, bound and gagged, at the foot of my domain to be sacrificed?”
Each word lands like a blade, cutting deeper and deeper, and twisting to remind you of your lowest moment, of the humiliation, of the powerlessness you felt.
“The family that readily offered you up? That never looked back even once?”
Your grip on Suguru tightens.
Sukuna’s smile widens.
“Yes,” he hums, almost fondly. Inspecting his hands, as though he can see the blood that still stains his unmarred skin. “Yes, I did. And very gladly.”
Something in your chest cracks.
“But I never lied to you,” he continues, eyes narrowing just slightly, the air around him growing heavier, sharper. “You just assumed that I would negotiate with lesser creatures. A fault that I have overlooked.”
Suguru steps forward, just enough to place himself between you and him. “You’re done,” he says, voice steady, though there’s tension coiled tight beneath it. “Whatever hold you think you have over her—”
Sukuna’s gaze flicks to him.
The shift is instant.
The amusement drains, not completely, but enough to reveal something colder beneath. Something ancient. Something violent.
“Careful,” Sukuna murmurs. “I do not take kindly to interruptions in my conversations with my bride.”
The air distorts.
Pressure builds, thick and suffocating, pressing against your skin, your lungs, your bones. Suguru doesn’t move, but you feel the way his hand tightens around yours, grounding you even as the world threatens to tilt.
Why hasn’t Sukuna killed you both? Why hasn’t he tore you two apart? Why is he standing under the moonlight, humoured and talking so leisurely?
Even till now, he’s not staring down at you with deadly intent. He’s conversing with you as if he’s asking how your breakfast is or what book you’d picked up to read to him today. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, and that’s more dangerous than if you knew he was going to rip you into pieces.
“She’s not your bride,” he spits, tugging you behind him.
Sukuna laughs again. Four eyes settle back on you. “Not mine?” he repeats, almost thoughtfully. “After everything I have given you?”
A step forward.
“After I took you in,” he continues, voice dropping, curling around the words, “fed you, dressed you, kept you alive when the rest of your kind would have happily watched you die?”
Another step.
Trying to steel your resolve, you retort, “You must feel betrayed, right? Imagine how I feel, Sukuna!”
“You think I feel betrayed?” he asks, head tilting again, that awful smile returning, sharper now. “No, little bride.” His gaze flicks briefly to your joined hands. Then back to your face. “This is not betrayal,” he says. “This is ingratitude. It seems I have spoiled you. Given you too much, too fast. I did not train insolence out of you. You have insulted me. And you will be punished.”
Suguru pulls you back a fraction.
“Run,” Suguru whispers.
His last words, before Sukuna flicks his wrist and his body is cut into thin ribbons of flesh, blood, muscle and bone. They fall into a neat pile by your feet, soaking the ground you stand on until your soles are caked in the remains of your only friend.
It happens so quickly, so suddenly, you couldn’t blink fast enough to protect your mind from the grotesque display. You saw it all. A man, a whole life, memories, a future, diminished to mush.
Sukuna smiles wider.
“Yes,” he says, almost eagerly. “Run, little bride.”
You do.
Feet slam against the forest floor. Bare soles strike damp earth. Sharp pebbles and stray twigs that snap beneath your weight. It hurts.
God, it hurts.
But you don’t stop. You can’t. The pain barely registers past the ringing in your ears, past the image burned into your mind, replaying over and over again.
Suguru’s gone. Your village. Your family. Everything familiar.
Your stomach twists violently, bile clawing up your throat, but there’s no time to be sick, no time to grieve, no time for anything except run.
Branches lash at you as you tear through the undergrowth, snagging against your dress, catching in the fabric and ripping it in jagged lines. The hem tears first, then higher, threads snapping with every desperate step until the once-soft material hangs in shredded strips around your legs. Chilling air kisses the exposed skin, quickly replaced by the sting of scratches, of thin lines of blood blooming where thorns and bark have caught you.
“So panicked. So scared.”
His voice.
Right there.
Warm.
Amused.
Mocking.
You choke on a gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet as you lurch forward, heart slamming so hard it feels like it might crack your ribs open. He’s not behind you, or in front of you, and yet it sounded as though he was.
“I have not even begun,” Sukuna murmurs somewhere, almost thoughtful. “And already you look like this. Adorable.”
The forest stretches endlessly before you, trees blurring together, shadows twisting into shapes that don’t exist. The petals that once felt soft now cling to your damp skin, sticking to the sweat, to the blood, to the places where your dress has torn open. Your lungs burn, each inhale sharp and shallow, your chest tightening with every second that passes.
You trip.
A root catches your foot, sending you pitching forward. Your hands barely catch you before your face meets the ground, palms scraping harshly against rough earth. Dirt grinds into your skin, mixing with the blood already there.
“Oh dear,” he muses. “Such a clumsy thing, you are. That’s why I keep you locked up with all the pretty things in my domain. Do you see now, why you must stay with me?”
Getting back to your feet, you stumble forward. “I’m never going back with you!”
You ignore the way your hands tremble, the way your legs and your unused muscles scream in protest as you force them to move again.
Run.
Run.
Run.
“You know,” Sukuna continues, his voice drifting lazily through the air, “I expected more from you.”
There’s a rustle above.
A shadow moving faster than you can track.
Where is he? Why isn’t he snatching you up? Why is he drawing this out?
He’s like a cat toying with a mouse, playing with his food, heightening your fear so you’ll taste even better.
“I gave you everything,” he says, less conversational now, more accusing. “And this is how you repay me? Running off into the woods like a frightened little animal, with some other man, a man I should have slaughtered along with the other rats?”
Your breath hitches.
“Have I not been good to you? Have I not been enough? Enough to stay for. For even a goodbye.”
A tear slips down your cheek, cutting through the grime. Devastatingly, a part of you notices the subtle crack of vulnerability. He masks it with amusement, with the undercurrent of anger, but you hear it all the same.
Still running, you yell, “You’re going to kill me, like you killed everyone. I’m just a toy to you!”
“And a very bad one at that,” he retorts without missing a beat. “Fear not — I will fix you once I catch you.”
“You’re not going to catch me,” you choke out, though it sounds weak, even to your own ears.
Sukuna tuts and it sounds like it’s right by your ear. “Ah, but I already have.”
Wind flips your hair around, making it hard to see, so when you whip your head side to side, looking for hope, you don’t see the barrier ahead until it’s too late.
Your body meets a hard wall. Two arms cage you in, unyielding.
A scream pierces through the forest. It’s so far removed from you, you think for a second that someone else is facing the same fate you are, and your heart breaks for her. When reality sets in, you cease to stop feeling sorry at all. You just weren’t fast enough. No one could be against the Curse King.
“Got you, little bride.”
In a blink of an eye, he has you carried up by your hips.
“Mark my words,” he says, “you will never leave me again.”
His lips slam onto yours.
Sukuna wastes no time shoving his tongue inside your mouth. A shocked moan escapes you. This is your first kiss, and with him. It’s not romantic like the stories described kisses to be. It’s not soft, tentative, gentle. It’s a kiss full of anger, of a need for vengeance, to dominate.
Sukuna’s channeling every ounce of his feeling of betrayal, try as he might to deny it, down your throat. With the nipping of his teeth hard enough to draw blood, the suckling of his lips to taste the iron on his tongue, and said tongue exploring the crevices.
“Just as delicious as your cunt,” he snarls, pleased.
You should fight him off, you know. But you can’t. He’s too strong, too all-consuming, too engrained in your body. It recognises his heat, his scent, his voice, and it wants more. So you don’t part from him; you clamp your teeth down on his bottom lip too, tasting his blood.
It’s sweet.
Sickly sweet in a way that rushes straight to your head.
He barks a laugh, a hand yanking your head back by your hair. “A biter…adorable.” He runs his tongue up the length of your neck before biting the curve. You moan. It doesn’t break skin, but the threat is there, and it has you clenching around nothing.
Sukuna takes a deep inhale of the air.
His eyes flash red.
“I killed your friend, decimated your village, and your cunt is still craving pleasure from me?” he asks, though it doesn’t sound very much like a question at all. “Your soul calls for me, do you realise it, little wife?”
“I’m not your wife,” you spit out.
“Not yet, but in just a moment, you will be,” he promises. At whatever expression you wear on your face, another laugh cuts through you. “You do not realise the trap you have run into, do you?”
Blinking, you finally look around, processing your surroundings.
They glisten with something under the moonlight — too thick, too dark to be dew.
Blood?
Behind you, a litter of scarlet petals trails right up to where you stand, as though marking every step that led you here, every foolish attempt at escape laid out like a procession. Rows of benches stretch out on either side, carved from twisted wood and bone, thorns curling along their edges, skulls embedded into the structure.
The forest has gone still.
No insects. No birds. No wind.
Only him.
Only you.
And this…
This altar.
“A fitting setting, no?” Sukuna murmurs against your skin, his voice lower now, richer, laced with something disturbingly joyful. His grip on your hips tightens, grounding you in place even as your mind threatens to spiral. “For a union long overdue.”
Dress hiked up around your waist, a long, slithering thing worms up your thighs. You writhe, trying to run away from it, but he won’t let you. Teeth hook into your underwear. It riiiiiiiiiips it off.
His curse tongue licks your cunt with a vengeance, as though punishing you for withholding your pussy and its juices from it. Shlick! Shlick! So vulgar. So indecent. So unrestrained.
Your pulse spikes. “This isn’t—”
“It is,” he cuts in smoothly.
The word lands like a final verdict.
Back arching, you’re powerless against the tongue prodding your entrance. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. You don’t mention how it’s far too big to enter you and yet it does, stretching your walls out with ancient powers you will never understand.
Inside, it licks every inch, every pleat. Maybe your hips work down, trying to suck it deeper inside. Maybe it doesn’t.
You’re far too focused on the fact that you’re finally at your wedding. A wedding you never wanted in the first place. A wedding he didn’t want either. He was just amused by the gall of the humans.
The domain itself is bearing witness.
There’s no need for friends, for family, for a priest.
He only needs himself and you.
Sukuna turns you with absolute certainty, positioning you to face the altar. It’s carved from dark marble, veined with something that glows faintly beneath the surface, like embers trapped beneath ash. Symbols you don’t understand are etched into it, curling and jagged.
“I chased you,” he muses, almost idly, though his hands never leave you, never loosen. They feel your body. Squeezing. Groping. Grip pulsing. Drawing out gasps and moans. “I let you run. Let you tear yourself apart on branches and roots like a frightened little thing.”
His fingers drag over one of the scratches on your arm, smearing the thin line of blood.
“And still,” he continues, voice dropping, “you came exactly where I wanted you.”
Your throat tightens.
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” he says, almost gently now, and that softness is far more terrifying than anything else. “Every path you chose. Every step you took. It all led here.”
The petals shift under your feet as he guides you forward.
One step.
And another.
“To me.”
Your thighs are soaked with his saliva. The entrance to your womb is being tickled. Clit rubbed by a wide, flat tongue. You’re face to face with him, panting, eyes unable to tear away with the undeniable allure of his. He’s tasting you, consuming you, devouring. He just can’t help himself. Even when he should be rough, when he should punish you, should teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, he cannot.
“Ngh! S-Sukuna,” you cry out as an orgasm tears through you. “Too much!”
For a moment, his gaze softens. “I know, I know. But you need to be stretched to take both of my cocks. Be patient.”
Blood drains from your face.
That’s when you start thrashing in his hold, fear taking over you. “No, no! I can’t take both of them.” They’re too big. You’ve seen them up close; no one could take them. No human. One would already be asking too much.
Both?
It’d be a death sentence.
Sukuna slowly lays you down on top of the altar.
Immediately, dark powers curl around your body. Wisps of shadow and smoke threading around your limbs, twirling your hair, brushing your cheek, unravelling your dress and slipping it off your body. They keep you in place.
You feel his energy touching you everywhere — stroking your lips, entering through your nose, sliding down your throat and filling your belly, flicking your nipples before wrapping around the hard bud and tugging, creeping down your stomach to stroke your throbbing clit.
They distract you, shushing the cries of protest.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as his eyes consume you whole. “So beautiful. And all mine.”
He touches your cunt, coating his fingers with your essence. Sukuna brings it up in the light between you. It’s red.
Automatically, your legs move to close. The shadows stop you. They yank your legs further apart so he can slot himself between them. His robes have fallen off. A cockhead pokes your clit, smearing its pre-cum onto the pulsing thing. You gasp.
When he licks your monthly blood off his fingers, you groan. “Stop! It’s filthy.”
“No, little bride. Nothing about you is filthy. Not in a way I don’t cherish, at least.”
Sukuna brings his wrist up to your lips.
“Bite me. Hard. Hard enough to bleed. Take your anger out on me. All your hate. Your melancholy. Your grief. Let it all out,” he demands, growling. “I want it. All of it. Every part of you. Give it to me!”
The shadows pry your jaw open. That’s it. It’s them that makes your teeth take hold of his thick wrist and bite down with every force you have in you. It’s them that make your teeth sink in through all layers.
Iron soaks into your tongue, trickling down your throat and warming your chest, like alcohol.
He throws his head back, chest heaving.
The forest rustles, cheering, trembling with pleasure. Meanwhile, the shadows are vibrating. Thrumming as it plays with your clit incessantly. As it pushes in the little holes of your nipples, pleasuring the fats from inside. You whine.
“Fuck!” he bellows
Sukuna snatches his wrist from you. His hands grip the marble, veins popping and threatening to burst. He’s gulping down air and rolling tension off his shoulders.
“You almost came, didn’t you?” you ask, smiling in victory.
Those red eyes dart up to you. He licks his lips. “Yes. Yes, I did.” Sukuna tilts his head, hand wandering up your torso before groping your breast. Like you already know to expect, his curse mouth disappears from his stomach and appears on his palm. It suckles on your nipple, obsessed with trying to find milk where there is none.
You moan, back arching.
Two hands hold your hips. They tug you down, closer to his hips.
“You expected me to be ashamed of your effect on me?” he wonders aloud, huffing in amusement. “I want you. I crave you. I own you. In the same way you want me, crave me, own me. The only difference is, I embrace it.”
He’s stroking his top cock leisurely, wringing out droplets you can’t tear your eyes from. Lips parting, your mouth begins to long to be filled. Your hips chase after the fat thing. His shadows keep you still.
Sukuna continues, rubbing the wrist you’d bitten on your stomach, “I am offering everything I have, everything I am, was and will be. You need only take it. Take me. Use me.” He draws a symbol, a sigil, you don’t recognise. With his other hand, he collects the blood between your legs. The bloodied fingers hovers above the mark. “Claim me.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes, which seem to plead with you.
Inside, a pull reaches for him. Desperate. Intent. Hysterical. It calls for him, pained. He calls back, even more so.
You can tell, whatever you feel for him, he feels it tenfold. No, infinitely more intense. It must drive him mad. The fraction of what you feel has you wanting to keel over, to rip your skin off and wear his. How he can function, can keep his head on straight, baffles you.
He’s commendable. A true leader. An unholy king.
That’s why, when he utters a final syllable, you cannot resist the pull any longer:
“Please.”
“Yes!” you wail. “I do! I do! I claim you. All of you.”
Arms flailing, you scramble towards him. Like a leech, you attach yourself to him, to his lips. You sloppily kiss him, smearing the blood and dirt on your body all over his. Fire burns beneath your skin. You’re set ablaze. Your soul. Your heart. Your skin. Every part is touched by him. Caressed. Treasured.
Sukuna releases a relieved breath, as though he’d been put out of his misery.
He holds you to him. He won’t drop you. You know it. You know it so deeply, it is like knowing your name.
The forest roars. Branches thrash. Leaves fall in spirals around you, a wall shielding you from the rest of the world. There’s no going back anymore. You’ve given in. You’ve surrendered.
Two hot things begin pushing inside.
For a moment, you tense, anticipating pain. None come. Only delirious bliss. Drool drips down your chin. Your eyes roll back.
The shadows haven’t stopped stimulating you outside and inside. You’ve been cumming over and over again. Little orgasms that make your limbs shaky. But the orgasm that hits you the moment both of his cock stretch your gummy walls?
World ending.
Tantalizing.
Immense.
Boundless.
The most glorious gift.
You scream.
“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes. “Perfect. So perfect. My wife. Mine now and forevermore.”
Soon, he bottoms out. Hips flushed. Torsos pressed together tightly. Not a single thing could get in between you. You feel every inch of him. Every ridge. Every vein. Every nudge of his fat cockheads competing to draw out your pleasure most.
You thought it’d feel overwhelming. Too much too soon. Now, you can’t get enough. You think, if only one cock had entered you, you would have mewled and whined for the other to join.
“See?” Sukuna whispers into your ear, teeth scraping the shell. “You took me so well. Such a well-behaved girl. You were -hah- made for me.”
In spite of his teasing words, his whole body is trembling with the fight not to cum too soon. Your constant clenching, fluttering around both of his cocks, the way you choke him right to the base, has him at the very edge of sanity, which you doubt he had to begin with.
He’s ploughing his cocks inside you.
Thrusting with vigour that you feel at your fingertips. Your toes curl, back arching and head thrown back. Sukuna sucks at your neck, obsessed with the intensity of your scent there.
He’s like an animal let loose. He’s rutting into you so fiercely you fear he’d break your bones. But your king would never hurt you. Not in a way you wouldn’t like.
A crazed laugh echoes in the night.
You rake your fingers through his hair. Then you yank his head back, as he had done to you. “More, Sukuna. Fuck me more. I want to cum on your cocks over and over again. I command it, husband.”
Both lengths throb inside you.
Sukuna’s eyes cross. They’re glazed over. “Yes,” he mumbles without even realising it, thoroughly enthralled in your very being, “whatever you want, my beautiful, precious wife.”
Hours must pass.
Hours of fucking you in the air, on the altar, on the ground, against a tree.
His hands explore your body till he’s memorised the curves and the planes. You do the same.
The squelching of your cunt, the slapping of skin, the mingling of blood with cum, the reverberating of groans and moans envelopes you in a hellish cocoon. The bullying of his cocks through your sore, sensitive walls, the sucking of his curse mouth on your tits, the devouring of his mouth to yours, the fwop fwop fwop! of his balls on your poor clit — all of it sends you over the edge again and again and again and again, even once you think you will never feel better than the last.
You cannot get enough of him.
And he cannot get enough of you.
Sukuna whimpers your name out before and after every peak he reaches. He fills your belly up with his cum. It perpetually drips out of you. You can taste the salt on your tongue. It coats you from head to toe.
“My wife,” he exhales, like announcing to the world. “My life…my love.”
Where he ends and you begin blur.
Time ceases to exist. The rest of the world vanishes.
In this moment, in his arms, bouncing on his cock as he gazes upon every flicker of pain and pleasure on your face, only you two matter.
.
.
.
The sun has started to rise.
You watch it climbing over the hill, head laid out on Sukuna’s chest. He plays with your hair, twirling it absentmindedly. You’re both naked. Limbs thrown over each other. Tangled.
Juices and blood have dried over your skin. Some of it your own. Some of it his.
A deep satisfaction courses through your veins.
Sukuna’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek.
There is something almost surreal about it — this stillness, this calm. The same body that had hunted you through the dark now lies beneath you like an anchor, solid and unyielding in a different way. The heat of him seeps into your skin, bleeding into your bones.
