âź â â đŸđđ¶đ°đž đ»đŒđđČ ! | okay first off, WHY is this SO FUCKIN EMOTIONAL for no absolute reason. damn. consider this a 1000 follower special! likes & reblogs are appreciated! đč
the thought settles deep in your chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, as you lie on the silk sheets of the massive bed.
your fingers trace the embroidered patterns on your robeâsome floral design you can't see but can feel beneath your fingertips. the fabric is soft, expensive. everything here is expensive. everything here screams luxury and power and wealth.
but none of it screams love.
you hear nothing from his side of the bed.
the man is so impossibly quiet, it makes your skin prickle with unease. you've been here for three months now. three months as the wife of ryomen sukuna, the king of curses, the most feared ruler in all the lands. and in those three months, he has barely spoken a word to you.
at first, you thought it was a game.
some twisted test of patience. you were clever enough to know that political marriages were rarely about love. you'd been prepared for indifference, for coldness, for a husband who saw you as nothing more than a strategic alliance.
but this? this silent treatment that stretches night after night, this deliberate distance he keeps?
it cuts deeper than you expected.
your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.
princes would see your face firstâthe one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossibleâand they'd fall to their knees.
they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.
you were used to it.
but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.
and you'd felt hope.
you hate yourself for that hope now.
because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.
but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?
it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.
the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.
but you can't navigate him.
you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a voidâa massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.
tonight was bad.
you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.
then you'd almost fallen down a staircaseâthe grand staircase with its uneven stepsâyour foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.
and the whispers.
you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.
"the blind empress."
"does he even notice her?"
"i heard he hasn't touched her once."
"what a waste of a pretty face."
"she must be so lonely."
"she must be so pathetic."
you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.
but inside, you were crumbling.
and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.
does he ever sleep?
you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.
a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.
and you can't take it anymore.
"ryomen?"
your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.
silence.
you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.
just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.
"what."
it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.
you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.
"i...i want to ask you something."
more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel itâthe weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.
"ask."
you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.
"do you hate me?"
the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.
"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?
"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'mâ"
"stop."
the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.
but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.
and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.
you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so bigâso impossibly largeâthat you feel like a doll in his arms.
"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "whatâ"
"quiet."
his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.
"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"
you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.
a low sound escapes himânot quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.
"open your eyes."
the command catches you off guard. "what?"
"your eyes. open them."
you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.
"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."
"i can't see you."
"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."
please.
the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?
you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.
"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."
your heart stutters. "then whyâ"
"because i'm fuckin' terrified."
you blink. "what?"
"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."
"butâ"
"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"
his voice drops to a whisper.
"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."
tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.
but he was...
...afraid?
"you don't hate me?" you whisper.
"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."
a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.
"but you neverâyou never talked to meâ"
"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."
"then don't stop."
the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.
"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."
sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.
"you don't know what you're asking."
"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."
"i'll hurt you."
"i don't care."
"i'll break you."
"i don't care."
his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.
the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.
he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.
he pulls back, breathless.
"tell me to stop, and i will."
"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."
he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel himâhis weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.
"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."
your breath catches. "ryomenâ"
"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."
you nod, unable to speak.
his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.
"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."
you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.
"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."
he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.
"more," you gasp. "pleaseâ"
"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."
he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wetâembarrassingly wetâand he lets out a low growl when he feels it.
"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"
"yes," you whimper. "only you."
he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.
"tell me what you want."
"i wantâ" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."
his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"
"please," you beg. "ryo, pleaseâ"
"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."
he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.
and then his tongue touches you.
you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.
"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."
his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.
you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.
"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."
his eyesâyou can feel themâsearch your face.
"are you sure? we can stop. we canâ"
"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."
he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.
"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know ifâ"
"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."
he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.
"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."
"okay."
"promise me."
"i promise."
he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.
he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's hugeâso much bigger than his fingersâand you wonder if you can actually take him.
"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."
you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.
just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.
"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."
he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and thenâ
a sharp pain.
fuck...you forgot.
you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.
"did i hurt ya'?"
you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.
blood.
his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.
"fuck," he hisses. "you'reâyou're a fuckin' virgin?"
you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"
"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i justâfuckâi didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."
"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."
"you're fuckin' bleeding."
"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.
he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."
but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.
when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.
"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."
"move," you beg. "please."
he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythmâslow, deep, deliberateâeach thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.
"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryoâ"
"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"
"yesâyesâ"
his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.
"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."
he presses down, and you feel itâthe outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.
"more," you gasp. "harderâ"
"y'sure?"
"yesâpleaseâ"
he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.
"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"
"inside," you gasp. "pleaseâi want to feel youâ"
he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel itâhis release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.
at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.
he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.
"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."
you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.
"i love you too."
a long moment passes. then another. and thenâ
"we're going to do that again."
you laugh, breathless.
"right now?"
"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."
"promise?"
he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.
"promise."
you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.
"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."
Warnings : smut, somnophilia, dubcon, oral, feral!Carlisle is back <3
*-*-*
The wind whistled against your window, lulling you gently to sleep. Warm and cozy under the comforters, you rolled onto your belly, blissfully unaware of the distinct click coming from your window lock.
Nothing could wake you from your deep slumber. Not the muffled footsteps on the carpet, not the heavy panting mingling with wind. Not even the ruffle of your blanket being lifted seemed to alert you.
Though, something dark and lustful was crawling on the bed, slowly hovering over your legs. The chillness emanating from it causes a thin layer of goosebumps to take over your skin. Cold hands carefully lifted your nightgown, exposing your gorgeous cheeks to him.
Carlisle felt you stir; surely the temperature change was getting to you, but he did not care. Not when he could smell your sweet nectar from here. He lowered himself down, spreading your pussy lips with his thumb. There she was, glistening with a need you didn't even know you felt.
He licked his lips, strands of blond hair falling in front of his eyes. He shouldn't be here; he knew that very well. But recently, Carlisle decided that after centuries of restraint, he could offer himself a little treat. And if you weren't the prettiest little darling he had ever seen.
For once, he wanted to sate his hunger and soothe the fire in his loins. And God was he thirsty. He laid down, lying on his belly, and opened your legs for him to bury his face into. His mouth engulfed your hole, slurping up your juices and suckling on the delicate inner lips. He groaned into you, the vibrations drawing a startled moan from your lips.
"A-AhâŠ!" You whined, still lost between dream and reality.
You hazily looked behind you, a form moving under the blanket. With a worried frown, you tugged it off of you to reveal the blond man. Your eyes locked as he gave your entrance a harsh suck, making you gasp. Out of instinct, you squirmed upward, trying to get away from his merciless mouth.
Using the fat of your ass, Carlisle dragged you back down. He kept you still through your whimpers and protests, enjoying his meal with contentment. After a while, you gave in, your body abandoning itself to the pleasure. The sight of him licking at you like a beast made you dizzy.
"Good girl... Godâ" He bit on your ass cheek, and you turned back to look at him with teary eyes.
The drowsiness heightened the sensations a thousand times. Drool covered your pillow, your hips developing a mind of their own, following the lazy movements of his tongue. Carlisle couldn't get enough, rubbing your slick all over his face and flicking your clit with a maddening insistence. The handsome bastard knew you were close, and he was pushing you over the edge.
"C-Carlisle, wait..." Your breath hitched, undoing your sheets by holding them too tightly.
He growled, ignoring your pleas. Instead, he focused on the sensitive nerves at the entrance of your cunt, absolutely drinking in the way you desperately try to save yourself from your impending climax. You moaned lowly into the cushions, eyes in the back of your skull, and Carlisle's skilled tongue pushed inside your drenched walls. The orgasm was earthshattering, leaving me even more shaky and sleepy than before.
You were ready to fall back to sleep when your lover grabbed your hips and flipped you over. He pressed right in between your legs and whispered in your ear.
"Mmh... you're going to do it again, darling. But this time, you're going to do it with cock in you and my name on your lips."
đŽou first met carlisle cullen when you moved to forks and had a minor accident. nothing dramatic, just a sprained ankle and some bruises after slipping on wet pavement near the hospital.
he was the doctor who treated you. calm, kind, effortlessly elegant. he smiled softly as he checked your vitals, his voice a warm balm that made your pulse jump.
you noticed something in his eyes that day. a flicker of familiarity, like he recognized something in you.
he would say later that it was the way your eyes lingered on the rain through the hospital window, looking peaceful, thoughtful. like someone who didnât belong to this world either.
carlisle keeps his distance at first. he tells himself itâs wrong. heâs centuries old, heâs a vampire, and you deserve a human life, a normal life. but he finds excuses.
you get an anonymous donation to cover your medical bill. a nurse mentions dr. cullen asking how youâre recovering. you swear you see his car pass your street once or twice too often to be coincidence.
heâs used to controlling his thirst. but heâs not used to controlling his heart. thatâs harder. infinitely harder.
every time you cross paths again, grocery store, library, a town event, heâs impossibly kind. but always just out of reach. his glances linger. his hands hesitate when they brush yours. you notice how his jaw tenses when you thank him too sweetly.
he starts volunteering with community projects more often, knowing youâre involved. youâre painting murals at the high school or helping restock books at the library, and suddenly dr. cullen is there, donating supplies or offering his car to help transport boxes.
âjust wanted to help,â he says, voice low, gaze fixed just over your shoulder.
he lends you his coat when itâs cold one night at a fundraiser, even though he never gets cold. when you return it a week later, folded and smelling like you, he stares at it for minutes before hiding it in the back of his closet like a secret.
the way he looks at you when you speak, like youâre the only thing anchoring him to the earth. he listens so intently. he remembers everything. what flowers you like. how you take your tea. the name of your childhood dog.
when you catch him watching you, itâs not with hunger, itâs longing. deep and aching. like he wishes he could hold your hand without crumbling. like he wants to be the one you come home to and hates himself for even thinking it.
you slowly start realizing more about him. the way heâs always cold, freezing cold. at first, you write it off. heâs a doctor. hospitals are cold. maybe his circulation is just⊠strange.
another time, you help organize a photo wall at the hospital to celebrate long-time staff. thereâs a photo from 15 years ago, heâs in it. and he looks exactly the same.
not âaged wellâ. not âmaybe itâs just good lighting.â no. itâs identical. the jawline, the eyes, the way his mouth turns at the corners. frozen in time.
you stop trying to make sense of it. but you donât forget.
the realization doesnât come like a thunderclap. it comes like fog lifting. all the little things. all the signs. the cold. the silence. the shadows. the stillness in his body. the ache in his eyes.
one day, youâre alone with him in a quiet room. heâs talking about life like heâs lived too many of them.
and it hits you: he has.
you stare at him, heart in your throat. âyouâreâŠâ
he just watches you, unmoving. and his eyes⊠god, his eyes, they say yes. without ever speaking the word.
after that, nothing changes. not really.
you still see him at the hospital when you volunteer. he still greets you with that same impossibly gentle smile. Still holds the door open for you. still walks beside you in companionable silence like he always has.
but itâs not the same. not after you know.
now you notice everything with a different weight.
the stillness of his body when heâs not pretending to be human. the absence of breath when he thinks no oneâs listening. the way his golden eyes seem darker when heâs close to you too long, like heâs holding his breath for your sake.
and he knows youâve figured it out.
you never said it aloud. you didnât need to. you both carry the truth like a fragile object neither one of you wants to drop.
it starts with the distance.
not the kind that hurts, just⊠cautious space. carlisle doesnât stand as close anymore. his hands stay folded in front of him or tucked into his coat. he avoids unnecessary contact, even though you miss the warmthless comfort of his fingers brushing yours.
you catch him once, watching you from across the hallway when he thinks youâre not looking.
you smile softly.
he looks away, jaw tight, lips parted like he wants to say something but canât.
the conversations stay light.
books. local news. work. you talk about the rain. he listens like itâs scripture. you mention a book youâre reading, and he asks questions. not because he doesnât know the story, but because he wants to hear it from you.
you try to break the tension once.
you say, lightly, âyou know iâm not going to run away screaming, right?â
and his reply is immediate, too immediate.