His fingers continue their idle path through your hair.
A strand slips loose, caught and wound around his clawed fingertips before being released again.
Your body bears the marks of the night: faint bruises bloom beneath your skin, teeth marks darkening where they had once stung, thin scratches tracing your limbs from your flight through the forest. Sukuna’s hands soothe any marks he left on you, not regretful at all. His actions can be likened to basking proudly in the art he made.
All the while, you’re tracing the marks you left on him too — the scratches, the bite marks, the bruises he allowed you to give him. You run your fingers down his tattoos, avoiding the mouth on his tongue, which keeps licking you or trying to capture your hand. A very naughty thing indeed.
“Sukuna,” you murmur. He grunts. “I’m hungry. Let’s go back home.”
“How you have any room left in your small belly after drinking so much of my cum, I cannot fathom,” he voices out, curious and concerned. You smack his chest. “Yes, dear. I hear you. Let us take a bath in the pool and I will have a servant bring us food. Perhaps a goblin.”
As he stands up, you frown. “A goblin? Why not Uraume?”
Uraume’s his favourite. His right hand. His shadow. The goblins, on the other hand, he barely tolerates. You’ve seen him kick the poor things out of the way too often. Once or twice, you’ve reflexively tried to help them up, but they growl at you. You think they quite like being kicked about. It seems to be an honour to them.
Under his breath, as Sukuna stretches his body with a lazy yawn, he says, “Uraume is on time out.”
Using his outstretched hand to bring you to your feet, you ask, “Why? What happened?”
Petulantly, he grumbles, “The insolent brat took it upon themself to lead that waste of space human I tore to shreds to you. It seems they thought you were a bad influence on me.”
To punctuate his last sentence and emphasise the absurdity of the idea, he grins wolfishly down at you, more specifically at his cum dripping down your thighs. Cheeks heated, you press them together.
It’s hard to believe this evening had been orchestrated by Uraume, but also it’s not a huge leap in logic. They’ve made their point of view abundantly clear — you just didn’t think they would have tried to have you face imminent death crossing through the forest where creatures of the Underworld lurked.
“Are you…are you going to hurt them?”
Sukuna cocks a brow. “Would you like me too?”
“No,” you say immediately and sincerely. “Blood’s already been spilled tonight. I don’t want to be the reason someone gets hurt again.”
“Very well. Let me know if you change your mind. They sure do get upset if I let someone else cook my meals.”
You giggle.
Then, all the humour dies out of you.
Exhaustion has set in your limbs.
Whatever energy had overtaken you earlier is gone now.
His breath grazes your cheeks, warm against the cold air. One of his thumbs collects a tear right from your lashes. You didn’t even know you’re tearing up. He brings the droplet to his lips and licks it away. You hold your breath as he mutters, “Watching you run from me, hand in hand with some other man, hurts less than seeing you cry for him. It makes me wish I had made him suffer more before his end.”
“I’m not crying for him.”
Sukuna’s crimson eyes flit to you.
“Oh?”
Sudden sobs escape your lips. Your knees give out beneath you. He catches you, lifting you up in his arms. He always does. You bury your face in his neck. Sukuna rubs soothing circles on your back, cooing. “My ferocious, little wife…what is wrong? Did I hurt you too much? Do you…do you regret marrying me?”
The insecurity in his voice, the hesitation to ask, to hear a truth he would be distraught to hear, make you cry harder.
“Please don’t ever throw me away. I know I shouldn’t have left last night, but I really thought you were going to kill me. And maybe you will later. But please don’t,” you plead through your tears. “I want to be with you forever and ever.”
Silence passes.
A pregnant pause.
He laughs.
He actually laughs.
It’s full bodied. His stomach mouth joins in. “Hilarious! You never fail to entertain me with your constant overthinking. Always so afraid. So on guard. Too precious! You are just too adorable. You will rot my teeth.”
Weakly, you lay a barrage of punches on his chest. “Don’t laugh at me, you brute. I’m your wife. Respect me.”
Sukuna nods patronisingly, but he does shift his laughter into light chuckles, “Alright, alright. Forgive me, little wife. You are simply so delightful, so naive, and pitiful, I cannot help myself.”
“Put me down.”
“Never.” Sukuna presses a kiss to your cheek. He nudges your face away from his neck so you will meet his gaze. Seriously now, voice with his sacred vow, “I have no intention of throwing you away. Not since I laid eyes on you and felt a thing I did not know existed beat in my chest.”
Holding your breath, you listen to his confession.
“There is no world,” he continues, quieter now, though the weight of it presses heavier, “in which I allow you to slip from my grasp. Not heaven, not earth, not whatever fragile afterlife your kind clings to. If you are taken from me, I will unmake it. If you are hidden, I will find you. If you are reborn, I will recognise you.”
Shyly, you ask, “Even if I have a different face?”
Sukuna nods. “In whatever form, whatever shape, whatever state, you are. Wherever, whenever, you find yourself in. I will recognise you by your soul. For yours make up my own.”
He leaves a kiss to your forehead, to each of your eyes, to the tip of your nose. You giggle.
Then, huffing in amusement, he adds, “It certainly helps that we are bound by curse marriage. Not by your flimsy, human paper. But by blood. We curses take blood bonds very seriously. If we are to part, for whatever reason, we would both die, so it is in your best interest not to throw me away.”
That should startle you. Should scare you beyond belief. Instead, you think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard.
“I’m holding you to that,” you mutter against his lips.
Sukuna nuzzles your nose with his, a smile mirroring yours.
𑣲 softkuna recharging the only way he knew how to – buried in the lap of his lover
“woman”
“woman?”
firm footsteps echoed through the corridor while he poked his head through every chamber he passed.
tea hall? empty. overly large sauna? unused. weapon display? just uraume. thankfully.
“uraume, where is the one i tolerate?” he grumbled, just loud enough for them to hear as he came to a halt before the latter mentioned room.
“she is asleep in your chambers, master.” they answered calmly, a cloth in their hand and already polishing the blade he had merely dismissed the moment he had set foot in the estate.
he certainly made sure of a bloodbath this time, huh, the trusted servant thought when looking over his blood-stained figure.
“although i am sure she would be far more delighted to see you in a less… begrimed state.”
that made him raise his thick eyebrows, glancing down before letting a sigh escape his lips.
“she will have to make do with it, i can not bother to change my garments at the moment.” with that he made his way to their shared chambers.
you had awoken from the distant murmurs – the light sleeper you were, and sat up against the headboard of the king sized bed, waiting for him to enter any time soon now.
once the door handle dipped and the familiar 7 foot frame sauntered over to you, a drowsy smile curled onto your lips.
it was still in the middle of the night, three, or was it four in the morning?
yet you couldn’t be more indifferent to it, he was home again after all and you knew that was the time he was clingiest.
these moments had quickly become your favourite ones, making you await him eagerly every time.
one set of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close enough for him to nuzzle his face into your lap with a sigh of relief escaping his lips, while a hand of his other set of arms cupped your cheek.
you reached into the tresses of his unruly, pink hair, gently working out the small knots and leaning into his large, calloused palm, relishing in the warmth of his strong physique.
“you have blood all over you, ryomen…” you whispered, voice still heavy with sleep.
the words were only met with a small grunt, tightening his hold on you as if to make sure you wouldn’t flee from his more than messy condition.
“you are aware i have just been to battle, are you not? obviously i will have the evidence of those i have slain on me.” his last free hand found its way under your night gown, stroking up and down your spine in unusually slow, gentle movements.
“yes, i am very well aware of that…” you knew it was no use trying to convince him to change into something cleaner, much less take a bath.
“you know, i could change your clothes for you?” you suggested, hoping that would make him cave.
“am i not welcome as i am in the embrace of my own wife now, or what?” a scowl etched itself into his already tired expression, making the smallest of efforts to look up at your face.
you felt your very heart soften at his words.
it made you lean down to press a soft kiss to the crease of his furrowed brows, never ceasing to brush through his hair.
“you know that’s far from true, kuna.” you left another tender peck on his lips, making him chase your lips for more.
he pulled you even closer, an unconscious sigh muffling into the kiss from how much he had been craving your touch. the kind affection he never once stopped longing for.
after being content enough, he pulled away again but kept you just a breath away to murmur a quiet “then let me rest some more in your arms.”
despite your hesitation to let him stay in his uncomfortable, battle-worn clothes, you reassured him with a nod.
“of course.”
with your confirmation, he nestled himself back into his original position, savouring your sweet scent and gentle touch.
and just when you thought you could fall back asleep again after a comfortable silence overtook you both, he spoke up again.
“i will have uraume draw a bath for the both of us so i may be cleansed of any filth and have you satisfied with my appearance again.”
you suppressed a chuckle at his compliance.
“mhm, that sounds nice. i’ll wash your hair for you then.”
⸝⸝⸝ when they notice how many failed dates their dear roommate goes through , all nerd!gojo and nerd!choso want to do help !
❤︎ cw 𓈒 afab!r ◟ pervy roommates but it's out of pure intentions ◟ explicit content mdni!! ◟ dub-con? ◟ fíngering ◟ f. & m. oral ◟ unprotected piv ◟ 3some ◟ reverse cowgirl ◟ backshots ◟ overstim ◟ dacryphilia ◟ dirty talk ◟ cúmshot / facial .
❤︎ wordcount 𓈒 5.1k.
notes 𓈒 ࣪⊹ didn’t know whether to do nerdjo or nerdcho so i chose the only reasonable alternative #boaf
if someone had told you a year ago that you’d be sharing a tiny apartment with two ridiculously attractive geniuses, you’d say they were out of their mind.
but that wouldn’t have turned out to be so unbelievable after all.
it was a three-bedroom not too far from campus, the kind of place that had “character” (read: peeling paint in the hallway and a window that only opened if you sweet-talked it). you’d moved in just over eleven months ago after answering a suspiciously cheap ad on one of the uni bulletins, and since then the three of you had settled into a rhythm so comfortable it felt dangerous.
the first weeks were definitely awkward, that much is certain. they could barely look you in the eyes for more than three minutes, and it felt like they may have been avoiding you altogether. who could blame them? they expected some struggling art major or lab geek to end up living with them, not a pretty girl who seemed so eager to get to know them.
you did grow on them soon enough, thankfully. and soon after that, it was hard to imagine never having been friends with them.
choso noticed everything first. he always did. he was the type to catalog details the way other people breathed—quietly, obsessively, without drawing attention. at 6:47 in the morning on a random spring day, he sat at the kitchen island in his sleepwear, hair loose and brushing his shoulders, glasses sliding down his nose as he pretended to read a dense neuroscience paper on his laptop. in reality, his peripheral vision was locked on you.
you shuffled in wearing the same oversized university hoodie you always stole from the laundry pile—it was technically his, but you’d claimed it three months ago and he’d never asked for it back, not when you just looked too comfortable in it —the hem brushed the tops of your bare thighs.
your hair was a mess, the wrinkles of your pillow pressed into your cheek, and you were yawning so wide he could see the pink of your tongue. you didn’t notice him tracking the way the hoodie rode up when you reached for the top-shelf mugs, exposing the soft underside of your ass and the faint lace edge of yesterday’s panties.
months ago the sight would’ve made him freeze up and his brain blue-screen, an incessant flatlining beeeeeeep ringing in his ears. but now he’s seen enough, albeit accidentally, to only notice a minimal shift in his breathing.
“morning, cho,” you mumbled, voice still gravelly from sleep. you stopped behind his stool, draping yourself against his back lazily, chin hooked on his shoulder to peer at his screen. “you’re up early again. didn’t you finish that paper last night?”
“couldn’t sleep,” he lied, voice low and even. the truth was he’d spent the last four hours on a private reddit tab titled r/howtoeatpussy, cross-referencing user studies with actual anatomical diagrams from his med-school textbooks. it was… personal research, just out of curiosity.
gojo burst in thirty seconds later like a tornado in human form, white hair sticking up in every direction. he was wearing only black boxers and an open button-up shirt he hadn’t bothered to button, making a triumphant sound when he found the pants he was looking for hung by the window.
“morning!” he slung an arm around your shoulders after successfully dressing himself, pulling you into his chest with zero regard for personal space. you laughed and shoved at him half-heartedly, your cheek pressing against the warm, bare skin of his torso. when you first moved in, you were sure satoru hated your guts. while choso was just a bit cold, he seemed downright judgemental of everything you said or did. now he could barely stay away from you. his hand lingered a second too long at the small of your back, thumb brushing the strip of skin where your hoodie had ridden up again. “rough night? you weren’t back until later than usual.”
you groaned, peeling yourself away to pour coffee into three mismatched mugs. “don’t even. i tried that dating app again. guy was hot, talked a big game about ‘knowing what women want,’ then spent forty-five minutes on missionary and asked if i came. i faked it so hard i pulled a muscle in my thigh.”
choso’s fingers tightened on his mug. satoru’s grin sharpened, but neither of them said anything except the usual supportive noises—“what a loser,” “you deserve better,” “we’ll egg his car if you want.” they were good at that part. experts, even.
STEP 1 ❤︎ MAKE OBSERVATIONS AND IDENTIFY THE EXISTING PROBLEM !
what they were also experts at, was noticing anything and everything about anything and everything. you just happened to be a common subject lately. you and your failed dates.
so when they started noticing that theme more often, it was only natural for them to want to help you. and true to the scientific method, they wanted to do it all right.
well, admittedly the observations started from the moment you moved in. but by now they were too hard to ignore.
observation #1: you were chronically under-fucked. not in quantity (though the frequency of your dates had dropped lately) but in quality. the frustrated little sighs you made when you thought the apartment was empty. the way you’d limp slightly after a bad night, rubbing at your lower back like the guy hadn’t even bothered with foreplay.
the soft, bitten-off sounds that sometimes drifted through the thin wall separating your bedroom from choso’s at 1 a.m. when you thought you were being quiet. he’d mapped the exact pitch of your vibrator on his phone’s audio analyzer app. for science, obviously.
observation #2: your body responded to the smallest things. when satoru ruffled your hair and called you “good girl” as a joke, your breath would hitch for half a second. when choso absentmindedly rubbed the knot between your shoulder blades after you’d been hunched over your laptop for six hours, your eyes would flutter and you’d lean into his hand like a cat. it was safe to assume you harbored some attraction for them at the very least.
you never noticed how your thighs pressed together when they both crowded you on the couch for movie night, their legs bracketing yours, heat bleeding through thin fabric.
observation #3: you trusted them completely. blindly. you’d walk around in tiny sleep shorts and a braless tank top, nipples faintly visible through the fabric when the ac kicked on, shrugging “it’s just us, who cares.” you’d cry on their shoulders after bad days, let them tuck you into bed when you fell asleep during horror movies, let satoru carry you to your room when you were too tipsy to walk straight.
you had no idea the way your head tipped back against his chest exposed the long line of your throat, or how your fingers curled into choso’s shirt like you were anchoring yourself to him.
despite it being less formal than he was accustomed to, satoru kept a private folder on his phone labeled “lab data” to avoid suspicion. choso maintained a color-coded spreadsheet titled “behavioral analysis.”
neither of them had spoken the words out loud yet, but the shared obsession had been growing for weeks, and it only grew when they confided in each other. about their concerns. duh.
they weren’t creepy about it—not in the way outsiders might assume.
it was clinical. protective, even. you attend early lectures against your will, came home drained, and still find the time to fuss over them instead of worrying about yourself. noticing the little things was the least they could do for you.
you remembered choso’s younger brother’s birthday and baked him cookies.
you let gojo rant about new updates on his favorite video game for forty-five minutes without interrupting.
you were good, and you deserved someone who was good to you too.
STEP 2 ❤︎ RESEARCH EXISTING SOLUTIONS !
the apartment stayed dim, only the soft blue light from choso’s laptop and satoru’s phone screen cutting through the late-night quiet. you’d gone to bed hours ago after another disappointing date three weeks after they decided to start this project, leaving the two of them alone on the couch with the shared google sheet they created pulled up like it was classified research. choso sat with perfect posture, glasses low on his, while satoru slouched against him, leg thrown casually over choso’s thigh as they scrolled through reddit megathreads and raw x clips—real bedrooms, shaky cameras, actual moans instead of the overproduced pornhub garbage they’d ditched immediately.
“let’s try to stay focused and objective,” choso murmured, voice low and focused, the same tone he used during late-night study sessions. “no projecting. we observe, we note, we refine.”
satoru smirked, thumb swiping through another x thread titled something like ‘she came so hard her legs gave out’. the clip showed a guy with his face buried between a girl’s thighs, two fingers working steadily while his tongue did slow, deliberate circles. “fuck, look at her hips bucking. that’s exactly the kind of reaction we’re after. the closeup suggests using a flat tongue at first, note that down.”
they kept adding rows, voices hushed but growing thicker with every new technique they discussed. the air between them felt charged, heavy with the weight of what they were planning for you— completely unaware in your room down the hall, probably sleeping in oke of their shirts again.
choso’s fingers moved across the keyboard with clinical precision while satoru read reddit threads or narrated clips aloud, his breath warm against choso’s shoulder. “i’ve got three tabs open in r/howtoeatpussy, two in r/sex, and a private x list i curated last week. we should cross-reference with her observed responses. praise kink confirmed at 87% correlation.”
by 1:30 a.m. the spreadsheet had become a detailed, filthy roadmap.
row #82: slow clit circles with flat tongue
source . r/howtoeatpussy pinned guide
PE . 9
notes . combine with humming for vibration; she always leans into shoulder rubs—same sensitivity expected
verdict . keep
row #17: two fingers hooked + steady curl
source . x clip @/amateurcouplevids (2:45)
PE . 9
notes . focus on the anterior wall, no fast thrusting; her post-date complaints include mindless jackhammering
verdict . keep
row #104: prone bone
source . reddit positions megathread on r/sex
PE . 10
notes . full body weight, hips tilted, free hand working her clit nonstop; she melts when we pin her during hugs
verdict . keep
row #34: position 69
source . r/sex testimonies
PE . 2
notes . distracting; she needs full focus on her pleasure
verdict . delete
row #73: edging + constant praise
source . r/sex “making her beg” megathread
PE . 10
notes . bring her close three times, call her good girl each round; her breath always catches when we say it casually
verdict . keep
row #62: cowgirl
source . reddit “best positions for deep penetration”
PE . 6
notes . she likes feeling in control but gets shy fast; might need us to guide her rhythm without making her self-conscious
verdict . revise
row #215: gentle hair tug + neck sucking
sources . x clip from @/msbhve
PE . 8
notes . light pull at the roots while mouth on the spot under her ear; should be effective considering touching her hair is already a self soothing technique
verdict . keep
row #156: slapping
source . multiple
PE . 3
notes . self explanatory, but important to be gentle at first; no clear signals she wants impact thus far—risk of killing the mood if we guess wrong
verdict . revise
satoru let out a low whistle as choso hit save, the seemingly never ending spreadsheet glowing softly between them. “i think we have enough information to turn this into an actual paper.”
choso didn’t smile, but his cheeks were flushed behind the glasses, pupils dark. he closed the laptop slowly but didn’t move it from his lap, voice dropping even quieter. “i’d say to keep the research to ourselves for now, at least until after we reset it.”
satoru’s grin turned sharper, but his eyes stayed soft, hungry in that protective way only they seemed to share when it came to you. he leaned back, stretching his arms overhead so his shirt rode up, exposing the cut of his hips. “step three is hypothesis testing, right? controlled environment. our place. her moaning our names instead of faking it for some loser.”
choso glanced down the dark hallway toward your closed door, imagining you curled up in your bed, surrounded by the plushies you kept out of nostalgia or just because you liked them, thighs pressed together in your sleep from another night of frustration. you had no idea your two genius roommates had just spent hours completely devoted to making sure you never settled for half-assed sex again.