âi know.â
but he says it like heâs still waiting for the day you do.
thereâs something softer between you now.
a kind of knowing. a shared secret neither of you dares to press on too hard.
the kindness in his eyes carries more weight now. so does the way he pulls back when he gets too close. the way he pauses before speaking. the way he stares at your throat sometimes, only for the briefest flicker of a second, before his gaze moves back to your eyes.
itâs not fear. itâs restraint.
and guilt. always guilt.
as if heâs still unsure whether you seeing the truth was a gift or a wound.
but even with all the awkwardness⊠he still stays.
still meets you in the hallways. still helps you carry things. still listens. still offers you his umbrella. still walks you to your car.
thereâs one night during a thunderstorm when youâre stuck at the hospital after dropping off supplies. the power flickers, plunging the corridor into shadows broken only by flashes of lightning. the rain pounds steadily against the windows, a rhythmic hum against the stillness.
youâre halfway down the hallway, arms crossed for warmth, when you hear footsteps. unhurried but purposeful.
carlisle turns the corner with a flashlight in his hand, his golden eyes immediately finding yours. the relief on his face is subtle, but itâs there, etched into the soft furrow of his brow, the way he exhales like heâs been holding his breath all night.
âcome with me,â he says gently, offering you his hand.
he leads you to his office, the soft glow of the flashlight throwing golden halos around his silhouette. inside, the storm seems more distant, tucked away behind the thick windows. he lights a few candles and places them around the room. itâs quiet. intimate. the kind of quiet that feels sacred.
you sit across from him on the low couch, knees brushing under the blanket he gently draped over your legs. the flickering light makes the angles of his face look like they were carved from marble and warmth all at once.
he looks down at your hand, resting on the edge of the couch, and for a moment, he forgets himself. his fingers twitch, aching to reach for you, but he doesnât move.
you notice.
âyou can touch me, carlisle,â you whisper, barely louder than the storm outside. âi donât mind.â
his gaze lifts slowly to yours, and thereâs something unspoken in it. something ancient. something unraveling.
he finally reaches for your hand and threads his fingers through yours with a reverence that makes your chest ache.
âiâve lived three centuries,â he murmurs, his voice raw with something heavy, âand never, not once, have i felt this.â his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and trembling.
you hold your breath.
âthis ache i carry when iâm not near you⊠i donât know how to quiet it anymore.â
the candlelight flickers. you think maybe heâs about to let go, but instead, he pulls your joined hands to his chest, like heâs trying to memorize the feeling.
âyou donât know what youâve done to me,â he says, quieter this time. âand i donât know how to stop needing you.â
his hand is still over yours, pressed to his chest, and you can feel it, even though thereâs no heartbeat. the weight of it. the ache. like his whole world has funneled into that one point of contact.
the candlelight flickers again, shadows dancing softly across his face. heâs staring at you like heâs afraid heâs dreaming, like youâll vanish if he breathes too hard. his lips part, then close again. you can see the war behind his eyes.
you lean in just slightly, and thatâs all it takes. he leans in too, almost involuntarily, his face now only inches from yours. his voice comes out as barely a whisper, desperate and breaking.
âi told myself i would never feel this again,â he says, almost like a confession. ânot after everything. after the wars. the blood. the loneliness. i thought iâd buried this part of me centuries ago.â
your breath catches.
âbut then you came,â he continues, shaking his head like he still doesnât understand it. âwith your warmth, your voice, your laugh⊠and suddenly every part of me that had been quiet, dead, was starving again.â
you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, even if it isnât from blood. itâs the kind of warmth born of longing, of want buried so deep itâs fossilized.
his eyes fall to your lips for just a second too long.
âi think about you,â he whispers, like heâs ashamed of it. âmore than i should. i hear your name in my mind when iâm trying to focus. i imagine what it would feel like to hold you, to come home to you. and then i hate myself for wanting so much from you when i donât deserve it.â
you reach up and gently cup his cheek and thatâs when his resolve nearly shatters.
âcarlisle,â your eyes look up at him with such tenderness he melts. âyouâre allowed to want this.â
his eyes flutter shut at your touch, and his breath stutters. for a moment, youâre certain heâs going to kiss you.
he leans forward, forehead resting against yours, and his voice is a desperate tremble.
âi shouldnât,â he breathes. âbut iâve never wanted anything more.â
you whisper his name.
his fingers tighten slightly around yours.
and just as his lips begin to brush against yours, barely, just the ghost of a kiss, he suddenly pulls away.
the movement is swift but not cold. his hands linger on yours like he doesnât want to let go, like it hurts to let go. but he does.
he stands up, pacing a few steps away, facing the window where the rain slides down like silver threads.
âiâm sorry,â he says, voice hoarse. âi donât trust myself around you. iâm sorry, i canât do it. i canât.â
you rise from the couch slowly.
he turns to face you, and youâve never seen someone look so torn. so completely wrecked by love they wonât allow themselves to have.
he left that night with nothing more than a whispered apology and a look that gutted you, begging you not to give up on him, even as he walked away.
you didnât.
but the silence since then has gnawed at your ribs like something hollow. and you canât take it anymore.
so you go to the hospital. not because you need to, but because you have to see him. you find him in his office, alone, papers stacked untouched on the desk, a book open in front of him but clearly unread.
he looks up.
and for a split second, he doesnât speak. just stares, like heâs been starving and you just walked in smelling like salvation.
âcarlisle,â you whisper, stepping forward, voice fragile with the weight of everything unsaid.
he stands slowly, almost like he doesnât trust his body to move. your name softly escapes his lips like a prayer.