“yeah,” choso finally whispered, fingers twitching like he was already imagining the feel of your skin under them. “we just have to wait for the right moment.”
STEP 3 ❤︎ DATA COLLECTION !
a couple of weeks slip by in that same comfortable rhythm as if there was nothing going on, the apartment humming with the usual late-spring warmth and the faint smell of takeout containers you keep forgetting to toss. you still have no idea about the spreadsheet glowing quietly in choso’s phone or the way both of them have been watching you like researchers who finally got approval for the real experiment.
movie night feels normal enough when satoru suggests it—some new sci-fi thriller he’s been hyping, the kind with jump scares and long stretches of tension that always end with you tucked between them on the couch, laughing and hiding your face in whoever’s shoulder is closest.
the three of you are crammed on the big sectional again, the one that’s seen too many marvel reruns and spilled popcorn. you’re in the middle, as always, wearing one of satoru’s old shirts that still smells faintly like his detergent and the faint trace of his skin. nothing underneath but a pair of soft cotton panties because it’s warm and it’s just them and you’ve clearly stopped pretending to be modest months ago. your bare thighs press against the fabric of their sweatpants on either side without care, and the opening credits flicker across the television, casting shifting blue shadows over all three of you.
satoru keeps one arm slung lazily behind your shoulders, fingers tracing idle circles on the nape of your neck. and choso sits closer than usual on your other side, knee brushing yours, his hand resting on your thigh like it’s the most natural place in the world. the movie starts slow, all tension and quiet dread, and you sink deeper into the cushions, letting their warmth bleed into you.
“you cold?” satoru murmurs right against your ear, breath ghosting over the shell and you shiver even though the room is anything but.
“a little,” you lie, because admitting you just like the way his fingers feel would be embarrassing.
his hand slides under the hem of the tee without needing to ask, palm flat against your stomach and sliding further to hug the length of your waist, warm and broad. “better?” he asks, and you nod, eyes still glued to the screen even as your pulse kicks up.
choso doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches the way your body relaxes under satoru’s touch, making a mental notes of it. then his hand moves too— higher up your thigh, thumb stroking the soft inner skin in slow, deliberate passes. you shift a little, thighs pressing together, but neither of them stops. the movie’s tension builds on screen, a jump scare makes you jolt, and suddenly satoru’s mouth is on your neck, open and hot, teeth grazing the spot right under your ear like he’s been waiting for an excuse to do that.
you freeze for half a second. “what—”
“you’ll let us help you relax, won’t you?” he whispers, lips brushing your skin with every word. “you’ve just been so tense lately, baby.”
the pet name lands like a spark and you can’t help but tilt your head to offer him more space. your breath hitches exactly the way it always does when they say things like that, and choso’s fingers tighten on your thigh, inching higher under the hem until they brush the edge of your panties. you should probably say something, should probably laugh it off and shove them away like it’s still just friendly roughhousing. but the way choso’s fingertips trace the cotton makes your stomach tighten, a low heat blooming low in your belly that you haven’t felt in months.
satoru is the first to kiss you.
it’s soft at the start, almost careful, his hand cupping your jaw to tilt your face toward him, glasses crooked on his nose. his tongue slips past your lips when you kiss back, like he’s testing the waters, and when you make a small surprised sound he deepens it, hungry now, licking into your mouth until you’re melting against him.
shortly after, you feel choso crowding you from the other side, pressing his mouth to your jaw, waiting for you to turn just enough that he can have a turn. when you pull back to look at him, his brows pinched together and mouth parted with soft breaths, you can’t help but practically take a bite of his lips.
it’s freakishly good, you realize, even if more saliva coats your lips and drips down your chin each time you switch between kissing them. you don’t care about the mess though, and neither do they as they swallow up all your sounds. you’re panting into their mouths, hands fisting in their shirts, and the movie is completely forgotten.
“fuck, you taste good,” choso groans against your lips when you switch to him again. his hand slides higher under the shirt until he’s cupping your bare breast, thumb circling your nipple until it pebbles tight. satoru mirrors him on the other side, pinching gently, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers until your back arches off the couch.
you whimper, the sound small and needy, and that’s when they really set their plan in motion. choso’s hand dips between your thighs, pushing your panties aside with two fingers. you’re already wet, embarrassingly so, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum as he spreads the slickness up to your clit. satoru keeps kissing you, swallowing every little gasp while your other roommate starts those slow, flat circles exactly like the pinned guide on reddit described. the pressure is perfect, steady, never too fast or too slow, and your hips twitch involuntarily toward his hand.
“that’s it,” choso murmurs, voice low and clinical even as his pupils are blown wide. “just feel it.”
satoru’s fingers join choso’s, two of them pressing at your entrance while choso keeps working your clit. they slide in together—slow, thick, stretching you open in a way that makes your toes curl.
pushed right up against your anterior wall, choso’s fingers prod around to find the right spot until your head falls back against the couch, mouth open on a silent moan as they finger you in perfect sync.
“oh g-god,” you breathe, thighs shaking. the stretch is so full, the pressure building fast and heavy. it’s almost too much all at once, and your grateful when satoru’s slender fingers slip out to focus on your clit.
you can hear how wet you are, the obscene little sounds of their fingers moving in your soaked cunt sounding under the movie’s forgotten soundtrack. one of them leans down and latches his mouth onto your nipple through the shirt, sucking hard, and that’s what tips you over.
the orgasm crashes through you without warning— deep, pulsing waves that start in your core and ripple outward until your whole body locks up. your walls clamp down around choso’s fingers, fluttering and squeezing, and you gush around them, slick dripping down his knuckles onto the couch. it feels like liquid heat pouring through your veins, every nerve lighting up at once, your clit throbbing under the steady circles until you’re whimpering and trying to close your legs from the intensity.
they don’t stop right away. they keep stroking you through it, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, little aftershocks making your hips jerk.
“so good,” satoru praises right against your ear, and the words send another helpless spasm through you. “look at you, taking us so well already. just like we knew you would.”
choso pulls his fingers away first, shiny and glistening. he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean without breaking hazy eye contact with you, and the sight makes your pussy clench around nothing. satoru follows, sucking his own fingers with a filthy little moan.
you’re still catching your breath when they move you, gentle but firm, until you’re straddling satoru’s lap facing away from him, shirt rucked up around your waist, panties discarded somewhere near the coffee table. choso kneels beside you on the couch, one hand on your hip, the other rubbing soothing lines along your thigh.
satoru’s cock is out by this point, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip, and he guides you down so the thick length slides right between your soaked folds without pushing inside, slow and deliberate. he rocks his hips up, letting the length of him glide against your clit with every pass, the head bumping your entrance on every forward stroke but never slipping in. the friction is maddening, hot velvet dragging over your most sensitive spots.
you moan loud, head tipping back against satoru’s shoulder. “please—fuck, it feels—”
“we know,” choso says quietly, voice rough. he leans in and kisses you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth while his fingers pinch and roll your puffy nipples. satoru’s hands grip your hips hard, guiding you to grind down harder on his cock, the slick sounds loud and wet between your bodies. every slide makes your pussy lips part around him, coating his entire length in your arousal until he’s glistening.
the pleasure builds again, faster this time, coiling tight and hot each time your peaks are pinched in the exact rhythm that makes your breath catch. you’re helping drag yourself along satoru’s length, hips rolling desperately, chasing that perfect drag against your clit. your walls flutter around nothing, thighs shaking violently as you soak satoru’s cock and cry out into choso’s mouth, body jerking, slick dripping down satoru’s shaft in messy streaks even more the closer you get.
his breathing is ragged against your neck too, but he doesn’t push inside yet. instead he keeps grinding up, but stops abruptly when he feels you tensing again.
“think she’s ready for more?” satoru asks, voice husky and directed at his research partner despite your disappointed whines. his fingertips dig into your hips too, keeping you from chasing your own pleasure.
“just wait a moment, wanna try something quickly.”
he shifts lower, sliding off the couch to kneel between your spread thighs. satoru holds you open for him, hands hooked under your knees and holding them up to prevent you from hiding, and choso leans in and drags his tongue flat up the entire length of your heat in one long, slow lick. the sensation is overwhelming now that your so close to the edge—wet heat, the soft pressure of his tongue, the way he moans against you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. he seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, exactly like the reddit guide said, then flicks his tongue in quick little strokes while two fingers slide back inside you and curl.
you sob, hands flying to his hair, hips bucking against his face. satoru keeps you pinned, muttering against your ear, “so fucking pretty like this, letting us play with you. we love seen a lot of pussies, you know, just so we could do this, but your’s is the prettiest one by far.”
choso eats you out like he’s been studying for this exact moment, several saved clips and instructions replaying in his head to guide his movements. the suction on your clit combined with the steady curling inside makes your vision spark white, just as expected. but once again, the finish is denied as he pulls away and leaves you trembling, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you beg incoherently.
with a final kiss to your clit, he pulls back entirely, lips shiny, glasses fogged. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks up at you with something almost reverent.
“‘kay,” he says. “go ahead.”
satoru doesn’t wait. he lifts you just enough to line himself up and sinks you down onto his cock in one smooth, deep thrust. the stretch is perfect; thick and hot and filling you so full you forget how to breathe for a moment. reverse cowgirl seems to be the best option, since it means the downward curve of his dick can punch that spot inside you instantly, and you cry out, nails digging into his forearms around your waist.
choso stays right there between your legs, one hand on your clit, the other reaching up to play with your breasts while satoru starts fucking up into you in slow, controlled rolls of his hips.
you’re lost in it now, completely needy, rocking back to meet every thrust, moaning their names like a prayer. “satoru—choso—fuck, pleasepleaseplease—w-wanna cum!”
satoru’s grip tightens, pace picking up. choso leans in and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth again, deciding it’s his new favorite treat as his tongue flicks in time with satoru’s thrusts. the stimulation is everywhere—deep inside, on your clit, on your tits, their hands and mouths claiming every inch of you. and they finally let you cum again on satoru’s cock, walls clamping down so hard he groans loud, hips stuttering.
but he doesn’t finish inside you. right as his rhythm starts to falter he lifts you off, cock slipping free with a wet sound. “not yet,” he pants in response to your protests. “turn around for choso.”
once again they manage to position you however they want.
choso sits back on the couch now, pants shoved down just enough, his cock flushed dark and leaking. you’re on all fours in front of him in seconds, ass up, face resting on satoru’s lap. he slides into you in slowly, pausing every few inches because he knows he’s a bit thicker than the other one that was in you, the new angle making your eyes roll back.
but that carefulness melts away as soon as you get used to the first few thrusts, so he fucks you hard and steady, one hand fisted in the short at the small of your back, the other reaching around to rub your clit exactly the way you need.
wordlessly, satoru slides his hand under your chin to lift your fucked out face, using his other hand to tap the tip of his glistening dick against your swollen lips with a mocking pout. you suck him messily, drooling around his length, tongue swirling the head clumsily while you’re being pounded into from behind.
choso’s cock dragging against your g-spot with every thrust, satoru’s length heavy on your tongue, the wet sounds of skin slapping and your own muffled moans filling the room—
it all feels like a blessing after all those disappointing men, to say the least.
shaking between them, you gush around choso’s cock, your subsequent scream muffled by your full mouth as you arch deep and try to pull more of him in.
you sob around satoru, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of your orgasm, every muscle in your body seizing and releasing in white-hot waves. the pleasure is so deep it borders on painful, your pussy gushing around choso’s thrusts until the couch is soaked beneath you. but keeps fucking you through it, pace faltering just a little as he fights his own release.
satoru pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, stroking himself fast. “gonna cum on you,” he pants. “p-please, baby, wanna see it on your tongue.”
you stick your tongue out obediently, eyes glassy as you peer up at him through damp lashes, and satoru groans at the sight. thick ropes of cum paint your tongue and lips, some spilling down your chin and dripping onto your shirt and his sweats.
the sight pushes choso over the edge. he pulls out at the last second, jerking himself furiously until he spills across your ass and lower back in hot, heavy pulses, the mess sliding down your skin and mixing with your own slick, whimpered curses slipping from his mouth.
you collapse forward to bury your face in satoru’s lap again, trembling, covered in their release, pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks. you feel the mess dripping down your thighs, smeared across your chest, fabric ruined. they’re both breathing hard, eyes dark and satisfied as they take in the sight of you wrecked between them.
satoru leans down and kisses your forehead, gentle now. “you did so good, baby.”
choso strokes your hair, pulling you up to get a look at your face. he tucks you against the curve of his neck with a hum? thumb brushing your cum-slick cheek. “perfect data,” he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it.
you’re too blissed out to ask what he means. you just curl into them, needy and sated and already wondering when they’ll do it again. the movie is still playing in the background, completely ignored, while the three of you stay tangled on the couch in the afterglow—sticky, breathless, and closer than you’ve ever been.
the spreadsheet will get several new rows tomorrow. but tonight, step three is complete.
STEP 4 ❤︎ FORMULATE A CONCLUSION !
the morning light filters through the half-broken blinds, painting lazy stripes across the tangled mess of limbs and stained fabric on the couch. choso wakes first, glasses askew on his face, one arm still draped possessively over your waist like he never let go even in sleep.
satoru stirs seconds later, white hair a disaster, blinking at the ceiling with the slow realization that his heart is doing something stupid and loud in his chest. his own glasses fell off the couch somewhere in the night.
they glance at each other over your sleeping form, blinking. then finally they glance down at you—your cheek smushed against choso’s chest, dried cum flaking on your chin and thighs, having fallen asleep despite them insisting to get you cleaned up—and the spreadsheet suddenly feels ridiculous.
“shit,” satoru whispers, voice cracking with something that isn’t just post-nut clarity. “how fucked are we?”
“very.”
STEP 5 ❤︎ SHARE FINDINGS !
art used in the header by @/rooster.jpg and @/ggyoyowza
It’s embarrassing, really. The walls in the dorms at Jujutsu High are thin as hell, and everyone knows it. You told him to keep it down tonight even pressed your palm over his mouth the first time he started whimpering. But the second you sank down on his cock, all that self-control evaporated.
Choso’s eyes roll back that instant, “F-fuck—ngh— ahh—!” His hips twitch up involuntarily as your walls clench around him. He’s so deep like this, thick cock stretching you open.
You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Choso, baby… quieter,” you whisper, even as you roll your hips again,
He shakes his head frantically, black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “C-can’t—ahh—you feel too good—nghh!” The moan that follows is downright pornographic, loud enough that you’re pretty sure Satoru’s room is right down the hall and he’s definitely hearing every single second of this.
Choso’s face is flushed dark red, eyes half-lidded and glassy, tears already clinging to his lashes. Every time you clench around his thick cock he lets out another whimper. “Shit—Choso—Shut up,” you whisper as you slap a hand over his mouth, but he just moans louder against your palm.
His hips jerk up involuntarily, fucking into you with shallow, needy thrusts that make the bed creak. “Mmmph—please—don’t stop—” he mumbles against your fingers, voice muffled but still way too loud. You feel his cock throb hard inside you, already leaking, already so close even though you’ve barely started.
You ride him harder, grinding down in tight circles, trying to keep your own moans quiet while you shush him. “Shh—shh, baby, quiet—fuck, you gotta be quiet—” But it’s useless. The whimper that comes out of him this time is even louder, cracking high and pretty as his thrusts meet yours
You pry one hand off his mouth just long enough to grab a pillow and shove it over his face. “Bite this,” you whisper urgently, bouncing faster, the wet slap of skin on skin still echoing way too clearly in the tiny room. “Come on, Choso, muffle it—”
He obeys for half a second—teeth sinking into the fabric with a desperate groan—but then you clench around him again and the pillow does nothing. “Ahh—nghh—can’t—too good—hah—!”
His thighs tremble underneath you, hips snapping up harder as he gets closer. You can feel him pulsing, “Choso—quiet—fuck, they’re gonna hear you—”
Too late.
Choso’s whole body seizes, back arching hard as he cums so loud the pillow is fuckin’ useless. He keeps whimpering through every pulse with little “ah—ah—ah—” sounds that get louder instead of quieter as his hips jerk up in sloppy thrusts.
You finally lift the pillow from his mouth and he immediately lets out one last weak, satisfied whine, nuzzling into your neck
You were both so fucked.