âiâm sorry,â he says, quiet but wrecked. âabout that night, about everything. iââ
you move closer, interrupting him.
âi canât do this halfway,â you say, throat tight. âif you want me, want me. but please, stop pretending this isnât real.â
and thatâs it.
thatâs the match to centuries of restraint.
because suddenly, he moves.
one second heâs across the room. the next, heâs in front of you, grabbing your face like heâs drowning and youâre the only air heâs ever known.
his lips crash into yours.
itâs not careful. itâs not gentle. itâs centuries of aching, a hundred lifetimes of loneliness detonating all at once in a single kiss.
his hands slide into your hair, desperate and rough, pulling you closer like itâs hurting him not to have you against him. his mouth is hot and open, kissing you like heâs trying to carve you into memory. like heâs furious with himself for waiting this long. for holding back when this, you, was what heâs needed all along.
a groan rips from his throat when you clutch the front of his shirt, and it only spurs him on. he walks you back against the wall, never breaking the kiss, his hands roaming like heâs trying to memorize the shape of you. your waist, your spine, your trembling shoulders.
âgod,â he breathes between kisses, his forehead pressed to yours, lips swollen, voice ruined. âyou have no idea how long iâve wanted this. how long iâveâfought this.â
you run your fingers through his hair, dragging him back down, and he moans into your mouth like heâs finally, finally home.
âyou drive me mad,â he whispers. âi dream about you. i ache for you. iâve walked this earth for centuries and never, never, has anything undone me like you do.â
his hands slide down your back, anchoring you against him.
âiâm so tired of pretending,â he murmurs, kissing down your jaw, your neck, desperate to touch as much of you as youâll let him. âso tired of being good. i need you. i need you so bad.â
your breath shudders.
youâve never seen him like this.
not composed. not calm. but shaking with want.
âthen take me,â you whisper against his lips. âyou already have.â
he kisses you again. deeper, slower now, but no less intense. like heâs tasting the rest of his eternity in your mouth. like heâll never let himself go this long without you again.
and in that moment, with your hands tangled in his hair and his body pressed fully to yours, you know:
carlisle cullen has never let go like this before.
and now that he has, thereâs no putting him back together.
nanamiâs veiny cock stretched you open over the sink, the dishes long forgotten in your hands. you could feel your knees threatening to give out every time he snapped his hips forward, feeling tears streaming down your cheeks as loud moans left your parted lips. âkentoâpleaseââ
nanami's gaze never left your body. he observed how it jiggled with even the slightest movement. you could feel every vein of him inside you, his pink tip brushing deliciously against your cervix.
your husband pressed his damp forehead against your shoulder as he slammed his hips into you relentlessly, cock twitching at your tightness. your own slick dripped down your thighs.
"looking so pretty for meâfuck, so tightâlike the perfect little wife.â he mumbled, unable to stop himself. sliding his hand down to rub excruciatingly slow circles on your sensitive bud, which you responded by letting out a sharp cry.
you could feel yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm, moaning loudly enough for the entire building to hear (already bracing yourself for the noise complaints you were undoubtedly going to receive tomorrow). you bit your bottom lip, trying your best to muffle the sounds escaping you. "nanamiâfeels sâgood!" you gasped. "so deep, kentoâgonnaâ"
you weren't able to finish your words as a warm wave of pleasure washed over your body, leaving you shaking and gushing on him. "yes, darling. make a mess on kento. such a good girl." nanami gritted through his teeth.
"please, cum inside me. i need your cum" you whimpered.
nanami's cock twitched once, twice, before he came inside you with a loud groan. filling you so deep you were dripping with his cum. his hips snapped forward one last time before he slowly pulled out and held you as you steadied yourself.
"did i leave you unsatisfied last night, kento?" you joked breathlessly, and the two of you chuckled.
âi fear that would be impossibleâ he replied softly. "iâm sorry, my love. you just looked too gorgeous."
you adjusted your dress, turned to face him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your soft lips against his. there was nothing more nanami could wish for.
.
.
.
made by toruslut. idk how i feel abt this one but ugh isnât he just so dreamy
your newlywed husband begs you to stop using condoms
suggestive content! đ
who wouldâve thought the strongest sorcerer would be begging on his knees for you?
âpleeeaseeeâŠâ satoru whines, on his knees before you. youâre sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at your husband whoâs kneeling in front of you. his torso is bare, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his chin on your knee.
âsatoru, i said no. we canât risk anything.â you scold him gently.
âbut i just wanna try it! iâll pull out if you want. please baby?â you have to admit, his begging is kind of convincing. the two of you had never gone raw before, and you couldnât say you werenât curious.
but good sense came first. he was always so busy with work and away for missions, and you have your own life that just canât be interrupted by a baby right now.
âyou wonât pull out, idiot.â you mutter, looking down at his big blue eyes and the pout on his lips. what a brat.
âi will! promise!â his voice cracks a little as he exclaims. you sigh, reaching a hand out to card through his fluffy white locks.
âand plus⊠so what if you get pregnant? weâre married now, and thereâs nothing i want more in the whole world than to have a family with you.â he adds, voice dropping lower and more sincere.
you just blink at him a few times, before parting your lips to say something. he interrupts you.
âand i know iâm always busy, but i swear to you, iâll cut back my hours. iâm serious, babe. youâre my wife now, and my priority. you always have been.â
itâs quiet for a few moments where you two just look into each others eyes.
âokay.â you finally mutter, a small smile forming on your lips. âletâs do it.â
satoruâs eyes brightened, and he leaned up to press his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.
âi love you.â he whispered against your lips.
and despite you being so unsure, and this whole thing being scary, you knew that after everything, you would always have him.