Choso whimpers so loud… and the whole damn dorm probably just heard exactly how good you make him feel.
a/n: hnghh I feel like a horny slut on my period damnnit
going from innocent love making to nasty fucking, like rabbits in heat. requested by anon :)
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: shyinnocent!jungwon x shyinnocent!femreader to freaky!jungwon and freaky!reader
SMUT, established relationship, little bit of fluff, loss of virginity, dom!won x sub!reader, missionary, 69, face sitting, exhibitionism, praise!kink (fem!receiving), oral (fem & male receiving), hair pulling, mention of safe word and use of tapping as safe word method, squirting, choking (fem!receiving)!, oral fixation, not proofread (2.8k words)
boyfriend!jungwon who has a reputation of being a sweetheart. big eyes and a smile that holds the power to melt the coldest glaciers. he couldn't stop blushing when he confessed his feelings to you, hands shaking while holding out the carefully picked out bouquet. even after you two got together you could feel the slight tremble of your interlinked fingers.
boyfriend!jungwon wanted to be your first time to be in missionary to see your beautiful face and make sure you're well the entire time
he asked all of his friends, went on every article that talked about "how to make your first time memorable". poor boy was haunted by anything going wrong in his sleep, but he wanted to make sure it was perfect since it was both of yours first times :( when it actually happened he was so so nervous, every second sentence was a "are you sure this is okay?" or "do you want to stop?". he's just so unbelievably happy that you feel safe enough to let him see you like this oh my sweet boy :( hearing your small little gasps turning into shy moans did things to him (and his dick) that he didn't even knew were possible. it was incredibly vanilla, shy kisses, innocent touches and small giggles but it was sweet and perfect. afterwards he held you closer than he's ever done before, lips never leaving your cheek or temple. he's full on nuzzling you, he gets incredibly clingy :')
boyfriend!jungwon who goes on a reddit deep dive with you after you tried the #basics
yes, he enjoyed a good missionary fuck or the occasional cowgirl. it's nice, it's intimate and he loves it. BUT he cannot stop wondering what more there is to try. so one night, when you two were just laying on the couch, your head rested against the crook of his neck, just dozing away he opens up reddit. "baby," he presses a little kiss on your head and you stir, "come look at this." you turn — and are greeted with 50 positions that you HAVE to try with your partner. "what on earth is a maternity- no wait mating press?" you mumble and he shrugs. one google search later, both of your eyes were wide open. "i am....." he starts. "...intruiged." you finish his sentence. you two eye each other, smiled spreading on both of your faces before you jump up and run to the bedroom.
boyfriend!jungwon cannot stop giggling at first when you try new positions.
the first time you tried 69 mans was GIGGLING into your pussy, the position was too silly to him. "won be serious, this was your idea." you mumble, hand squeezing his cock and he moans. " sorry baby, i just keep thinking of the memes." now, you can't have this man thinking about memes when your pretty pussy hovers rights above him so without further thought you just sit down on him — no warning and his face has become your seat. and jungwon enters heaven, his nose on your clit, mouth on your precum drenched cunt and all thoughts of unseriousness GONE! and when your mouth simultaneously is in his dick, moaning around because he's absolutely devouring you and slobbering your juices (it's literally running down his chin YUM) he only gets more eager, licking away at your folds and you meet him with enthusiastic bobs of your head and tongue swirls around his dick <33
another time, the position didn't even have a name, he eventually just got incredibly creative with it. it seemed like it was his mission to bend your body and intertwine himself with you until you couldn't be untangled. your head flat on the bed, body half twisted, you couldn't even decipher where one of his legs is. his hand was, the romantic that he is, entangled with yours and you give it a slight tug. "wonie, baby, i don't know if this is working." you giggle and his head snaps up. "you're not feeling good, baby?" worry coated his voice and you melted. "no, i just can't really feel you IN me babe." his face drops and he immediately detangles himself from you "now we can't have that," he mumbles, "need you fucking filled with me." he's dead serious and it's the most hilarious thing you've seen. "you won't be laughing for long..." he mutters, sly grin on his face. that man will devote his life to get you moaning and begging.
boyfriend!jungwon who keeps a list of things to try and literally whips it out when you're about to get down and dirty lol
"wait, baby" he pants into your ear as he has you pressed against the glass window that over looks the city. exhibitionism was on the list today and he has you high up against the window, technically for the entire city to see. "let me just..." he reaches back, cock still drilling into you as he reaches for his phone. it looks absolutely ridiculous, he's absolutely destroying your insides with his tongue poking out since his face id isn't working. "there." he exclaims with joy, you feel his hand tangling your hair and a tug. the delicious sting of your pulled hair and the feeling of him deep inside you earning eager moans from you. "there we fucking go, princess. don't you just look fucking gorgeous falling apart on me." which brings me to the next point!!
boyfriend!jungwon loves to praise you and goes absolutely feral when you get more vocal at his sweet degration
it started out innocent. he simply wanted to make sure you knew how nice you feel, how much he loves you. but with more filthy positions came more swear words from him, so a "gosh you're so pretty, you feel so good for me" turned into a "you're the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen, sweet pussy made for my cock, look at you swallowing me. you love going dumb on my cock don't you baby?". ughhh and you whine so deliciously, head shyly turning away, which he cannot tolerate, so he grabs your face, more roughly than he anticipated but when he noticed you moaning at the feeling of his fingertips digging into the flesh of your cheek, he discovered something new about you. from that moment on he makes it his mission to make you moan a little louder than last time, adding another finger, stimulating your clit in a different way or licking and sucking away at the sweet spot on your neck :3 he especially loves making you loud in places where you SHOULDN'T be loud, he loves the thrill. getting caught is not something he wants, you're for his eyes only but it's a nice little challenge he likes to give you. because sweet girls who do well get extra sweet treatment ><
boyfriend!jungwon feels like he just committed treason when you end up not liking something new :(
turns out you don't like something and he full on stops "do you want some space?" immediately withdrawing any skin contact, "no, no won i want you, this just wasn't it for me today. maybe some other time?" you pout, guilt eating away at you. "baby, hey," he coos, hands cradling your face. "you never have to feel bad for saying no, i need you to tell me when even the slightest thing doesn't feel right for you, otherwise i don't have fun either. this is a you and me thing." leaning in, he peppers a few kisses across your cheek and nose, making you giggle. "what does my sweet girl want to do, hm? want me to eat you out so you run your pretty little head off?" at that your eyes sparkle and he grins. big hands guide you to lay flat on your back as he positions himself between your knees. soft kisses adore your inner thighs as he makes his way to your dripping hole.
boyfriend!jungwon who then made you sit down and have a chat about a safe word!
whether that is pineapple, the colour system or tapping. he doesn't care WHAT you choose as long AS you choose and use it! and when you used it for the first time he was filled with so much love and pride. you were giving him the blowjob of the century, literally he was grabbing onto the wall, mouth open, eyes screwed shut. he was so lost in the feeling that without thinking, one hand flew down to your hair as he pulled your head closer, his cock impossible deep inside your throat as he snaps his hips toward. you've had him down your throat before (he did lowkey train you) but at some point it's bound to be on much. your moans turn into mumbles as you try to mutter out your discomfort, brain turning into mush at the overstimulation :( weakly, you hit the inside of his thigh a few times, getting his attention. he immediately snaps out of it, releases your hair and slowly pulls out of you to make sure the sudden rush of air doesn't overwhelm you. and yes, he loves to see you pathetic for him, but the sight of you coughing repeatedly makes him so upset. tears fill HIS eyes as he crouches down to your level to scoop you into his arms. "i'm so sorry angel, i should've held back." he mumbles into your hair as he softly strokes it, rocking you back and forth. you manage a hum, throat still to sore to speak and he feels his heart break. he blames himself so much :(( "i'm so proud of you for using our safety methods baby, you did so so well." a thousand kisses adore your forehead. " 's okay wonie" you mumble back, sleepy from the whole experience. "i know you didn't mean to." sweet boy picks you up and carries you to the bed. he watches you drift off to sleep in his arms, checking on the outside for any bruises or scratches. only when he saw tho injuries he allows himself to drift off too, arms tightly wrapped around you and face in your neck, breathing in the smell of you he oh so loves.
boyfriend!jungwon has an obsession with squirting, as soon as he knew it was possible it has become his life mission to find the quickest way to drain all liquid from you.....
the first time it wasn't planned, really it had been quite innocent. after a long day, jungwon just couldn't wait to be inside you and forget about the world for a few hours. everyone had been pissing him off, your pussy the only remedy. one orgasm turned into two and he showed absolutely no signs of stopping. "wonie, 's too much." you lulled out, drunk on the sting of his cock nudging your insides. "i know baby, just one more" he whispered, lips brushing your ears. "i know you can do that for me, hm?" he knew that you'd do anything to make him proud, so you clutched him a little tighter and focused on the hot sensation bubbling up in your abdomen. what you didn't expect, was for him to suddenly press his thumb to your already sensitive clit, rubbing deliberate circles onto the soft bud. your back arched, chest meeting his as your nails dug into the flesh of his shoulder. "ngh—won! wait," you squealed. "fuckkk, baby you clench so fucking nicely around me." he groaned, lips messily meeting yours, eagerly hushing your desperate gasps and whimpers. "something—, something feels different." you gasp and before you knew it the coil in your stomach snapped and warm liquid spilled down both of your thighs. jungwon stopped all his movements, eyes focused on your pulsing pussy as you writhe around the bed. still in a haze, you looked at him with frightened eyes. "i'm so sorry..." you choked out. "don't know what happened i couldn't stop it i swear!" he still didn't say anything and you felt tears welling up in your eyes. that finally made him snap out of his own haze. "holy shit baby, you're the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen." his lips met the soft flesh of you chest as he started peppering kisses up to you neck, nipping at it slightly. "you know what you just did? i read about this." he mumbled and you shook your head. "think you just squirted baby, that's like...the biggest fucking compliment ever." your eyes meet and he almost cooed at your innocent expression, teary eyes making you look like an absolute doll. "baby, nooo, you did well, i'm not mad i'm so sorry!" he added, rolling you over so you were on top of him. "sorry my angel, i just didn't expect you to do that." he whispered, playing with a lock of your hair. "didn't know what was happening," you mumbled into his chest and he felt his heart swell. "must've been so scary for you baby, but you did so so well. you could never do anything to upset me angel, okay?" "mhm" you mumble back sleepily, the weight of your orgasm still tingling on your tired out limbs. little did you know that while you were drifting off to dreamland he was thinking how he can get you to do that again next time. oh you were in for a very fun time.
so this one was initiated by you by pure accident. jungwon had your legs bent to your chest as if they were out of jelly while drilling into your poor pussy at a brutal pace (you love it) and you tried your best to hang on to him — which happened to be his neck. you were mindlessly grabbing around, looking for any stability, and your hands instantly wrapped around his neck. without meaning to you squeezed it and jungwon let out the most delicious moan you've heard in a long time. in your fucked out state you didn't even realise what he responded to and just gave him a puzzled look. he didn't even give you a verbal answer, too shocked at the new sensation he was feeling and just put his hand over yours in his neck — only then did you realise what you did. "you like that?" you moaned out, not even seductive on purpose, but he goes wild. the hand on your hip tightened, his own hips snapping into yours even quicker. what stared out as innocent grabbing on him for stability now turned into his hand also finding your throat to keep you from being bratty. in the end it just turned both of you on even more; your brattiness and his desire to keep you in line. it was one of those moments where jungwon realised just how much you both have grown together and gotten insanely fucking freaky :p
boyfriend!jungwon found out he has an oral fixation at the same time you did you have one too.
he sort of trained it into you, without meaning. in the most innocent ways he told you to lick the batter off his finger, wipes the dripped ice cream from your chin and told you to clean it off — it had all been truly innocent! he loved the feeling of your lips on him, it had a peaceful kind of possession attached to it and an incredibly deep connection of trust!! he found his fingers slip near your lips during cuddle sessions, loving how you teasingly bite or nip at the skin. long fingers loving squished your cheeks, slipping into the warmth of your mouth. for him, he loved having his mouth ON you!! it didn't even have to be a kiss, just simply resting his lips against your skin was enough. he was the one that nibbled and licked away at your skin, loving the way you squeaked at the tickling sensation :,) eventually it would also definitely find its way into your sex life. let it be you choking the life out of him as he had you sucking on his fingers — it drove both of you INSANE! he would be eating you out for hours, juices running down your legs and when you eventually have given him the nth orgasm of the day he dips his fingers into your heat, collecting the wetness and slipping it into his mouth. seeing your hazy eyes sparkle at his gesture he repeats the action but guides your juices on his fingers to your mouth. as you now clean your own slick off his fingers, twirling you tongue around the bud of his fingertips, his lips are on you again. kissing, licking, sucking and nipping away at the soft flesh of your body. it was his way of saying that you, your trust, your love. it calmed both of you such innocent way in the end. yes you both love to get down and dirty, any position at any time but you have established such a beautiful trust between each other :(
ʟɪɴꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: innocent to freaky won has a special place in my heart, pls meet me in my bed !
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @shawnyle @twerkispeak (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)
ʜᴏɴᴏʀᴀʀʏ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @fawnwonie kisses u until the sun explodes, have some wonie my love :3
sypnosis: the one where your bestie proves you wrong.
pairing: haechan x fem!reader
genre: smut. fluff. crack. slice of life. besties to lovers? haechan's profession not specified. you can picture him as an idol or not. up to you :)
word count: 8.2k+
warnings: both horny af. haechan is my dream man in this im sorry. he's tryna stay cool but fails miserably. oc wants him but doesn't know it. they're both acting nonchalant but couldn't be more CHALANT. oral (fem!receiving). big phat dick!hae (what's new). smooching. pnv. they fuck on his sofa. unprotected sex (pooja what is this behaviour!). spit. light choking. creampie. cum eating. he literally feeds her his cum hahah im ok. dirty talk. slight degradation. use of the word 'slut' (i love him). oc smokes a cig bc she's had a rough night. mentions of fake orgasms. confusion. this is mostly FILTH.
cookie's note: hi there. not entirely sure what this is, but it's been sitting in my drafts since last year, so here you go! maybe i'll write for these two again in the future, i haven't decided yet. in the meantime, i do hope that this soothes even just a tiny bit of the sadness that's been flowing around ncity the past few days. for all my sad but always horny neo queens!
alabyuuu,
cookie ♡
masterlist | ko-fi
People say ‘don’t shit where you eat' for a reason.
You knew going to a work do where free alcohol was served with your ex-situationship lurking was not a smart idea. You knew it. But you also refused to back down and disrupt your plans because of a narcissist who is known for not being able to handle his alcohol.
It was all fun and games at the start of the night, but the more drinks he kept having, the more his petty comments kept coming your way.
“Remember when you used to be fun?”
“Why so uptight? Did someone hurt you?”
And so, you caved. You called the only person you knew could save you no matter what.
“Hey, what you up to?” You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear while rummaging through your bag for a lighter. The situation definitely demands a smoke. If you could find the stupid pink lighter you once stole off Haechan.
The cars are loud on the main road outside the venue your company had booked for the evening, but you can still hear the faint clicking of his keyboard through the speaker. He is definitely in the middle of a gaming session.
“Already gave up?” He says with a little amused laugh. You can almost picture the smug smirk on your friend’s face.
“It's either that or I get violent.” You snarl in the cold of the night, the lighter still nowhere to be found. "It's been what, an hour? And the man's already five drinks in."
“Yikes. You made him turn to alcohol. Poor fella.” He pretends pity, but you know he’s always hated the guy.
“Not my fault he can’t take the truth.”
“Eh, yeah, he’s a dick, but you also did tell him you faked all your orgasms.” He snorts. “Surprised he hasn't already killed himself.”
“Aha!” You shout a little too excitedly for having just found a lighter.
“You good?” He asks curiously, keyboard clicking coming to a halt.
“Yeah, sorry, just found my lighter.”
“You mean my lighter.” He deadpans. “I knew it was you.”
You stifle a giggle at his whining. “Who else could it have been?”
He scoffs. “I have other friends.”
“Mm,” You hum as you light the cigarette and take the first nerve-calming drag. You exhale in relief before continuing, “You only chat to them on Overwatch nowadays.”
“Be thankful I'm actually spending time with you on my days off,” He grumbles.
“You're so right. I am an ungrateful piece of shit. Will you ever forgive me.” You respond in the most indifferent tone you can muster.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever - when’s your bus?” He asks, totally unfazed by your sassy comeback.
“Like five minutes?” You glance at the schedule board. The bus to Haechan’s place shows 5’, while the one that takes you home shows 7’. “I could always go home. Don’t wanna keep you up.”
“It’s 8 p.m. on a Friday night.” He brushes off your hesitation, clearly having already decided for you. “I’ve got food covered, just bring some soju.”
You're glad he can't see the satisfied grin that takes over your face.
He somehow always manages to say endearing things with a tone that could make him come across as cold to someone who isn't familiar with his mannerisms. It's easy for you to notice the always present but underlying softness, though.
You absentmindedly keep flicking the cigarette even though there's no ash left at the tip. “Alright, say less.”
“And none of that peach-flavoured shit you like,” He adds. “It's too sweet.”
“You'll drink what I pay for.”
You end up getting two peach and two original-flavoured bottles anyway.
⟡
“The fuck is he so bitter for?” Haechan slumps down next to you on his spacious sofa after getting rid of the empty take out boxes, making you bounce a little. “I swear it wasn’t that serious?”
“It wasn’t!” You exclaim in annoyance, kicking your feet from where you’re lying across the sofa, head heavy against the armrest. Your eyes feel a little droopy from the lovely meal you've just had and the amount of alcohol you’ve consumed tonight — not enough to get you drunk, just enough to give your body a pleasant buzz.
“Maybe he really liked you.” Haechan points out and you can’t help but raise your head a little to throw him a ‘be serious’ look. He snorts. “What?”
The cotton of his sweatpants feels soft against your toes, and you subconsciously wiggle them between his thigh and the sofa as you relax against the soft cushions. “That man hated me. He just liked my pu—“
“Yah,” He cuts you off, still chuckling in disbelief at your non-existent filter. “How can you be so unhinged when you drink?”
Your eyes are shut but you giggle along, always enjoying making him a little uncomfortable. It’s a rare occurrence.
“Speaking of…” He trails, clearly in thought about something.
“Of what? My genitals?” Your attempt to mock him earns you a sharp pinch on the fleshy bit of your calf. "Ah! Okay okay okay, I'm sorry." You squeal in pain until he retrieves his fingers.
“Weirdo.” He mumbles disapprovingly, making you let out a not-so-charming snort that may or may not resemble a laugh. You can picture the offended expression on his face. The pout his heart-shaped lips always form when he's annoyed is too adorable to forget.
“You were saying...?” You prod with a gentle voice this time, wiggling your toes again, your hands folded on your tummy as you keep your eyes closed.
“Did you actually fake it every single time?” He shuffles a little further down the sofa, his sweats dragging against your toes as he gets more comfy and now you’re pretty sure your right foot is now stuck under his ass.
“Every. Single. Timeeeee.” You drag the word with a dramatic groan.
“Jeez. Poor guy.” Haechan exhales in wonderment. “Was his peepee like, really small or...?”
“Pfff.” You blow out a snicker. “It wasn’t that much of a size issue. It was more…I dunno, just lack of technique, I guess?”
“Hm.” Haechan hums in thought. “What about when he’d go down on you?”
You’re no stranger to having these types of conversations with Haechan. You’ve been friends long enough to feel comfortable discussing your sex lives to an extent. You’re both sexually active adults, it's no secret, but for some reason, in this specific moment, it feels a little too intimate. Maybe it’s the quiet of his apartment, with the tv being muted and all. Or maybe it’s the alcohol in your system.
“That’s never really worked for me, you know.” You admit quickly, without really elaborating.
There’s a small pause from his side, which makes you move your bent knees to the side a little so you can check your friend’s expression. He seems confused.
“Like ever?” His eyebrows furrow a little before smoothing down again. “With anyone?”
You shake your head with a little pout, containing your laugh. It’s kind of funny how concerned he looks, even though it has nothing to do with him.
“Well, if it means anything, on behalf of the entire male population, I do apologise.” He puts his hands together and closes his eyes, as though begging for your forgiveness.
You stifle a laugh and lightly kick his thigh. “Pretty sure there’s much more pressing matters the male population should feel sorry for.”
“Touché.” He smiles awkwardly at your observation.
“Also, I hate to break it to you, but…” You move your feet from underneath his leg and place them on his lap. His hand casually squeezes one ankle, the touch comforting over your trousers. “Surely, you know most of your partners have faked it at least once.”
He scoffs playfully. “Yeah, probably in uni, when I was constantly fucking around, but definitely not in the last couple years.”
“Delusion at its finest.”
His eyes roll sarcastically. “I’m very aware of my oral skills, don’t you worry about me.”
You breathe out an amused laugh at his frown. “Right right right, my bad.”
“I could always prove it.”
Your laughter is louder this time. “What? You gonna invite a girl over and make me watch?”
“I mean…sure, if you’re into that,” He smirks, hand around your ankle tightening slightly. “Not really what I meant though.”
Now, that sparks some interest in you.
“You offering me head or something?” You maintain the playfulness in your tone, but you’re very aware of the heat creeping up on your face at what he's insinuating.
He just shrugs, like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. “You get an orgasm; I get to prove you wrong.”
“You must really love proving me wrong.” You’re positive of your blush showing now, his amused grin enough proof as he inspects your face.
He shrugs again. He’s too calm for this situation. “Won’t be a chore, I’m sure.”
“Ey, quit pulling my leg.” You warn in disbelief. There's no way this isn't one of his tricks.
He scoffs with a lopsided grin, tongue poking against his cheek. “I'm not pulling anything.”
“You'd seriously go down on me just to prove a point?” Your eyeballs feel like they're about to pop out of your head.
“Last chance. Take it or leave it.” He says monotonously, like it's some kind of auction.
This whole situation is absurd. But what's even more absurd is that you panic at the thought of missing the chance of your friend eating you out. You must be experiencing a simulation. That's the only credible explanation.
You purse your lips in thought. Why can't you bring yourself to say no? “What if you actually fail?”
“I won’t.”
“You might.” You press again.
He exhales an exasperated laugh. “Then, I dunno. You get something to use against me.”
You certainly like the sound of that. “I could always fake it. I’m good at that.”
“I’ll know if you do.” He raises an eyebrow in warning, expression more serious than you’re used to. “So, best not.”
You swallow a little too audibly, too aware of his touch on your leg now. It’s when your gaze drops to his lips that you really do come to a decision.
“Alright.” You agree, as nonchalantly as possible. “No weird shit, though.”
He snorts a laugh as he sits up a little and you scoot back to rest on your elbows. “What exactly classifies as weird shit?”
“I don’t know...” You look around as though you’ll find an answer in his living room. You know it's just a way to avoid his eyes. “Just don’t make it weird.”
“I won’t.” He raises his hands in defence.
“Good.”
He stares at you for a few moments, and it’s already fucking weird. “Wanna stay here or go to the bedroom?”
Oh god. This is actually happening.
“Here.” You decide quickly. “Bedroom’s a bit too serious.”
He nods in approval. “Fair.”
You nod back, but really knowing what else to do.
“Alright, let’s see your granny panties then.”
“See, that’s fucking weird! I knew you'd—“
“Okay okay,” He cackles loudly at your expense, catching the cushion you attempt to smack into his face. “I’m sorry, I’ll behave.”
You glare at him, not really believing a word that comes out of his stupidly pretty mouth. You know him too well.
“Would you kindly take your trousers off or shall I do it?” He asks carefully this time, sounding too genuine, eyelashes batting dramatically. You know it's all an act.
You don’t choose words this time. Instead, you lie back down and unbutton your trousers, but before you can start removing them, Haechan stops you with his hands on yours.
“Wait.” His slightly worried expression makes your heart drop. Did he just trick you into agreeing so he could take it back? What sick, twisted motherf— “You actually wanna do this, right?”
You barely register your smile. Him making sure to get your repeated consent shouldn’t feel so endearing. “I’ve already said yes, Hyuck.”
“No, you said ‘alright’.” He mimics your voice playfully, making your smile widen. “Not the same.”
“My bad.” You get comfortable again, your hands resuming their actions as you start pushing your pants down, hips raising a little, and when the piece of clothing hits the floor, you speak again, smile still intact. “Yes, I want to.”
His eyes don’t even flicker down to your bottom half. They stay on your face. Even when your legs spread to accommodate him as he shuffles closer, he doesn’t allow himself to look below your waist.
He doesn’t come across as embarrassed, or awkward. He’s just… calm. His breathing stable compared to yours, his hands steady on your knees, no tremble detected, his blinking slow, eyes moving unhurriedly over your squirming body. He’s too fucking normal about this.
And you’re already turned on. And embarrassed. And so not calm.
“Cute.” His endearing remark breaks the silence when he finally eyes your underwear, his thumb delicately tracing the baby blue bow in the centre of the waistline. You’re glad you chose black lace instead of anything else that could betray your wetness.
You can feel it leaking. It’s uncomfortable and very unsettling. A reminder of the absurdity you've found yourself in on this random Friday evening.
He's one of your favourite people. Your best guy friend. And he’s got your pussy dripping and your heart skipping more beats than it should.
And he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.
His hands settle on your inner thighs, spreading your legs as far as they’ll go, and when he brings his face closer to where you need him, you have to close your eyes for a few moments. Just to anchor yourself a little.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He asks softly, his warm breath hitting your tummy.
You look down to find that his concerned eyes are already inspecting your face. “No. It’s just weird. It’s you.”
“Exactly.” He reaffirms with a cheeky grin. “It's just me.”
You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “I’m good. I promise.”
“Good.” He presses a tiny peck just above the bow of your panties, where your blouse has ridden up and left the skin uncovered. His nose tickles you slightly. “Just sit there and look pretty.”
You accidentally let out a giggle at his gentle demeanour, not really familiar with this side of him. He’s always playful with you, sure, just not this soft. As touchy as Haechan can be, it’s always clumsy and chaotic. He’ll hug you here and there or put an arm around your shoulders to offer needed comfort, he'll pat you on the back, ruffle your hair just to annoy you, but he's never lingered. Never crossed any lines. Never done or said anything to make you question your friendship.
Until now.
He rearranges his position a little, until he’s leaning comfortably on his elbows, face directly above your heat, arms loosely wrapped around your thighs, hands stroking up and down the skin. He's being gentle. Attentive.
It's annoying how you can't look away. How could you? When he looks so good between your legs. So, you just watch.
He starts with a kiss on your left inner thigh, then another one on your right one, where he keeps descending, each smooch wetter than the previous one until he’s reached the edge of your soaked underwear.
He makes brief eye contact when his tongue dips out to lick the crease that connects your thigh and mound, making your breath hitch. He does the same on the other side, and then resumes the kisses, covering your skin in dewy patches.
It’s his heavy breaths that affect you the most. Simply because they betray that he's not as unaffected as he seems.
You don’t rush him. Don’t beg him. Don’t let yourself make too many sounds other than some shaky breaths here and there when his teeth nip at your skin. You hold back as best as you can. Even when the pulse of your clit becomes almost unbearable. Even when the slick that drips out of you is too difficult to ignore. Even when you’re dying to grab onto his hair and shove his face into your pussy. You just force your hands to grab onto the cushions that support your head.
Your composure eventually breaks when he lands a lingering kiss just above your covered clit. A barely audible whimper fills the quiet of his apartment. You know he’s heard it when his hold on your thighs tightens, pretty hands flexing, fingers digging in the flesh, the cool sensation of his rings soothing you. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the acknowledging gesture. At the way he tries to ground you.
His lips part wider this time, tongue poking out, gently massaging your clit over the ruined lace, the moist warmth seeping through the fabric, teasing you like you’ve never been teased before.
“Hyuck.” The nickname comes out whiny, almost broken.
He hums in response, the vibration going straight through your sensitive bud, pulling an accidental moan out of you. His tongue slips down to your entrance and that’s when he makes a sound for the first time tonight. It’s very obvious he’s felt the arousal that’s probably spilling from the sides of your sticky panties.
“You taste good.” He whispers, more to himself it seems, his eyes glued to the mess between your legs as he bites down on his lower lip. “Can I take these off?”
You blink down at him, his pleading tone causing your pussy to flutter around nothing, and his wide, boba eyes - full of hope - cause your stomach to do a flip. You can’t do anything other than nod dumbly.
He moves swiftly; his fingers already slipping into the sides of your panties as he sits up to make more room, your hips lift in response and in no time the garment is somewhere on his floor. Haechan doesn’t give you much time to feel exposed. He gets to work quickly. Eager hands grab onto your hips and effortlessly drag you closer to his face, prying your legs wide open, nails digging into the backs of your thighs as his eyes drink in the filthy sight of your slicked up centre.
Your brain malfunctions when you hear a not-so-subtle inhale.
Did he just...smell you?
You hands move on their own, clinging onto his hair, pushing him down, while your hips lift just a tiny bit, and before he can protest, his nose bumps into your swollen bud.
He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve practically shoved his face into your folds. His tongue makes contact immediately, licking from your entrance to your clit, lightly at first, the tip of it barely making contact, almost tickling you. Then he repeats the action, a little bolder each time, edging you.
A wide swipe of the pink muscle against the whole expanse of your throbbing pussy sends a shock through your system. And when his tongue swirls around your swollen bud, you let your head fall back and your eyes close in bliss. “Holy shit, you are good at this.”
You’re awfully aware of the sigh that slips out of you, but at this point you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Decorum is the least of your worries when your best friend of three years has his face buried in your most private parts.
Awareness flies out of the window too when Haechan’s full lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently before his tongue joins with languid strokes. You can’t tell how loud you’re being, all you can focus on is the pleasure and the wet slurping sounds he’s making.
“Told you.” He mumbles mid lap and before you can think of a smart comeback, his tongue briefly sneaks down to your entrance, collecting more of your arousal before travelling back up to flick gently. Your hips unintentionally buck into his face, searching for more friction.
He’s clearly teasing you. Toying with you. Trying to make a point. Greedy asshole.
“Fuck!” You exclaim in surprise when his thumbs spread your pussy lips, isolating your clit and lifting the hood so that his mouth can suck harder than before. Your back arches, the direct contact with the nerve endings making your legs shake involuntarily. Your fingers curl in his strands in despair and your eyes roll back when he doesn’t let up. His harsh flicks come in up and down motions, before turning into long, persistent swirls and then repeat. “Hah—wait—fuck, I’m—”
“Shut up and cum.” He rasps harshly, his voice alone making you clench around emptiness.
You feel his spit combined with your juices trickling down to your ass, possibly staining his sofa too. You’re so close you can taste it. Your pussy throbs from the sensitivity, thighs shake uncontrollably, the backs of your knees where your legs are bent drip in sweat, your lungs are struggling to keep up, the coil in your tummy so close to bursting.
It's nothing close to what you had in mind. He's making you look like a fool for ever doubting his skills. You find yourself feeling irrationally jealous of all the women that have experienced this when you'd been having to act and scream out fake moans.
He suddenly pulls back a little, and your head instantly shoots up at the loss. Your eyes meet his hooded ones, the lower half of his face covered in you, and as if the sight wasn’t already scandalous, the thick string of saliva that dribbles out of his mouth and directly onto your clit, completes the piece of art of whatever the fuck this is.
“Jesus.” You huff when you let your head loll back down, and then his tongue is on you again, flicking faster and harsher than before, hitting a spot on one side of your clit that makes stars appear behind your eyelids. “Fuck, right there.”
You hold his head exactly where you need him, and he obliges without a word. The assault of his mouth combined with his hand blindly reaching up to give your boob a light squeeze, make your whole body lock up for a moment before shakes of intense pleasure take over you. The broken whine that escapes your throat, barely registers as you cum hard on his tongue. You don’t even realise that your trembling hand engulfs the one he's got on your breast, interlocking your fingers with his while trying not to drown in the abyss of the high.
It’s impossible. Not when he keeps licking and sucking, completely unbothered, moaning like he’s experiencing this as intensely as you are, gripping onto your thigh and fingers like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t offer every bit of pleasure he can.
He lets you ride it out quite literally on his face. Doesn’t stop you from grinding on his nose and tongue. He happily stays there as you use him until you’ve had enough. And even when you can't take more, he still doesn’t stop. He slowly drags his tongue between your folds before he lets it dip into your leaking hole. As far as it can go. Tasting your release from the source. And when his arm curls around your thigh, fingers coming to touch you from above, rubbing harsh circles on your clit, you have to get away. Before you lose your fucking mind.
Simply asking him to stop does cross your mind for half a second, but for some reason you go with what should feel forbidden. You grab onto the collar of his top, your other hand already curling around the back of his neck, pulling him up until his face is directly above yours, and before he can question your actions, you’re claiming his mouth with yours.
No testing the waters, no permission asked. Just parted lips against parted lips, your tongue shoving past them, tasting your own arousal. You feel him go rigid for a few seconds, and you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter with worry at the thought of scaring him away. At the thought of crossing a boundary. But then you feel his body melt into yours and his soft lips start responding, matching your eagerness, jaw slackening to let your tongue tangle with his.
It’s kind of gross. Saliva mixed with your essence drips from the corner of your mouth. It’s messy. Lazy. But it feels nice. And oddly sweet. And warm. And you hate that fresh heat blooms in your belly just from a kiss.
His hand coming to cup your chin possessively does something to you. His fingers lightly squish your cheeks before they trail up, palm engulfing your jaw, tilting your head a little so he can deepen the kiss with a satisfied hum. Such a simple gesture, but it sends tingles down your spine, makes your breath hitch and your hips stutter with newfound want. His thumb tracing your cheek reminds you that he’s still in control of the situation.
That he really did prove you wrong.
But you're not annoyed. If anything, it turns you on even more. As twisted as it may sound. The thought of your best friend sticking the very same tongue he made you cum with down your throat, should make your skin crawl. Instead, it makes you want more.
“Fuck.” He exhales in your mouth, pulling back just enough to take a look at you with slightly widened eyes, pupils blown out. A thin string of saliva connects you for a second before you lick your lips, breaking the bond.
All you keep thinking is 'has he always been this pretty?'. Rosy cheeks, swollen pink lips, nose and chin still glistening with your slick, making more of it gush from your sensitive heat.
“I need to cum or I might go fucking nuts.” He complains with a frown, head dropping forward so he can peep between your bodies, and you can’t help but do the same.
You see it. The dark stain at the front of his grey sweats, the very prominent bulge of his erection brushing your stomach, barely touching you.
“Okay.” You mutter weakly, but then panic when he moves to get off you. You instinctively grab onto his t-shirt, pulling him back down, his erection now trapped between your lower halves. “Where are you going?”
His blinks quickly, surprise evident at your resistance. “Bathroom?”
“Why?”
He lets out a confused laugh. “I don’t know. I thought—
You shake your head at him, hips bucking slightly to meet his, a gentle grind, enough to help him get the message. “You don’t have to go.”
His lips part at the friction, eyebrows furrowing adorably, eyes fluttering closed as he allows his weight to sink back on you.
“Fuck.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder when you grind a little harder this time. “You wanna watch me or something?”
“Whatever you want.” You mumble in his ear, hand burying in his hair to comfort him with gentle strokes. You hope he catches on the hidden meaning behind your words.
“That’s a little misleading.” He lifts his head to meet your eyes again. “I could want things you might not.”
“I doubt that.” You say, a restrained smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you wanna put it in my ass.”
His light chuckle evokes relief in your tense muscles. “Ass is where you draw the line?”
“Sorry.” You smirk teasingly, letting your free hand slip under the hem of his top, fingertips caressing along his spine. You bite back a smile at the little shiver that visibly runs through him.
His amused smile and wondering eyes make you feel flustered. Your cheeks burn and you pulse quickens, but you try to remain calm.
“S’okay, not what I want right now anyway.” He lets his hips press flush against yours, completely unashamed of showing off how turned on he is.
“You’re good then.” You sneak a hand around his nape to pull him down for another kiss, but he resists this time.
He giggles at your confused expression. “Cute.”
You pout angrily in response, earning another playful laugh from him.
“So, like, just so we're crystal clear,” He leans closer, nose nuzzling yours as he cages your head with his arms. “What you're implying is that if I said I wanted to have sex with you...you'd want that too.”
You daringly stare into his eyes when you reach between your bodies and give him a teasing squeeze through his layers.
The stuttering gasp he lets out is hard to miss. “That's not an answer.”
“Then learn to take a hint.” You press harder, reveling in the cute whine that slips out of him.
He finally gives up and closes the small gap, kissing you again, with more urgency this time, his tongue sneaking in your mouth while you slowly stroke him through his sweats.
He’s bigger than you expected. Not too long, but thick enough for the stretch to sting at first. You can almost feel it in your walls as they pulse around nothing, desperately needing to be filled.
It feels like torture.
You’re about to complain when you feel him shift his weight a little, your arms quickly coming to wrap around his neck, preventing him from interrupting the kiss.
You realise his bottoms are out of the way when his heavy cock slaps against your stomach. In any other occasion you’d feel embarrassed at the way your hips wiggle, seeking for relief and the whimper your let out against his lips.
He doesn’t try to shame you or tease you, like the Haechan you know would. He simply responds with a shaky exhale and a slow roll of his hips before kissing you harder, deeper, messier. He keeps devouring your lips even when the velvety head of his cock prods at your entrance, separating your folds with a little squelch. His tongue slides against yours smoothly as he breaches past your tight opening, just the tip going in, testing the waters. He moans when you let your legs spread wider for him, silently inviting him in your soaked heat.
Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezing shut when he’s suddenly pushed halfway in, the burn intense but still somehow laced with pleasure, making your body tremble a little and your fingers curl into his shoulder blades, nails catching onto the soft cotton of his shirt.
“Does it hurt?” He checks in a whisper, hips halting when he meets resistance, your pussy tightening when it all becomes too much. He's too big for you to just take in one go.
“Stings a little.” You nod, eyes still closed even when you feel him staring at you.
“I'll go slow,” He lands a wet smooch on your cheek, earning a giddy smile from you. “Just relax for me.”
“M’trying.” You whine pathetically. “Why’s your dick so fat? What the fuck?”
He breathes out a chuckle into your neck. “Why’s your pussy so tight? You a virgin or something?”
You can’t find it in you to play along anymore, especially when he pulls back out to the tip before sliding back in the same amount as before. He starts building a slow rhythm, thrusts shallow, only going halfway in. Until your walls start to gradually relax around him, allowing him to sink in a little deeper each time.
You both sigh in unison when his hips finally meet yours.
“Shit, that's too deep.” You gasp into his shoulder, arms hugging him closer as your trembling body seeks more of his warmth, trying to somehow subdue the mix of pain and pleasure.
He grinds upwards, rolling his hips in an angle that makes his cock graze a perfect spot along your snug walls. Your muscles still try to adjust to the thickness, but you welcome it nevertheless. He stays there for a little while, not moving while he scatters lazy kisses along your neck, clearly trying to help you loosen up. His fingers hook into the neckline of your blouse, dragging that side down the slope of your shoulder along with your bra strap, revealing more skin to cover in kisses.
“Can we take our clothes off?” He asks while he slowly drags his plush lips and eager tongue along your collarbone.
“Yes, please.” You nod a little too eagerly, jittery hands already sneaking under the sides of his t-shirt, helping him get rid of the annoying layer.
He sits up a little, length still sheathed in your leaking pussy as he quickly removes his top, revealing ravishing golden skin and lean muscle. His chest is a little more buff than you remember from your summer holidays, his biceps a tiny bit more prominent.
You could eat him up.
“Stop staring.” He gives you bashful smile, hands engulfing your hips, lifting your ass off the sofa just a little so he can spread his knees more and rest your thighs over his.
Your lips part in a quiet moan when you feel his cock move inside you, tickling that spot again. “Sorry, it’s all just a little...”
“Strange?” He completes your sentence for you.
You nod with a little airy laugh, earning another grin from him.
“Take this off for me?” He drags the hem of your top just below your ribs, and you quickly take action, fumbling with shaky hands to pull the thin office blouse over your head. “Bra too.”
Again, your hands move of their own accord, just following his instructions. You reach behind you, fingers pinching the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a snap, allowing the lacy garment to loosen on your skin. You watch his expression as you peel the straps down your arms slowly, before flinging the lace somewhere across the floor.
You’re both completely naked now. The subtle throb of his stiff length inside you is a reminder of the situation you're in.
Your eyes remain on his face, while his drink in your nudity, roaming shamelessly, like you’re an intricate painting that needs studying. From your lips to your collarbones, to your tits - where they linger - over your stomach, then down to where you’re still connected.
“Pretty.” He mutters quietly, and it feels like the word isn’t even aimed at you, but at your pussy.
“Stop staring.” You throw his own words back at him, but his intense gaze sends a fresh flood of arousal out of your clenching heat anyway, drenching his cock in it too. You can't help but secretly love how he's ogling, eyes glazed with what could only be pure lust.