âi love you too.â
||a/n: sorry for the inactivity but the semester is finally over!! uni was kicking my butt the last few weeks but iâm hoping to get back into writing soon đââïž
do you write about piss kink? or isn't your topic?
cw. jinx x fem!reader. piss kink. sleepy morning sex. stomach pressing (r!receiving). brief cunnilingus (r!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). hickey mentions (r!receiving). men dni.
i believe that jinx would be down to try anything you desired too, and that includes piss play. you werenât so straightforward with the suggestion at first, but after awhile of dropping subtle hints here and there, jinx began to catch on. one morning, the two of you stirred in bed beside each other, barely awake as you stretched. it wasnât uncommon for either you or jinx to wake up already being in the mood; more commonly jinx rather than yourself, and this morning was one of those mornings. jinx started with kissing and sucking on the skin of your neck, causing a few satisfied hums to come from you before she moved her affection farther down your body. it wasnât long before jinx was between your legs, teasing you through your already damp panties as she placed kitten licks over the material and teased your covered clit with her fingertip. due to your tired state and focus on jinx, you werenât aware of the growing warmth in your lower abdomen, subconsciously relating it to your physical desperation for jinx in the moment, but after she had slipped your underwear off and licked over your cunt intently, you came to realise that the feeling was slightly different than your usual arousal. growing nervous over the possible turn of events, you beckoned jinx up towards you into a kiss as she took to replacing her mouth with her fingers against your pussy, rubbing over your clit and playing with your slickness as the feeling continued to grow within you. your breathing became heavier as jinx pushed two of her fingers inside of your dripping hole while continuing to enthusiastically kiss you, holding onto the side of your marked neck with her free hand as she pleasured you with her other. soon enough, you came with a gasp, slightly parting from jinxâs lips as she stayed close to you, helping you ride out your orgasm. though, as you glanced down, there was a difference in your usual wetness. jinx seemed to notice too as she watched you come undone, but unlike your reaction, the bluenette simple grinned at the new sight as she fucked her fingers into you harder and placed her other hand firm on your stomach, applying pressure and silently encouraging you. you gripped onto jinxâs shoulders, hiding your face in her neck, slightly humiliated, but at the sound of your girlfriends soft pants in your ear as she eagerly carried you through your pleasure, she seemed to be enjoying this more than you, âyeah⊠thats right. soak my hand, pretty girlâŠâ she whispered.
. a.n. gonna lock in and reply to old requests, so i apologise for all of the late replies but i appreciate them all very much!!!! im just gonna lock in and write mostly headcannons and visions/drabbles xoxo
the party was loud with flashing lights and people swaying back and forth. you were standing with a couple friends, moving to the music casually as they talked. you couldn't really hear them so you just kept dancing.
not even a second later, you felt an arm wrap around your waist and a broad chest against your back.
"people are staring." the person whispered. his breath caressed your cheeks softly. his arm pulled you closer as if to show everyone that you were his and he wasn't sharing.
sukuna swayed with you side to side, kissing your bare shoulder softly and lovingly. he stayed with you the whole night, even staying through a little gossip session with your friends.
when he got to your house he parked and looked at you. he admired you for a few seconds before pulling you into a sweet kiss.
his hands cupped your jaw as his lips moved on yours for a few seconds.
"i'll pick you up for breakfast at nine. be ready."
you hummed, getting out of the car. he followed after you and walked you up to your door.
"get some rest." he whispered while cupping your cheeks. he kissed your forehead before pulling away.
you smiled and kissed his chin.
"good night, kuna."
he placed a hand on your waist and nudged his nose with yours.
"good night, beautiful."
you smiled one last time before unlocking your door and walking in, but before you closed the door you looked at him.
"i love you, sukunatuna."
you closed to the door quickly, but you still heard him mumble a quiet 'don't call me that.'
you walked to your room and threw everything on the bed. you took your heels off your burning feet and laid down.
Ê cont: voyeurism, public sex, masturbation, dirty talk, fantasizing, gojo gets his ass stuffed, choking, hair pulling, angst if u squint
pervert. pervert. pervert.
thatâs the mantra that repeated in nanami kentoâs mind as he stood in the crook of the alley with his hand around his cock, hidden from prying eyes, as he watched his former upper classman; now notorious defected cult leaderâgeto suguru, pound into satoru gojoâs ass from behind
âdid you miss this, satoru?â geto groaned, wrapping an arm around gojoâs throat and forcing him to bend his neck back. his fingers held him so tightly, the soft flesh of his neck indented.
gojo groaned, and it was so pathetic, so uncharacteristic, it was unlike anything nanami had ever heard before. his cock twitched, filling out in his hand.
pervert. dirty pervert.
but he couldnât take his eyes off the pair of them, not when gojo smiled and nodded eagerly, glowing blue eyes slicing through the darkness hiding their encounter. âyes,â he admitted, rocking his ass back to meet getoâs unforgiving thrusts.
geto reached around his body and found gojoâs thick cock. nanami watched the movement, enraptured, squeezing his own fingers around his freed length as geto wrapped his large hand around gojoâs cock and started stroking, trying to mimic the feeling. âi know you did. fucking holes never has been enough for you,â he cooed, plowing gojo so hard his chest crashed into the jagged brick wall. getoâs body followed him, molding his chest to his back. âthis greedy ass is always begging to be filled, isnât it?â
what was happening? how long had this been going on?? their touches were all too familiar for this to be their first encounter of such nature. nanamiâs cock dripped onto the dirty stone beneath him at the though. how many times had they fucked like this? was it always so rough? so needy?
wrong. this was so wrong. he should be reporting his findings to the higher ups immediately. but the way getoâs ass flexed as he thrust into gojo⊠the way gojoâs fingers tangled into his long, gorgeous strands⊠he couldnât look awayâcouldnât stop touching himself.
nanami was too ashamed to admit he had thought about pulling getoâs beautiful before, particularly while nanami fed him his cock while the older male got on his knees. just the thought made nanami hiss quietly through his teeth.
gojo couldnât respond to getoâs words, too busy biting his lip and groaning between trapped teeth to think straight.
was geto that good at fucking? it sure looked like it. nanami never had been one to bottom, but gojoâs gorgeous eyes filling with tears compiled with his strong thighs and arms that shook at the intense pleasure looked too appealing to dismiss.