He blatantly ignores you. Just takes hold of your waist with one hand and plants the other one flat by your shoulder to support his weight. And then his hips start moving. Finally.
You grip onto the soft skin of his thighs as he drags his length out to the tip before slowly sinking back in. The wet sounds are humiliating and arousing at the same time, and you can’t help but involuntarily squeeze him in.
It seems that brings him out of the trance he's in, making him lose whatever was left of his patience. Without warning he pushes your legs up, squishing your knees against your tits. Giving you no time to react, he starts ramming into your dripping cunt, no care in the world. Completely opposite to his previously careful actions. No easing you in, no letting you adjust. Just vigorous, hard snaps of his hips, his balls slapping against your ass, creating obscene sounds combined with the slurps of your cunt around him.
You’re still somewhat in shock, trying to comprehend what he’s putting your body through, but when he slightly adjusts his angle and starts jamming directly into your g-spot, you let out a whiny shriek.
“Yeah? You like that?” He rasps, dark eyes finding yours, consuming your pleasure.
“Uhuh,” You moan out, your nails dig into his thigh muscles. “Please, keep going.”
“So needy.” He mocks, leaning over you and folding you in half, testing your flexibility as your legs hook over his shoulders. The penetration is too deep, too intense. Makes your legs shake so much you have to wrap your own arms around the backs of your thighs to minimise the tremble.
“Fuck you.” You scoff, the words laced arousal even though frustration boils in your chest.
He laughs. So mean but so sexy. “Always wondered what you'd sound like.”
“Shut up, you’re so gross.” You whine, your pussy squelching as it tightens again. He’s taunting you and getting a kick out of it. A sick sick man. A sick man who's got you dripping on his sofa. Because he's too fucking hot right now.
“And you’re kind of a slut.” He points out with a hard thrust, bulbous head hitting against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into their sockets,. “Begging me to fuck you like this.”
“Nggh f-fuck, Hyuck, don’t call me that.” You try your best to sound grossed out, but it only comes out as a weak plea.
“Awh, why? Like it a little too much?” More like loved it, but you know better that to ever admit that. “Yeah, you do. Look at you, fucking creaming.” He’s greedily staring between your legs, at how his cock is abusing your needy cunt. “Who knew you’d be so thirsty for dick, baby.” He blabbers aimlessly, sounding a little too far gone to care. “My cute little bestie is such a slut, hm?”
You have to bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming. Your face and neck feel like they’re on fire, but your sensitive walls keep inviting him in regardless.
“Knew you’d be a fucking yapper.” You grit, hoping to piss him off.
“Mm.” He offers you a lazy smile instead. Like a dumb fucking idiot. “You know me so well.”
Your pussy flutters at that, and strangely, so does your heart.
He keeps fucking into you at the same pace. Not too fast, but hard enough for your ass to ache from the slaps of his hips. You want him closer.
“My leg’s cramping.” You lie mindlessly.
You’re not sure if he sees right through you, but he slips your legs off his shoulders anyway, letting them loosely settle around his hips, and you seize the opportunity to pull him closer, a hand grabbing onto the back of his neck.
He groans lowly at the forced proximity. “Shit.”
“Faster.” You demand, hands tugging at his hair as he buries his face in your neck. He doesn’t say a word, just does as told. Fucks you faster and a little harder than before, cock barely pulling out before jamming back in, creating a delicious vibration against your clit and front wall. “Oh, my god, yes.”
“So good, baby.” He whispers raggedly in your ear, the pet name causing goosebumps to raise on your sweaty skin and turbulence in your chest. “So warm and slippery.”
A particularly sharp thrust makes you cry out, your legs closing in on his hips, preventing him from moving for a second, before he shoves them open again.
“Just take it.” He grunts, hips resuming their assault as his teeth graze your jaw before trapping your earlobe between them. “You asked for this, didn't you?”
“Fuck, please.” You whimper out pitifully, not entirely sure what you’re begging for at this point. Your focus is interchanging between the way his chest rubs against yours, stimulating your aching nipples, and his fat cock stretching your cunt like it's carving out its shape in you, as though he's trying to ruin you for anyone else.
A hand buries in your hair, pulling hard enough to make you gasp, your head lolling back, giving him enough space to lap the sweat off your neck, lustful, angry kisses littering the sensitive skin.
It's too much. Too dizzying. And so fucking good.
You’re so close. Right on the edge. You just need something to push you over. Something you’re too shy to ask for.
You let your fingers wrap around his wrist instead, guiding his hand to your neck. It lies there limply for a second, just at the base of your throat, and then he lifts his head a little, forehead resting against your temple, nose nuzzling your cheek. Once again, your wish is his command. His palm engulfs your throat, fingers applying the perfect pressure on your pulse points. So perfect that your eyes roll back and your hips stutter, while his don't falter even a little, maintaining their intense rhythm.
“Hyuckie,” You whisper the loving nickname weakly, too lost in the daze, not able to care about how vulnerable you sound. You need him to know how fucked up he's got you. “Can I cum? Please?”
“Fuck, you're so cute.” Haechan whines, the tenderness in his voice contrasting his demanding thrusts. “It’s okay, baby, Huyckie's got you.”
His sweet, reassuring words combined with every single of your nerve endings being stimulated to the max, send you into an all-consuming climax. Just a couple more thrusts and your pussy squeezes him so tight, kneads his shaft in rhythmic pulses, to the point you’re worried you might actually push him out, but you’re so thankful he doesn’t let up.
His hips smack into yours harder, faster, prolonging your orgasm for as long as he can. Your muscles spasm from the aftershocks, hands grabbing onto his back, legs quivering around his waist. And just when you’re floating in bliss - body and mind feeling light and fuzzy - you utter something that would have shocked you, weren't you in this delirious state.
“Hyuck?” Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. “You’re still my best friend, right?”
He stills for a moment, slamming deep inside you, pulling a yelp out of you.
“What the fuck.” He growls out, sounding enraged as well as surprised. His cock kisses your cervix, before it drags against your incredibly sensitive walls, the pleasure bordering pain when he starts fucking you like he wants to punish you, your body torn between needing a way out and begging for everything he’s giving you. Especially when he sounds so wrecked. “You can’t say that unless you want me to nut inside you.”
“Yeah, please.” You put on the whiniest voice you can, hoping he cracks. “Want it.”
You've already lost the battle. You might as well act reckless now.
“Jesus fuck.” He pants in awe. “Are you insane or did I actually fuck you stupid?”
The blissed-out laugh that rolls out of you, makes you sound completely dumb and out of breath. Maybe he did fuck you stupid.
An arm slings around your shoulders securely, holding you close as he grabs onto your thigh with his free hand, hooking your leg higher on his waist. His thrusts are messy now, cock stuffing you in uncoordinated short plunges, slipping out a few times due to the wetness, but quickly finding its way back in your quivering hole.
“I’m such a good bestie, right?” You prod, loving his little whines and how responsive he's suddenly become.
“Yes, baby, you're so so good to me.” His blunt nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, harsh breaths hitting your collarbone in hot puffs. He’s slightly trembling and your heart aches a little at how pliant with need his is, how soft his skin feels on yours, so you thread your fingers through his messy hair, caressing gently to offer some relief as he nears his peak. “Oh fuck... oh god—I’m gonna—”
“That's it.” You praise in a whisper, struggling to keep your legs spread wide open for him, toes curling from the overstimulation, breaths stuttering against his neck. "Please please, cum in me, wanna feel you."
“Shit, ffffuck—I’m cumming... I’m cumming.” He moans, all strained from the building pressure, and then he’s visibly shaking, his whole length burying deep inside, to the hilt, as his hot cum paints your walls in quick spurts, filling up your spent pussy, just like you begged him to. He's so vocal; mewls and broken whines rolling out of him as he delivers a few more messy pumps that turn into languid grinds.
You can’t help but moan with him, clenching on purpose to milk everything out of him, loving the claim he’s laying upon your body. And when he lifts his weight a little, just to look down, you find the most sinful sight. He grinds one last time before pulling out slowly, the head of his softening cock bumping into your clit, making you flinch while smearing both your releases all over your puffy folds.
“Shit.” He exhales in wonderment, damp chest moving up and down, covered in pink blotches, giving his already pretty skin a breathtaking glow.
Your hand moves on its own, in need to feel the mess you've both created. Your let your fingers dip between your wet folds, shamelessly stroking up and down your slit, his intense gaze spurring you on as you gather some of his cum that’s already started to spill out. You revel in the fascination his eyes hold as they follow your every move carefully.
Your lips wrap around your index and middle fingers while holding his gaze. His tongue dips out to lick at his bottom lip as he takes in the sinful act with furrowed brows, like he's angry.
Before you can put on more of a show, his hand is on your jaw, your fingers ripped out of your mouth as his tongue replaces them, shoving into your mouth like he just needs a taste, prying your lips open without hovering for permission.
And then he abruptly breaks the kiss with a wet smack. Wild eyes find yours again when he mutters quietly, “Do you want all of it?”
You know what he's implying. You know you should refuse. You really should.
But you nod instead.
He doesn’t waste time. Just shuffles down, head buried between your thighs in record time, tongue eagerly licking all over your folds. You flinch when his nose nudges against your clit, mouth greedily sucking at your entrance to gather as much of his cum as he can. It feels soothing in a way, as opposed to the tingling sensation his cock left behind after the repeated stretch. You know you’ll feel sore tomorrow, but you focus on his soft lips, sighing out in relief at the lazy laps.
It ends before the pleasure can start building back up, and he’s hovering above you again, shielding your naked body from the cool air of the room. His mouth is just above yours, sealed tight as he awaits.
You cup his face in your hands to pull him closer before parting your lips for him, tongue sticking out flat. You let a moan slip when he lets your combined juices mixed with his spit dribble onto your awaiting mouth. You can only close your eyes when you briefly taste and then swallow the thick and slightly salty substance.
And then he's slotting his lips with yours again, kissing you slowly this time, tongue gliding savouringly against yours until you're out of breath and your lips feel numb.
He hesitantly pulls away with a little nip on your bottom lip, before he licks at the corner of his mouth, where some of his - or your - saliva has smeared.
“Well, that fucking escalated.” He says with a tired, amused sigh.
You don't even try to tone down your staring as you take in his flushed face, slightly baffled expression making you smile.
“In a good way?” You test, letting out an exhale of your own when he drops his weight on you carefully. He rests his head on your chest, cheek squishing just above the swell of your left boob, exactly where your heart threatens to jump out of. The softness in his actions helps your limbs relax a little.
He hums contentedly when you run a hand through his hair, combing through the fluffy strands absentmindedly.
“A little too good, unfortunately.” He teases, tone playful as always.
“Mm, sorry, I guess.” You play along, eyes closing briefly when his warm palm engulfs the breast he’s not using as a headrest. He kneads the supple flesh gently. Then just holds.
“Maybe it’s a sign.” He says quietly, sounding like he’s in deep contemplation.
“That we’re both equally deranged?” You joke with a soft chuckle.
“That too. But also, that you've been fucking the wrong people.” He states, like it’s the only explanation.
“And fucking my best friend is so right.” Your tone is sarcastic, but it holds truth. How is this right?
He chuckles lightly, warm breath hitting your skin. “Didn't feel wrong, I'll tell you that for free.”
“Aren't you sweet.” You tug a little harder on his hair — a silent warning.
“No, seriously, though.” He traces the underside of your breast with his thumb, slightly tickling you. “There's obviously tension.”
You don't confirm or deny. “Okay, and? What's your point?”
“Maybe we should just fuck it all out.” He suggests a little too casually.
“Isn’t that what we just did?” You keep playing with his hair, needing a distraction from the slightly confusing conversation.
He tilts his head up to look at you, bottom lip trapped between his teeth, brown eyes glimmering with mischief in the soft lighting of his living room, like he's unlocked something that maybe should've stayed hidden.
“I dunno,” Haechan mutters, voice sounding honey-like. “Do you feel like you’re done with me?”
The quickening of your heartbeat and the strange, tingly feeling that still lingers in your tummy are enough of an answer.
jay is annoying with his expensive outfits, large crowds that follow him wherever he goes and that stupid perfect smile that always paints his face. little did you know that he's completely at your mercy and is willing to do absolutely everything to please you, especially when he's under you.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: richkid!jay x fem!reader
SMUT, he's down bad, service bottom / switch jay , he's bratty, reader is kind of a switch/but more dom leaning in this, blowjob, lots of teasing, swearing, begging, "pretty boy", "good boy", unprotected sex (don't unless you're sterile and tested!), cowgirl, little bit of tiddie sucking, birthday sex, lowkey degration (he's into it), slight hate fucking from readers side, university au!, not proofread (4.1k words)
park jongseong is fucking infuriating.
as much as you don't wish to admit it, he gets under your skin. the picture perfect boy, living in the big mansion that his oh so perfect family owns. apparently they even have a massive hand painted family portrait in the entry hall.
wherever he goes, the crowd follows. girl and boys, no matter who it is, they all cling to him as if he hung the fucking moon. you don't understand it, the parties he throws seem to be ordinary, he's not particularly interesting besides his parents money. yet he still lingers in the back of your mind, deeply hidden from the rest of the world, but still there.
you sit a few rows above him, boring lecture only acting as background noise. in disbelief you watch the swarm of people staring at the proclaimed golden boy, who is only taking notes.
"wow jay your handwriting is so nice!" one girl exclaims.
"shhh, you're distracting him!" shoots back another.
you scoff in disbelief. everyone has gotten fucking insane.
thankfully, as if your professor knew of your suffering, he briefly concludes the last few slides and released you into freedom. while the loyal jay solar system stays close to their sun, you squeeze past them, feeling the freedom of the end of classes.
moving through the masses you pick up some fellow students exited mutters. "yea it's gonna be insane tomorrow. he hasn't been announced anything!"
you almost stop paying attention when another drops the news.
"i mean it's jays fucking birthday, it's bound to be something."
oh god. hell awaits you tomorrow.
if people have been annoying any other day, they will be fucking insufferable tomorrow.
for a second you think of simply not showing up, but then again, you refuse to let this random man affect your studies. this has to fucking stop.
in the end, you should've just stayed at home. the halls were filled with people carrying homemade cakes, birthday cards signed by the entire university being handed around so that not a single person will be left out.
"y/n! come sign real quick." a girl you've never met in your life practically screams and shoves the card into your face.
carefully, you push the card towards her again. "no thanks, him and i don't know each other."
"come onnnn", she whines. "it's jay, everybody knows jay."
that earns her a scoff from you. "well i doubt he'll miss my signature then. he'll be just fine." and with that you move past her. it's honestly baffling to you how people still act like this in university. one would think you'd all be past the idolisation of random people at this age.
a mere 24 hours later tough, despite all the odds, you find yourself within the holy walls of residence of the golden boy.
you had been curious, you can't lie. the invitation had mysteriously found its way into your bag, a fucking qr code staring back at you.
please scan to confirm your attendance.
what did you have to lose? confirm that he's just like the other rich kids and settle this once and far all?
you hadn't put much attention to your outfit, you didn't want to give him even the slightest suspicion of going for his sake.
the place was vibrating with energy and the bass of music. the entire university must be here, what was the need for confirmed attendance?
the plan had been to lay low, observe, confirm your suspicions and disappear again. but jay's eyes had been fucking everywhere. you couldn't even make your way through the first floor without his eyes meeting yours all across the, way too big, room.
next thing you knew, you were locked into his bedroom with him. truly, you don't even remember it happen. there had been a tug on your hand up the stairs, him guiding you through the masses of students, jealous eyes staring at you in disbelief.
something inside of you had snapped the moment you heard the door click, you couldn't believe him.
"the fuck do you think you're doing?" you almost screamed at him and you yourself were surprised at your rage.
jay was fiddling with his hands in front of his chest, broad shoulders shaking with his uneven breath. his mouth opened and closed. opened. closed.
"speak!"
he sighed, eyes darting around the room and you don't miss how his eyes lingered in the corner. you turned your head. the bed. the motherfucker was staring at the fucking bed,
you scoff, grabbing his arm and dragging him across the room. his knees hit the expensive wooden frame, causing him to fall back against the abundance of pillows.
"someone fucking fluffed those up for you before your guest came, didn't they?" you mutter as you straddle him.
as if he wasn't flustered enough, your words flicked a switch in his brain and he only managed a weak nod in response.
"you're so fucking spoiled." you practically spat at him.
and in response he whines. he fucking whines underneath you.
"y/n you're so mean to me." he pouts and it's the most pathetic thing you've ever seen.
"why, because i don't fucking fawn over you when you simply breathe?"
his hands twitch, aching to touch you but he knows you'll just slap them away.
"you never even looked at me. you never went to any of my parties. i've been trying to get your attention since the beginning." he breathes, eyes low lidded and hazy.
you coo, "awww, poor baby. couldn't buy my attention, how mean of me." a fake pout forming on your face.
jay trashes around, hair messily splayed over the pillow. desperate whines keep bubbling out of him, you make him so fucking insane.
"please." he mumbles, head lulled to the side, soft pillow muffling his voice.
"hm?" you question. "please what?"
he scoffs, "let me touch you, feel you. my god anything please, please just let me be inside of you."
and there it finally was.
for a moment you only stared at him, his eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but your face.
he didn't know what he expected for an answer. a witty comeback, a teasing question maybe. but what he didn't expect, was you just full on laughing at him.
"you think", you manage to get out between giggles "you think that's all it takes for you to get what you want? say pretty please and i jump at you command?"
all jay can do is look at you with wide eyes, but it's not out of hurt. no. he's so fucking horny right now.
"please." he chokes out, rapidly blinking up at you. "please y/n i promise i'll make you feel good."
"hmmmm, what to do what to do..." you say with a roll of your hips against his. he hisses, sensitive cock throbbing underneath his tailored slacks.
"fuck, don't tease me i'll fucking cum in my pants."
the moment those words leave his mouth, he immediately starts to regret them. especially when he noticed the sparkle in your eyes.
"oh how awful." you pout down at him, index finger slowly slipping underneath his shirt and trailing down his torso.
you felt each and every abdomen muscle flex under your touch as his breathing starts getting heavier and heavier. but what really gets you is the sight of him when your eyes dart back to his face.
his jaw slack, eyes fixated on your fingertip: the man was utterly at your mercy.
a small chuckle leave you and you lean in to hover over his face, fingertips still ghosting over his skin.
"so responsive, hm?" you whisper in his ear and he shudders at your closeness.
with dreadful slowness your fingers travel down his abdomen, tracing every rig of his toned body.
jays eyes travel down and you grab his face. "nu-uh." you tut, index finger softly caressing the line of his jaw. "eyes on me, pretty boy."
you don't quite know where this part of you is coming from. before today, you would've imagined yourself to be in his position, not the opposite. but you refuse to give him power over you right now, not after him acting like a spoiled brat, despite the fact he showed off only for you to notice him.
after excruciating seconds, your hand started playing with the waistband of his boxers, careful fingers slipping beneath it. his hips buck involuntarily and he sighs out of frustration of his erection being exposed to the cool air.
ever so slowly you move your along the elastic band, other hand pulling his slacks down and inching closer to his throbbing cock. the sound of his frantic breathing music in to ears. but you refuse to give in this easily and make the band suddenly snap back against his skin.
a strangled moan escapes him and his eyes close shut, brows furrows. "fuck, please y/n."