âtell me, satoru. when was the last time you had a cock in here?â geto moaned against the shell of his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth.
âsix months ago,â gojo grunted, jaw falling slack as geto did something with his hips that made the tears in the strongest sorcerers eyes fall down his rosy cheeks. tears nanami wanted to lick up. âat the hotel,â he finished.
geto released a sound so primal and raw, nanami had to lean against the wall of the alleyway to stop himself from falling to his knees. he kept pace with his thrusts, pretending HE was behind geto, fucking his senior into gojo, pulling his hair hard as he took every. fucking. inch. into that sweet, full ass.
shit. shit. nanami humped his fist. would geto be tight? has he ever bottomed before? nanami hoped not. some irrational part of him wanted to be the first one in his ass, making him lose his mind with pleasure as he introduced him to his prostate.
âno wonder youâre so sensitive, you really have been unsatisfied, and yet,â he paused his hips, rocking them against gojoâs ass in a way that made gojo scream out. he clasped a hand over his own mouth, muscled arm trembling relentlessly. ââyou never let anyone else fuck this hole,â geto continued. âwhy?â
gojo tipped his head down to watch geto stroke him off, his free hand reaching between them to wrap around getoâs hand and quicken the pace. âyou know why,â he grunted.
geto chuckled, the sound tapering off into a moan at the same time his hips jerked forward.
fuck. he was close. the knowledge had nanami stuffing his tie in his mouth before jerking himself off with more vigor, wishing he had a better view of getoâs hole while he came.
pervert. pervert. pervert.
âiâm never coming back, satoru.â geto groaned.
âi donât care,â satoru retorted, eyes rolling back in his head. âi donât care as long asââ he cut himself off, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
nanami wondered what was left unsaid, but was quickly distracted when geto burried his hand in gojoâs hair and yanked, making those pretty, wet blue eyes stare back into getoâs purple ones. âpathetic.â he whispered into the air between them, his hips growing unsteady. âyouâve always been so pathetic, satoru.â his words were harsh, but there was a strange softness laced within them, like he didnât mean the words he saidâlike they were a place holder for other words they both knew, yet were too stubborn to say
âcum for me, satoru. cum for me and me alone, while i fill my greedy ass with my cum,â he whispered, voice shaking with his impending orgasm. âand take it all.â
nanamiâs balls tingled with his release that slammed into him like a train. his eyes fluttered back and his teeth clenched hard on the tie between his teeth as gojoâs release splattered against the wall, making a mess all over their conjoined hands.
nanamiâs moans got trapped in his lungs, threatening to suffocate him as the most intense orgasm rushed through him, covering his fingers in thick, endless ropes of cum.
his eyes focused on the flexing muscles of getoâs ass as he pumped gojo full of his cum. and fuck. the sight of gojo taking it like the obedient man he definitely was not made another spurt of cum race out of him, tingling his cock.
oh, how nanami had fantasized putting gojo in his place in similar fashion to how geto fucked him now. it was a shame it seemed gojo only let geto top him.
geto slowly pulled out of gojo, the pair moaning in tandem as they separated. shame washing over him, nanami felt disgusting at how erotic the sight of getoâs massive cock looked hanging free, covered in his own cum.
yes. he was so, so disgusted, so distracted, that he hadnât realized that while he stared at getoâs cock like a hungry slut, geto and gojo were both looking at him.
Ê orâ satoru gojo gets used by our favorite jujutsu kaisen men (feat: geto, toji, higuruma, nanami)
Ê contâ just straight unholy filth from the mind of a whore, youâve been warned
Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.
âAre you sure heâs alright?â Higuruma asked, adjusting his tie as he leaned into Nanami to speak into his ear.
Nanami did not remove his eyes from the scene in front of him as he nodded in confirmation. âHe is right where he wants to be.â
âMmmâ! MmphââÂ
Higuruma shook his head in disbelief while he slid his tie from around his collar. âThe strongest sorcerer...â he mused. âTo think he would be...âÂ
âSuch a slut,â Toji groaned, thrusting his hips against Gojoâs chin. He held his hand around Gojoâs throat, feeling his cock bulge as he thrust in and out of his sloppy mouth.Â
Geto inhaled sharply from across the older man, his brows drawn together as he thrust himself balls deep into Gojoâs ass and held himself there. âI think he liked that,â Geto said. âHe got so tight.â Geto slowly pulled out of Gojoâs ass with a hiss before he slammed back inside, starting a rhythm once more.
Tojiâs scarred lip curled as he pulled his cock out of Gojoâs throat and tapped the sloppy head against his pink cheeks. âIs he right?â His words were mocking, almost condescending. âDoes the strongest sorcerer like being passed around like a slut?â
Gojo smiled, exposing his perfectly straight, white teeth. âIâd love it more if you actually treated me like a slut.â His words were breathless as Geto continued to pound into him.Â
At the look Toji gave him in response to his bratty quip, Gojo reached for his own cock and began stroking himself off, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.
Toji grabbed Gojoâs cheeks and pinched them together, shaking him around a bit. âTwo cocks filling you from either side, and itâs still not enough for you.â Toji turned around and caught Higurumaâs gaze, raising an eyebrow in question. âAre you planning to join anytime soon?â
Higurumaâs throat bobbed on a swallow. His pants were moments from bursting at the seams from how hard he was just watching. He nodded once, keeping his lips pressed in a straight line as he stepped forward.Â
Geto lifted Gojoâs hips and began plowing into him. At the new angle, Gojo was practically crying around Tojiâs dick, the vibrations making him groan and throw his head back in bliss.
âFuck,â Getoâs eyes rolled back in his head. âHeâs gonna cum. Higuruma, get in here.â
The lawyer wasted no time in ripping his belt from his waist and discarding it to the side. In the next moment, his zipper was pulled down, and he had his cock in his hand. The tip was wet and achingly red, a tell of how long he had been dying to get inside Gojoâs ass. Hell, Higuruma had wanted to do anything with him. Fuck him or otherwise.
Slowly, Geto lowered Gojoâs hips back down on the bed and stepped to the side. Gojo groaned in protest and began stroking his cock faster, his balls jerking with the movement. He thrust back against nothing, hips gyrating in desperation as he moaned around Tojiâs cock, desperate to be filledâ
Hiruruma wrapped his arms around Gojoâs spread thighs and yanked him forward. Gojo slid across the bed, Tojiâs cock slipping from between his lips as Higuruma slammed into Gojo with no warning.
Gojo grit his teeth as tears pricked his eyes. âHoly fuckââÂ
Toji placed a knee on the mattress beside Gojoâs head and slapped his cheek with his saliva-coated cock. âDonât run,â he chastised, although the movement had hardly been Gojoâs fault.Â
Gojo reached back with a hand and gripped Tojiâs cock, stroking him sloppily as Higuruma pounded into him. âNo one isââ he cut himself off by biting his lip. âRunning,â he finished through clenched teeth. His head tipped back down as he found Higuruma between his legs. âIâm so close,â he groaned, his deep voice scratchy and ruined.
Geto shoved himself next to Toji, his hand working frantically on his cock as he jerked himself off over Gojoâs face. Geto reached down and gripped Gojoâs jaw, tipping his head back to make eye contact with him. âGonna cum for us, Satoru?â
Gojoâs eyes rolled back into his head. âYes. Fuck. Yes.â
There were more sounds of shuffling, and when Gojo reopened his eyes, Nanami was standing there on the other side of Toji, looking like sin incarnate with his tie slung undone around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned. Only his pants remained fully intact, but it didnât look to be that way for long at the size of the bulge that pressed against his tan slacks.
Gojo smiled as Higuruma slammed into his prostate over and over, bringing his orgasm closer than ever. âDo you wanna fuck me next, Nanami?â He practically purred his friend's name, and Nanamiâs nostrils flared in response.Â
âCan you handle more?â Came Nanamiâs response.
As if on cue, a hand that was not his own took over his furious stroking, making Gojoâs words seize in his throat. He jerked his head down and nearly gasped at the sight of Toji stroking him off with his large, scarred hand. He hadnât even seen him move, too enthralled at the sight of Nanamiâs rare and obvious desperation.
Gojo was going to cum. He couldnât hold it anymore. It was all too muchâthe attention, the touches, the constant hammering away at his prostate.
A hand gripped his jaw again, this time when Gojo opened his eyes, Nanami was there, holding him still by his jaw. âDonât be selfish,â he chastised. âOpen your tongue for Geto.â
His eyes flickered to meet his best friends, and in his face he saw such raw, potent lust that it tipped him over the edge. âOh fuckââ he hardly had the words out before he stuck out his tongue and his orgasm slammed into him.
Higuruma grunted, his hips jerking as he struggled to fuck Gojo through his orgasm. His ass was so tight, so warm. It felt so fucking good. The way he pulsed around him with each wave of his high was almost enough to take Higuruma with him, but he wasnât done with his ass yet.
âOh, Satoru,â Geto groaned. âSo fucking sexy.â Getoâs sounds of pleasure were interrupted with grunts as his balls drew tight and forced his orgasm out of his dick. He jerked himself quickly, groaning with each rope of his cum he shot all across Gojoâs pretty face. Most of his load missed his tongue, but Nanami wasnât about to let it go to waste.
Gojo twitched from his orgasm, his chest rising and falling heavily as Higuruma let up on his prostate, and Toji slowed down the strokes on his dick, letting him recover if only for a moment.
Nanami swiped his fingers against the mess on Gojoâs cheek and shoved his fingers down his throat with no warning. Gojoâs brows furrowed at the unexpected intrusion, but he wrapped his lips around Nanamiâs fingers and sucked, licking Getoâs cum off them.
Toji laughed before releasing Gojoâs dick and wiping his cum on his thigh. âGod. Heâs fucking nasty.â
Geto chuckled. âCareful, youâre going to get him going again.â
And he was right. Tojiâs condescending words went straight to his cock. He just came, and already he could feel his cock desperately twitch, trying to force itself back to life.
âGood,â Higuruma chimed. âBecause I havenât cum yet.â
Nanami hummed, his eyes on Gojoâs mouth as he watched him suck earnestly on his fingers. A second later, he pulled them out and gripped Gojoâs flushed cheeks, reveling in the way Gojoâs cock drunk eyes stared up at him. âDonât worry. We arenât anywhere close to done with him.â
Gojo wouldâve purred at that if he couldâve. âFine with me,â he shrugged. âThis time, though, can I get someone to ride my cock?â
Nanamiâs eyebrows rose. He paused to look around at the other men, who all exchanged glances with one another. After a moment, a voice spoke up.Â
âThink you can make me cum?â
Toji. It was Toji.
Gojo bit his lip and felt his cock fill with blood, renewed at the prospect of filling the much older manâs ass with his cum. He nodded. âYouâre gonna love my dick, old man.â
'Till death do us part, hah,' your number one top fan! Satoru Gojo can't help but stroke his thick, veiny cock as he recites those vows he'll have for you soon, blushed tip just dripping all that milky pre cum drippin' from that little hole on the head.
Oh, he'd say them very, very fucking soon indeed.
You, the pretty OF star on his screen, bent over and giggling right at him, he swears it. You're surely not looking at any of these other losers' names, no, you must be looking at his.
'Gonna f-fuck...' Satoru's stroking his cock faster, whimpering out as you glide that dildo he bought you in and out of your pretty little cunt, stretching it out and whining as you take it.
Well, it was a direct replica of his cock, so of course you couldn't stuff it all. But don't worry - when Satoru gets you finally, and he folds you in a mating press, fingers pressed into the backs of your thighs? Oh, he'll have you take all of him.