"who knew you could beg this sweetly?"
"could've shown you ages ago baby, you never fucking looked at me though."
you smile at his witty remarks, despite his already fucked out state.
"can't have the birthday boy wait much longer then can't i?".
he frantically starts nodding; god he's absolutely pathetic and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.
your lips replace your fingers along his waistband, teeth nipping at his skin. he twitches in response and you press his hips back to the mattress. "stay. or i'll stop."
his hands fist the sheets and he throws his head backs in frustration.
you start placing open mouthed kisses all over his boxers, careful to avoid where he wants you most. though that doesn't stop you from "accidentally" nudging his cock with your nose through.
"oopsie." you giggle, placing a kiss on the spot and he hisses.
"please, i need your mouth on me so fucking bad." his voice is raspy, filled with need and desperation.
you're not letting him get his wishes that easily though.
with one smooth motion, you lick his length from base to top, teeth grazing the fabric. you feel his legs flex, but he refrains from moving much.
"hmmm, good boy." you praise, pressing another kiss to his clothed tip.
he jerks again at the petname and you notice the faint red staining his cheeks.
"awwww, pretty boy blushes at the slightest form of praise."
your words only intensify his embarrassment, one hand covering his face, one that you instantly remove.
"absolutely not. you've been acting like an attention whore all along, you don't get to hide now."
he scoffs, little high pitched noise bubbling out of his throat. if he wants to play brat you just have to put him back into his place.
not giving him time to fix his attitude your teeth are on him, but not nipping at his skin. no, your teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of his, still clothed, tip.
tortured moans fill the room, his hands flying down to swat your head away.
"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, please- ngh, i'll be nice now i promise."
you take his hand into his, intertwining his long fingers with yours.
"mhm, you better." you murmur back, as you free his cock from his precum stained boxers. the cool air made him hiss, head thrown back in both pleasure and pain.
slowly, you wrap your free hand around the base of his length, gliding it up at down at an almost cruelly slow place.
the moans that spill out of him were almost pornographic, low guttural ones mixing with high pitched whines.
deciding that he's suffered enough you start kitty licking around his tip, swirling your tongue around it.
his hips buck and he immediately whines. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry you just make me feel so fucking good."
you place him fully in your mouth, humming softly at his pleas. he tugs at your still intertwined hand and you squeeze back, reminding him that you're the only in control.
it doesn't take much for jay to get close, a few bobs of your head, not even having to take him down your throat and he's panting like a dog.
"fuck, fuck y/n please, can i cum? please i want to come so fucking bad." you couldn't help a giggle escape you, the vibrations only making him moan back at you even louder.
you pick up the pace, hand squeezing the base of his cock your mouth hasn't reached yet.
his moans turn into full on squeaks, head moving from left to right, legs twitched besides you.
"i'm gonna cum, fuck." he breathes, as his torso curved forwards, eyes forced shut and mouth wide open. he squeezed your intertwined hands so tightly you were sure all circulation was cut off for a second.
warm liquid filled your mouth and he slumped back onto the mattress, taking deep breaths to recover from his high.
"you're fucking insane, you want me to fucking die." he murmurs, eyes locking with yours.
sitting upright again, making sure he sees you swallow all of his release as you fix your hair. "someone's got to put you in your place eventually." you smile back at him sweetly.
"don't stop now then."
you cock your head at his words.
"touch me again, i'll do whatever you want from me." he rasps, not a single trace of uncertainty on his face.
"you have a crowd of people downstairs, desperate for your attention. meanwhile you're begging for a simple touch, don't you think that's a little pathetic of you?"
"i don't fucking care about them." he spats out. "i'll send them home for all i care. heck, i'd let you do this in front of them all. let them see you're all i want."
your heart stutters a little at that confession. until now this was teasing, pushing some boundaries, but you're starting to truly believe he was serious.
" 's that so? what a sweetheart you are, park."
"you fucking ruined me." he continues. "you're on my mind all the time, i can't focus on anything. nothing matters as much as being around you."
you scoff. "what happened to just talking to me. we've never exchanged a single word until today."
"i was scared, okay?" his eyes dart away from yours. "i'm not used go people not wanting to be in my vicinity. i thought you hated me."
a wave of emotion hit you, one that you couldn't quite place. sure, you avoided him because you were annoyed at this golden boy status, but you did assume things before actually having had a proper conversation with him.
"i never hated you." you whisper back.
he scoffs, "well you weren't quite fond of me."
"true, but i was more annoyed and irritated than anything else."
to that he only hums. his hands fidget and you hesitate for a moment before taking them into yours. you don't say anything and simply put them on your hips.
"if i'd hate you that much would i get you a birthday present?"
"huh?" jay looks at you, utterly confused and before he knew it he witnessed you removing your top.
"never seen tits before?" you chuckle at him — he looked like he'd just seen a unicorn walk into the room.
"no, i mean yes...uh, not yours tho." as soon as his words left him he cringed at himself. "gosh i sound pathetic."
not in your wildest dreams would you've imagined having your tits be this intriguing, let alone to jay.
"mhm, maybe a little. its cute though."
his head shot up at that and you laugh.
"you're so eager for praise, don't u get enough as is?" you tease.
"this is my first time getting it from you," he mumbled, "cut me some slack."
your hands travel up his torso, tracing little shapes and roaming mindlessly. " gonna let me have some fun with you? what'ya think about that?"
jay only manages a nod and you don't fail to notice the now faster moving rise and fall of his chest.
"well, get naked then park."
in record time jay tugs off his shirt, carelessly throwing it around the room. there flies a random 400 dollar shirt.
"you don't take care of your stuff well do you?"
he props himself up by his elbows, "not when i have to take care of you first."
you raise your brow at that, eyes slightly squinting down at the man looking up at you as if you were on ocean in the sahara and he's been wandering for weeks to find it.
"you sure you're not all talk, park?"
a sly smile spreads on his face. "feel free to punish me if you're not satisfied" he shoots back.
game on.
jay's eyes never left yours when you removed the rest of your clothes and you don't miss the swallow after he saw the pretty white panties you wore, eyes following it flying towards his previously discarded slacks.
"real price is here." you mutter, taking his chin into your hand to make him look at you again.
jay didn't know where to look first. having you completely bare on top of him seemed to have fried the last remaining braincells he had. up and down his eyes flickered, from face to tits to pussy.
"jesus christ you're gorgeous." he says, voice so breathless it almost sounded comical.
you hum, positioning your hips right above his.
with excruciating slowness you lower yourself, carefully watching how he switches from low lidded, lust filled to screwed shut eyes and sharp hisses.
"fuck, fuck more please." he chokes out and you pause, only halfway down his length. giving him what he wants easily was not on your list.
you reach your hand down, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and squeezing. and my god; the sounds that spilled out of him were heavenly.
"please, oh my god don't tease me i'll be so good i promise," he rasps, looking up with you with glassy eyes. cute.
hand moving away from his cock, you place it against his stomach, spreading yourself as you continue to glide down on him.
"jesus you're so wet, you're so fucking perfect oh my god."
you chuckle. you don't even need to speak and he's babbling.
"pussy got you talking sweet to me, huh?" you tease and he whines.
"just don't want you to stop, please don't stop."
deciding you won't torture him much longer you drop your hips with one quick motion and you both gasp. you underestimated just how deep he'll be inside you now.
you had to take a few deep breaths, writhing jay underneath you absolutely losing his mind at the feeling of being hugged by your gummy walls.
"holy shit, move," he pleads, "please, please move i'm gonna go insane."
you slowly start rolling your hips. god did he feel good inside of you. you've heard people praise this man into the ground but surprisingly never heard much of his sex life and his performance. even if, you doubt that they could've prepared you just how feel he fits inside of you.
"come on", he chokes out between gritted teeth, "make yourself feel good on me, use me."
you throw your head back, hand gripping onto his shoulders. his hips buck up to meet the circling of your hips and you gasp, walls clenching around him.
"fuck, you're so fucking pretty angel. can't believe you're letting me see you like this."
one would think jay has met god in person and to him it feels like it. you're his god now, he's willing to devote his entire life to worshipping you.
" 'm never letting anyone have you again. say you're mine now."
you laugh breathlessly. "is that your way of asking me to be your girlfriend, park?"
"if you rather me asking when i'm not balls deep inside you i'll take you on the best date of your fucking life tomorrow, pretty" he shoots back.
"gonna show you that these fucking losers you've been giving chances could never love and spoil you like i did." sharp pain interrupts on your hips as he digs his fingertips into the plush flesh.
"i got so fucking annoyed at that girl who played you. fucking loser, just like that guy who forgot the right time of your first fucking date."
he remembered. he remembered them all; and you didn't quite know how to feel. your heart swells as your walls clench around him again.
"should've just fucking talked to me then," you manage to moan out. "could've been yours since the moment you wanted."
at your words he pulled your hips down even closer against his, his cock hitting your sweet spot just right and you gasp, falling forwards. encouraged at your reaction, he pushes you back upright again, hips snapping upwards at a relentless pace.
high pitched, almost squeaky moans spill out of you, hands gripping onto anything that could offer some stability. but jay hasn't had enough, he needs you as desperate for him as he is for you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tiny calculated circles on it.
"fuck, jay holy shit oh my god, don't fucking stop."
"not so cocky anymore, huh princess?"
you laugh, "fuck you. you're not any better."
"gotta get an answer out of you don't i?"
"yes", you whine "yes i'll be yours, fuck, oh my god you're so big."
his ego boosted and he sits up slightly, lips wrapping around you nipple, giving it a few sucks. you moan in response, back arching forwards as he kitten licks around it before moving to the other.
" 'm so close." your voice barely even noticeable.
he hums, mouth still on your breast before releasing it with a small pop. "let yourself go pretty, hm? make a mess on my cock, come on."
your hips now match his frantic movement, the pressure of his finger against your clit, cock drilling into you, almost making you see stars.
jay is as much of a mess as you are, hair stuck to his forehead, pupils blown wide and fixated on your pussy.
"jay-"
"i know, pretty, me too."
without thinking you fall forwards, lips crashing into his. he gasps, hands moving from your hips to your waist to pull you closer. it was barely considered kissing or making out, the two of you were practically devouring each other alive. tongues clashed in fight for dominance, both of you too stubborn to back down and admit defeat.
two more thrusts and you feel the warmth in your stomach drop, thighs clenching and pussy swallowing his cock. white coats your vision and you go limb as you feel jay stiffen up underneath you, a mix of groans and whines filling your ears.
you feel his heart beating through his chest, messy rhythm matching yours. two large hands find your waist as he starts dragging his fingertip up and down your sides, involuntarily tickling you.
"you're so fucking cute." he mumbles sleepily as you try and doge his touch.
your eyes meet his, heart stuttering at his fixated gaze on you.
"you're not too bad yourself i guess," and he laughs, hips bucking up, cock still burrowed deep inside you, nudging your sweet spot for a second.
involuntary you squeak in surprise, slapping his chest lightly and squeezing his cock with your walls in response. he moans back, wide smile spreading on his face.
"feisty girl you are." he beams, connecting your lips with his. this time it's not as fiery, no clashing of teeth and messy tongues. no, it was gentle and deliberate.
lips still connected, you rolled you on your side, cock slipping out of you and you gasp at the emptiness. you gasp instantly swallowed by him he deepened the kiss, one hand leaving your waist to softly cup your cheek.
"you still standing with the answer you gave earlier?" he whispers against your lips and you hum.
"nu-uh," he pulls back and you whine, "use your words."
you squint at him, "don't you use my words against me, park."
at that he only laughs, pressing a few kisses on your cheeks. "forgive me, but i can't have you thinking i'll let you be in control all the time."
"oh please," you scoff, "you were literally begging for me a few minutes ago."
"and i'll do it again, but next i'll have you begging baby."
he smiles and for a moment you forgot how you hadn't been charmed by him the moment you saw him.
"let's see if you're not all talk then, birthday boy. make a wish."
ʟɪɴꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: happy birthday daddy, you getting fucked tonight 👅
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)
ʜᴏɴᴏʀᴀʀʏ ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @jaylaxies true royalty in this tag section im shaking in my boots typing this
── .✦ pairings: Yeon Sieun. Ahn Suho. Oh Beomseok. Park Humin. Go Hyuntak. Kang Wooyoung. Geum Seongje. Na Baekjin. Baek Dongha. Do Seongmok. Jeon Yeongbin. Yeongi x gn!reader
contains. fluff. whc characters showing possessiveness when they get jealous. rude!Gotak. everyone else is sweet (I have one sided beef with him for a while — idk why) wuhluhwuh
warnings. none wc. 1.9k
note. we are back on track. thanks to everyone for 1.5k!! let’s see if I still got it
YEON SIEUN
likes having you sit on his desk when you’re talking to someone
“You totally did cheat, though.”, you half-heartedly accused your class-mate, a little envious to see him achieve a higher grade than you.
He just shook his head as he explained to you one more time how hard he’d been studying.
Sieun was characteristically quiet behind you, just the faint shuffle of papers gaining your attention. You whirled around to see the space he’s made for you by swiping all his workbooks to the side so you could sit.
You pointed him a look but he kept his head down. With a light chuckle, you planted your palms on the wood and heaved yourself up to sit, legs bouncing in the air. “It makes sense that Sieun gets better grades cause he’s smarter than all of us together, but you on the other hand..”, you trailed, glimpsing at your boyfriend to see a subtle lift in the corner of his lips as he continued rehearsing his vocabulary.
AHN SUHO
arm around your shoulder
You were casually chatting up a guy from your class, asking him for details about his sneakers because Suho’s birthday was coming up and you thought that the shoes would be a nice fit on him.
“It’d be cool if you could just send me the link.”, you suggested, jumping as a heavy arm ranked around your shoulders.
“What are we talking about?” Your boyfriend’s voice sounded casual, yet his demeanour was everything but, the act itself an obvious display of belonging. “Nothing.”, you just quipped, motioning with your head for classmate to dip.
He obliged, muttering a quick goodbye, and instantly Suho’s grip around you loosened, the tick in his jaw still very evident to you.
OH BEOMSEOK
holds your hand, fidgets with your ring
Your head rested casually on Beomseok’s shoulder, eyes fixed on Yeongbin, half listening to a story you’ve heard before. His gaze kept snapping towards you while he was talking, adding substitute to the tale, hands motioning.
Beomseok was following his friend’s eyes, the hint of a glare sparkling in his own as he dropped his hand to lie next to yours, casually grabbing it before interlacing his fingers with yours. „You okay?“, you asked him in a whisper, but he just hummed.
A light tickle against your middle finger had you glimpse down, a smile tugging on your lips as you watched him roll your ring between his fingers.
PARK HUMIN (BAKU)
back hug
The evening had just set, light gusts of wind tugging on your clothes as you threw another ball, biting your lip in concentration. You held your breath as the basketball bounced against the basket’s board, swirling one round against the rim before dipping right in, the net carefully guiding the rubber ball back to the ground.
A cheer erupted from around you, your friends impressed by your first score. You jumped in excitement. Gotak was the first to close the distance, giving you a high five as he grinned down on you.
Baku, on the other hand, engulfed you in a hug, both arms draped around your front as he pressed your back into his chest.
Your heart skipped a beat at that, the embrace pushing the air out your lungs.
GO HYUNTAK (GOTAK)
drapes his jacket around your shoulders
You checked your phone for a new message, but there was still none from your boyfriend. You sighed, leaning back on your chair.
The sun had dipped low but the heat still radiated off it, gleamy rays of light swathing you in. You had agreed to meet up at this convenience store but it looked like Gotak was running late, so you rose from the chair and padded back into the store.
When Gotak had finally arrived, seemingly a little out of breath — hinting that he had run to get there faster, you were too indulged in your conversation with the clerk to notice his arrival. And you were laughing.
Gotak stepped up to you with his jaw clenched, startling you as he tossed his jacket over your shoulders. Your head snapped back to him at once, smile faltering as you took in his expression.
“I’m not exactly cold.”, you let him now, tugging on the polyester as you tried to pull it off, but Gotak wasn’t having that, pulling it tighter around your body as he placed a hand on your lower back.
“I didn’t exactly ask.”
KANG WOOYOUNG
got you a necklace with his initials on it
Wooyoung‘s gaze was burning holes into your skin, but you refused to look over to him, a smile tugging on your lips.
The guy in front of you was on an even level with you since you were sitting on the kitchen table, originally waiting for your friend to return from the bathroom, so your group could head to the club (cause house parties are just pre-games).
It took less than two minutes for a guy to approach but less than one for your boyfriend to come up. The guy in front of you startled as Wooyoung had appeared, yet he refused to leave.
The skin on your neck tingled where his fingers brushed your hair to the side, the fluoroscent light catching the metal acronym in a gleamy glow. KW.
The other guy‘s expression dropped as he put two and two together, spinning on his heels to approach someone else.
„You‘re so lame.“, you cooed, affection laced in every word.
GEUM SEONGJE
pulls you to sit on his lap
Ever since Seongje had lent you his Wii-U, he hadn’t seen the device anywhere besides your hands.
You couldn’t help it, the games were too good and the endless opportunities to play a 1v1 was just appealing to your competetive spirit.
You were enthralled in your game and Seongje barely paid attention to you, just pointing you a quick glance as he saw you standing right before the seat instead of just sitting down. (It was getting too heated — you had to stand to win).
As you let out a laugh, throwing your head back slightly, you re-gained his attention. He ripped his headphones down to his neck as he inspected your screen. He had assumed your airpods were due to listening to the soundtrack, not for chatting.
“Who-“, he cut himself — you couldn’t hear him either way.
He huffed, wrapping both hands around your hips to pull you down on his lap. You barely reacted, eyes locked on the tiny screen. He wrapped his hands around you and brought his ears next to you, trying to filter out a voice from the spill of soundtrack spilling out the buds. He couldn’t really make out any voices, except-. There. A laugh. Rich and loud. That one friend of yours.
He clicked his tongue, leaning back in his seat before returning his attention back on the game he forgot to pause.
NA BAEKJIN
death stare at whoever you’re talking with + physical barrier
You were scrolling Tiktok on Baekjin’s couch, casually sprawled onto the leather as you swiped to the next video, unwitting to the volume that was pulsing out of the speaker.
Baekjin fixed you with a stare, but merely shook his head as you kept scrolling, oblivious. Then the door snapped open and a few guys you couldn’t place spilled inside. Like it was your cue, you rose from your position and padded over to your boyfriend, putting your body behind his chair like it was shielding you from the encounter.
Whatever the guys wanted, was a matter of a few minutes and as soon as they left, you tucked your chin on Baekjin’s shoulder, placing a quick peck on the side of his face.
Back in the days he would jut his chin towards you or wave you over but over the time you had learned to distance yourself from anyone who came through that door.
With a stretch of your limbs you rose back up, heading for your usual spot, but your boyfriend grabbed your wrist to halt you in your step.
“Lower the volume.”
BAEK DONGHA
hand on your waist
There was a new food truck in your city, offering stuff you hadn’t seen outside your phone before, so naturally you had to try.
Dongha was on the phone beside you, discussing some union-related business, as it was your turn. You stepped up, placing your order and when you looked up and met a familiar face, you laughed. The vendor was a classmate of yours.
Dongha’s head whirled towards you, eyebrows knitted as his gaze darted from you to the uniformed guy.
Without further ado, he ranked one arm around you, hand digging into your hip as he continued the phone call, smiling proudly hence you didn’t even react to the possessive act.
DO SEONGMOK
hand in your front pocket
“He’ll be here any minute.”, you assured your boyfriend, earning a silent nod. Just as you lowered your arm, your phone’s screen lit up with a new notification.
“He’s here.” Your eyes were scanning the place, craning your neck to look past people, hoping to catch a glimpse of your friend.
A tap on your shoulder had you whirl into the opposite direction, lips split into a smile as you recognised the familiar face. He held his notebook to you with his arm stretched, but your fingers merely graced the paperback before a big hand slipped into the front pocket of your jeans.
Seongmok pulled you back against his chest with a light grab on your thigh, his fingers raising goosebumps across the same path as the cold seeped through the thin layer of cotton that seperated the denim from your skin.
He used his free hand to grab the notebook off your friend, nodding once as he held it to your chest for you to grab.
JEON YEONGBIN
head on your lap
Yeongbin was half asleep when you stumbled into your own room, doing a double take as you caught him sprawled on your sheets, face buried in your pillow.
„I can‘t give you attention, right now.“, you sneered. „I have a group project.“ Yeongbin groaned at that, lifting his head just enough to look at you.
„Invite them over.“
You didn‘t really see any reason as to not do it, preferring your home to any cafe.
Your project partners arrived shortly after and you immediately got to work. Yeongbin causally greeted the people he knew from shared classes or the hallway, but found himself irritated every time someone hogged your attention. In his mind they were feigning needing something.
You were sitting cross legged on your bed while the rest of the group had occupied a spot on your carpet, only one of them bold enough to sit in your chair, spinning around every once in a while.
Yeongbin was laying behind you, casually coming up behind you until he could nestle on your side, dipping his head to rest it on your thigh. Your hand found his hair immediately, fingers intertwined in his hair as you started to caress his scalp.
This way you wouldn’t stand up again.
YEONGI
making you crowd her space
You were sitting on your desk, casually chatting up a classmate when Yeongi returned from the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of you talking to someone else than her.
She stalked over to you in a few strides, coming to a halt right before you, but as your friend glanced at her in a confused matter, you kept taking, wrapping you legs around her torso as you pulled her back against your chest, tucking your chin on her shoulder.
The bell announced the end of the break and you all moved from your clusters to get back at your assigned seats. As you loosened your grip on your girlfriend, she turned to you with a scowl.
“Don’t talk to other people.”
“Leave me alone.”, you pressed through a chuckle, lightly kicking at her before sliding down the desk and heading for your chair.
“Fuck!” Choso moans, her mouth parted into a wide O on the couch.
You press your hand on the side of her head, curling your fingers in her soft hair and using your leverage over her to shove her face into the couch as you slam your hips into hers, humping her ass. Her legs are trembling with the force—her back is arched so perfect it’s making her scream every time you hit it just. right. “Take it, baby,” you smirk down at her, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth.
Choso’s jaw goes completely slack as she holds her breath, her fingers balling into the couch. The only sound left in the awaiting room are the sounds of your soft panting and the slap of your pelvis against her ass. A few seconds go by, her face screws into pleasure, and then she groans, her eyes rolling back in her head.
“God, you feel it so much.” You stare down at her in awe, adjusting your hand on her face so your fingers can better tangle in her hair. You glance down at where she’s taking you, enraptured with how her tight cunt swallows all 9 inches of the strap. It isn’t often she prefers taking a toy over you dominating her with your tongue, fingers, or cunt, but times like tonight, she wants to be taken out of her fucking mind with pleasure, and you’re happy to oblige.
She nods. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Fuck!” A hand desperately reaches behind her body, fingers clawing for you.
Smiling, you interlace your fingers with hers and slam her hand down on the couch, leaning your body over hers until your pelvis is rubbing against her ass, and you’re more-so grinding the strap into her rather than giving her the harsh strokes from moments ago.
She gasps against the cushion as you hump her ass, molding the blunt head right against her deepest spot. A desperate noise leaves her lips, and you feel your own neglected cunt throb. You are definitely going to have to fuck her with your cunt when she finally orgasms around the strap. If not, you might die.
You lean over her body and take the lobe of her ear into your mouth, biting it softly. “You like how I fuck you, baby?”
Her trembling fingers shake around your own as you slowly dislodge them, teasing a path up her arm with your fingertips before trailing down her lithe back and reaching down to hold the side of her waist. “Yes,” she moans. The word is desperate and whined through clenched teeth. She sounds like a fucking porn star performing for a live audience, and it makes you dizzy.
“Hm?” You trail your fingers around to her stomach, releasing the lobe of her ear to hide your face in her neck and smirk as the muscles in her tight abdomen flex beneath your touch.
“Please,” she whines, bucking her hips back as you continue to grind into her, knowing it’s not enough for her to cum. Her body is sensitive as hell, but she always did need a little something… more, to get there.
“Pleae what?” you tease, tickling your fingers right over the patch of hair that leads to where she desperately needs you.
She groans in annoyance, the sound tapering off into a moan when you push her down hard into the mattress with your hips.
“Uh oh,” you coo. “I must not be fucking you well enough if you’re still able to give me attitude. Should I stop—”
“No!” she practically shouts, turning her head as much as she can to plead at you with those massive, submissive eyes of hers. “No,” she repeats. “Please don’t stop. Please… please touch my clit.” Her words are so soft and embarrassed even though this is hardly the first time you’ve made her beg for something in bed. And still, after hearing it for the umteenth time, its effectiveness isn’t lost on you.
Trailing your nails teasingly down the trimmed hair between her legs, you blindly lift your finger of what you hope will be her clit—and tap it once.
Her entire body jerks.
Bingo.
Pressing your finger harder against her, you rub slow, teasing circles against her clit—using a pressure you know isn’t enough for her.
“Fuck me,” she whines. “Please fuck me, I need it.”
You lift your face from her neck to tip your chin up at the ceiling and squeeze your eyes shut. How is she able to make you feel like you’re going to cum from just her words alone? God. How fucking embarassing.
Attempting to maintain composure, you sit back and pull her hips with you, making her arch her back and sit on her knees while her chest stays pressed to the couch. “You need it?” You ask, releasing her hair to caress a tickling trail along her spine before you reach her hip.
She nods, reaching under her body to grab your wrist as you speed up the pace of your fingers.
“Show me you can take it.” Pulling the strap almost entirely out of her, you slam it back inside her. Her entire body shifts forward on the couch, and you’re a bit impressed with yourself. She’s no small woman.
“God!” She moans as you start a harsh pace, bouncing her ass back into your thrusts. “Yes! Yesyesyes, fuck. Fuck me, oh my god—” Her eyes roll back in her head as her brows pinch, turning her into the most wanton creature beneath you.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” you moan, shaking your head as you increase the pace of your fingers, hoping the sloppy job you’re doing against her clit feels good enough to make her finish. “I wanna see you cum.”
“I–I’m close,” she moans, rubbing her cheek against the couch. “So close. I want to cum for you.”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. If this was a real cock attached to your body, you would’ve shot off the moment she said those words in that fucking sex-drunk voice of hers.
“Cum for me baby, show me how much you want me to see it.” You encourage her with hard, rough thrusts. You’re fucking her so hard, she has to reach out and brace a hand against the edge of the couch in front of her so her forehead doesn’t bumb against the hard cushion.
You will yourself to focus on what you’re doing below, trying to clean up your frantic circles on her clit into a more condensed pattern against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your efforts are immediately rewarded when, without any warning, her back arches and her body goes still. Her jaw goes entirely slack—as does her expression. And then it hits her, and her body shakes.
You groan as it becomes harder to fuck her. She’s squeezing the strap so tight, pulsing against it with her orgasm as it wracks through her body. “Good girl,” you moan. “Good fucking girl, Choso. So damn pretty.”
She trembles and whines in half-choked moans before her body eventually stills. You still behind her, leaning forward over her back to press soft kisses against her spine and shoulders. She’s gasping into the couch like she just ran a mile, red faced and looking ready for sleep. “You okay?” you whisper against her hair, petting the top of her head before pressing a kiss in the same spot.
She nods, turning to look at you. “So okay.”
You can’t help but snort, leaning forward to kiss the corner of her lips. She grunts as you do, her expression pinching.
“You’re still inside me,” she complains. “Sensitive.”
You lay your head in the crook of her neck and pout. “Would stay here forever if I could.”
She made a sound that was neither encouraging or disparaging. “You like getting fingered too much.”
You made a contemplative face before turning your head to press a kiss to her neck. “True.” You push yourself up, slowly sliding the now soaking wet toy out of her before loosening the strap from around your hips and siding it down your thighs.
By the time you’ve removed it, Choso is laying on her back, completely exposed and watching you with a dopey, sex-drunk expression.
Narrowing your eyes, you crawl forward before collapsing on top of her chest where you’re immediately rewarded by her hands cradling your head and naked shoulders. “What are you smiling at?”
“You,” she says effortlessly.
Propping your chin on her chest between her breasts, you give her a dumb smile. “Wanna smile at me from between my legs?”
She cocks her head to the side, her long, messy bangs tickling her striped nose. “So subtle.”
You shrug. “You can say no.”
Choso looks between your eyes for several moments before a small smile curls the corners of her lips upwards. “Can I make you beg?”
You make a face that says“as if” and snorted. “You can try.”
Choso’s smile grew. It was the type of smile that said “I know something you don’t.”
And oh, how you were about to find out exactly what that something was.
a/n: is this my comeback? maybe idk,,, this came to me at 8 am when talking to @jaylaxies my beloved. idk why am I nervous but also excited. please enjoy, reblog and give feedbacks 😚🥹
wc: a bit over 2k.
cw: bff! jake. oral f! receiving, jake calling himself jakey, convincing reader to let him eat her out, kind of manipulating jake? use of the word pussy, cunt and cunnie. a lot.
the way jake is looking at you right now makes you feel like you’ve just admitted to never seeing the sun. his head is tilted, a slow incredulous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he leans back against your headboard. he doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the silence stretch until your skin starts to prickle with a sudden misplaced sense of shame.
"ever?" he finally repeats, the word dropping like a heavy weight. his voice is low, smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "not even once, princess? you’re really telling me no one has ever put their face between those pretty thighs?"
"it’s not a big deal, jake," you mutter, looking everywhere but at him as you pick at a loose thread on your duvet. your face is burning, the heat creeping up your neck. "i just… it’s never come up. i’ve been fine without it."
he doesn’t let it go. he’s already moving, crawling across the mattress with a predatory sort of grace. he crowds into your personal space, his presence suddenly overwhelming. "fine? 'fine' is for a mediocre meal or a boring movie. 'fine' isn't what you're supposed to be feeling when someone should be worshiping you," he leans down to nudge his nose along your covered slit, inhaling the scent of your dampening heat. "...worshipping this perfect perfect cunt."
he reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw to force your gaze back to his. "such a pity...," he whispers, sounding genuinely sympathetic. "everyone else is out here getting ruined, feeling the slow fuck of a warm wet tongue.., experiencing what it’s like to actually lose their mind because its hitting just the right spot, and you’re just… sitting here... left out? don't you feel like you're missing the best part of being alive?"
"i mean, i guess when you put it like that..." you trail off, your breath hitching. his hand slides down to your knee, slowly inching your legs apart. you know that you should probably move, but you feel paralyzed by the way he’s looking at you. "jakey, what are you doing?"
"shh princess, i'm just helping you realize how deprived you are," he murmurs, his eyes darkening as he ignores your half-hearted protest. "i bet you don't even know how sensitive you are down there,, bet you have no idea how much of a mess you'd make if someone who actually knew what they were doing decided to take care of you"
he gazes up at you, eyes still holding that pitying gaze. how ironic that the man you claim to know and can read like the back of your hand — like an open book– you fail to notice how those usually soft warm eyes are dark, pupils dilated with a raw hunger.
"you deserve to know, don't you? it’s almost a crime to keep such a sweet little pussy like yours waiting this long... you have a pretty pussy, don't you princess?"
"i... i don't know," you stammer, your head spinning from his cologne and the low vibration of his voice. you feel small, caught in the loop of him telling you how much you've been missing– how much your poor pretty pussy has been missing. "is it really that different?"
"it's everything," he says, his tone shifting into something far filthier. before you can process the shift, he’s hooking his arms under your knees, dragging you toward the edge of the bed. your heart hammers against your ribs, but your body feels heavy and compliant.
"jake, wait—" you start, but the words die in your throat as he drops to his knees on the floor, settling right between your spread legs.
he looks up at you from below, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "what kind of person will I be if I deprive my sweet girl of this? just relax for your best friend, okay? I'm just gonna show you what everyone's been raving about... that's it baby. let jakey see that pretty pussy. promise it'll feel so good"
"jake, please..." you gasp, your fingers curling into the sheets as you look down at him.
"god, look at you...look at this perfect pussy. i'm gonna make you regret every second you spent without my mouth on you."
his hands are heavy on your inner thighs, his knuckles dragging slowly upward until they’re brushing against the very edge of your panties. you let out a shaky breath, your hips involuntarily lifting off the mattress as you look down at him.
"jake, i—"
"i'm gonna eat you so good you'll forget your own name, princess. gonna lick every inch of this pretty little cunnie until you’re begging me to never stop,, you have no idea how loud you’re about to scream for me"
he doesn’t go straight for the center. instead, he uses the flat of his finger pads to trace the outer seams of your underwear, circling closer and closer until he’s pressing firmly against your clit through the thin fabric. you let out a sharp, surprised moan, your head hitting the pillow behind you.
"look at that," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the way you're reacting. "one touch and you’re already trembling. you’ve really been missing out on this, haven’t you? all that wasted time."
he hooks two fingers into the waistband, tugging the silk aside to expose you fully to the cool air and his hungry gaze. he doesn't use his tongue yet; instead, he curls his hand into a loose fist and uses his smooth knuckles to rub slow, agonizing circles over your sensitive nub. the pressure is blunt and intense, making your toes curl and your breath hitch in broken stutters.
"jake, please, it's—it's too much," you gasp, your hands flying down to grip his wrists, but he doesn't budge.
"nuh uh... it's not enough," he corrects you, a dark, playful glint in his eyes. "i'm barely even started with you. you’re so sensitive, princess. i bet if i just keep doing this, you’ll be soaking my hand in no time."
he increases the pressure, his knuckles rolling over you with a rhythm that makes your vision go blurry. just as you think you might snap, he leans forward and replaces the friction with the sudden, searing heat of his tongue. the first long, wet stroke from your bottom to your top makes you scream his name, your back arching off the bed.
"there she is," he chuckles against your skin, the vibration sent straight through your nervous system. he starts to lap at you with broad, greedy strokes, his tongue flat and firm. "god, you taste so much better than i even imagined. and you're so wet for me already. did you know you were gonna be this much of a mess the second your best friend put his mouth on you?"
he starts to get more intricate, using the tip of his tongue to flick rapidly against your clit while his finger pads spread your folds wide, exposing every sensitive inch to his teasing. he’s relentless, swirling his tongue around the opening of your cunt before darting it inside just a little, then retreating to focus on your peak again.
"you like that, don't you?" he murmurs, pulling back just an inch to see your wrecked expression. "little cunt twitching against my lips... you’re doing so good for your first time, princess. but i want to see you completely come apart. i want to feel you pulsing against my tongue while i'm buried in you."
his voice contimues to vibrate against your skin with every squeeze of your thighs around his head, as he looks up at your wrecked expression. "you’ve been walking around this whole time not knowing you could feel like this. It’s a fucking tragedy, princess."
he doesn't give you a second to recover, leaning back in, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips up, offering you to him completely. he starts using his tongue in long, slow, agonizingly wet laps that start at the very bottom and drag all the way up over your clit, flicking the sensitive bud at the end of every stroke.
"jakey, please—I can't—" you sob out, your fingers tangling in his hair, trying to either pull him closer or push him away, you don't even know anymore.
"shh baby.. you can, can't you?," he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over your drenched skin. "for me hmm? for your jakey? you're gonna take every bit of this. wanna make you feel how much better my mouth is than anything you could've done for yourself..."
he decides to shift his technique, his tongue narrowing into a sharp point as he begins to focus entirely on your clit, swirling around it with dizzying speed. at the same time, he presses the knuckles of his other hand against your opening, rubbing firmly in a way that makes you feel stretched and full even without him being inside you.
"so tight,, so fucking perfect..." he mutters, his words muffled against you. "and you’re dripping for me...god,, look at how much of a mess you’re making on my face, baby. a fucking natural at this, princess"
after wat feels like both hours and seconds somehow, the pressure finally starts to build behind your eyes, a tension in your lower stomach that feels like a cord being pulled tighter and tighter. you’re shaking now, your legs twitching against his shoulders as he relentlessly pursues your peak, adamant on making you not see the stars, but the fucking big bang behind your clenched shut eyes.
"that's it, baby... almost there, want you to feel it.." he encourages, his voice dropping into a filthy, demanding tone. "i can feel your pulse right here on my tongue... my sweet sweet girl about to cum on her best friend's face,, such a dirty baby for me, for her jakey..."
"I want to—please, jakey.. wanna cum,!" you scream, your voice breaking as the first wave of heat crashes over you.
he lets out a dark triumphant hum and sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling frantically while his knuckles press hard into your entrance. the world explodes into white light. your hips jerking violently, muscles clenching around nothing as you sob his name, the orgasm rolling through you in heavy, rhythmic pulses.
"fuck,, just like that, take it," he growls, refusing to pull away, his tongue continuing to tease you through the aftershocks until you’re practically limp. "that’s exactly how you’re supposed to look for me... my dirty girl"
the peak of your orgasm begins to settle into a heavy, throbbing ache, but jake doesn't pull away. he keeps his face buried right there, his breath hot against your soaking wet skin as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving.
"look at you," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your thighs. "all sensitive and shaking. You didn't even know you could make a mess like this, did you?"
before you can even stammer out a response, you feel the soft, fluttering sensation of his tongue again. this time, it’s not the demanding, rhythmic pressure from before,, slow, shallow kitten licks—short, dainty strokes that barely graze the surface of your swollen clit and the sensitive folds, fluttering at the slightest of touch.
"jake... stop, it’s too much," you gasp, your hips instinctively trying to twitch away from the overstimulation. the sensation is so light it's almost agonizing, making your nerves scream in a way that’s entirely different from the initial climax.
"i'm just cleaning you up, princess," he chuckles, his hands tightening their grip on your ass to keep you pinned right where he wants you. "you’re so sensitive now, aren't you?"
he continues the teasing licks, moving up and down the length of your slit, occasionally pausing to press soft, lingering kisses against the hood of your clit. the contrast between the wet, rough texture of his tongue and the soft pressure of his lips is driving you insane. he’s worshipping you, his mouth moving with a terrifyingly gentle precision that makes you feel even more exposed than when he was being rough.
"you taste like you were made for me, baby.. made for your precious jakey," he whispers against your skin, lips dragging over your folds. he blows a puff of cool air over the wetness, making you cry out and arch your back. "does that feel good? having your best friend kiss every inch of this pretty little cunt?
he hums, the vibration rattling through your bones as he nuzzles his face into you, inhaling your scent deeply. "gonna spend the rest of the night making sure you never forget what this feels like. got so much more to show my girl."
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