'Till I can see my print inside,' he's chuckling again, lost as he takes some of that messy pre and licks it, moaning and gliding it across his lips. He's fucking his fist in time to your sad attempts at fucking yourself with his veiny replica, he can't help but smirk, using one hand to type.
Having trouble takin' cock, sweetheart?
Well you are indeed, you've never had something so big and long trying to fit inside you - in fact, this was the first time you've used more than a cute little plug or a wand on your pussy on cam. Yet, when it's from your top fan, you can't help but want to show off for him.
Your puffy lips are pathetically trying to fit around it, no matter how wet you are, you can't even get half - the tips are just rolling in, but none like him - like DigiMaster89.
truly -what a fucking name. Yet you know that he loves when you spread wide, and you truly want to be a good girl for him.
Even if you don't even know what he looks like, you'd love to make him proud, taking more and more of that cock and shaking, thighs trembling as your cunt is spasming, begging for a little reprieve with how full you're stuffed.
'Ngh!' You're crying out now, as Satoru leans forward, remembering his vows.
he got distracted.
'Oh, where was I?' he caresses the screen, before spitting down his cock again, letting it slip to the base. 'Ah, I remember. To fucking cherish that slutty lil' cunt. Ah, baby I solemnly swear and all that sh-shit....'
White locks fall across a brow as you squirt all over for the first time on camera, clear fluids just gushing out, just in time for his white to squirt right on the screen, right against his future wife, some of it even smattering against his glasses. He can't help but whimper out your name, hand just trembling, taking his glasses off to lap a bit of his sticky mess.
God, imagine when you're squirting all over his glasses?
Satoru can't wait to finally have you all to himself, don't you know you're already his future fucking wife?
Itâs so unfair how fit nanami is (chubby!reader)
The hum of the treadmill was the only sound in the living room, save for your own slightly dramatic sighs. You wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, staring down at the digital display that informed you youâd only been running for... four minutes.
Unbelievable.
From the kitchen island, the crisp rustle of a newspaper turning sounded like a gentle mockery of your pain. Nanami sat perfectly upright, a cup of black coffee in one hand, looking like he had just stepped out of a luxury watch commercial.
Even in his casual weekend wear a soft, fitted charcoal t-shirt and linen trousers, his shoulders looked broad enough to carry the weight of the entire world. Or at least, the weight of your current dramatic breakdown.
With a final, definitive groan, you hit the red stop button. The belt slowed to a halt, and you slumped against the handrails, pouting.
Nanami didn't look up from his paper, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Done already, sweetheart?"
"I am re-evaluating my life choices," you declared, stepping off the machine and wandering over to the kitchen. You leaned your hips against the island, right next to him. "This 'summer body' agenda is a scam. Iâm doing all this lifting and cardio, and for what? My body is perfectly content being soft."
Nanami finally lowered the paper, his calm, hazel eyes tracking your movement. His gaze softened, taking in your flushed cheeks, the stray hairs sticking to your temples, and the lovely, soft curves of your waist that you were currently trying to sweat away.
"Your body is perfect exactly as it is," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "You donât need to change a single thing for the season, honey."
"Easy for you to say!" You huffed, crossing your arms and playfully narrowing your eyes at him. You reached out, boldly poking a finger into his forearm. It felt like poking a marble statue. "It is deeply, fundamentally unfair how you stay like this."
Nanami raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
"Like a walking thirst trap!" you teased, gesturing vaguely to his entire torso. "You sit at a desk, you eat pastries with me, you barely do any traditional cardio unless you're exorcising some low-grade curse, and yet you look like you were chiseled out of granite. Meanwhile, if I look at a croissant, my waistline throws a party. What is your secret, Ken? Is it the spite? Does the corporate fatigue burn calories?"
A rare, genuine chuckle escaped him a rich sound that vibrated right in his chest. He folded his newspaper neatly and set it aside, turning his full attention to you.
"I can assure you, it isn't spite," he said, reaching out to wrap a large, warm hand around your hip, gently pulling you closer until you were standing between his knees. His thumb stroked the soft flesh of your side through your workout top, a gesture so full of reverence it made your heart skip. "And if it makes you feel any better, my joints ache every time it rains. Itâs a curse of a different kind."
"Mm, a very attractive curse," you murmured, your playful irritation melting away as you slid your hands up to rest on his broad shoulders.
Nanami looked up at you, his expression softening into that quiet, intense devotion he reserved only for you. "You spend too much time worrying about arbitrary standards. I love your softness. Itâs my favorite place to rest." To prove his point, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your chest for a brief, affectionate moment, making you giggle at the tickle of his hair.
When he looked back up, his eyes were dark and warm. "Have I told you today how beautiful you are?"
"You might have mentioned it during breakfast," you said, a blush creeping up your neck that had nothing to do with the treadmill. "But I wouldn't mind hearing it again."
"You are spectacular," he murmured, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you down into a kiss.
It was slow, deep, and tasted faintly of black coffee. Nanami kissed the way he did everything else with absolute precision, intent, and an underlying passion that left you breathless. His other hand anchored itself firmly on your hip, squeezing the soft curve there with a possessiveness that made you sigh into his mouth.
When he finally pulled back, just an inch, his lips brushed against yours as he spoke. "Now, put the weights away. Letâs go get those croissants you were talking about."
You beamed, giving him one last quick peck on the lips. "See? I knew I kept you around for a reason."
A/n: self indulgent, summer is upon us and I havenât even bothered to attempt a summer bod
đČđ» đđ”đ¶đ°đ” â° you're so feverishly, impossibly hot that nanami, your husband, is losing his mind, trembling and rambling as he completely falls apart inside you.
âż ââ) nanami kento đ female!reader
đŹđŒđ»đđČđ»đ 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, established relationship, husband!nanami, unprotected sex (p in v), lots of kisses, praise & sweet talking, reader has a fever and nanami is losing his mind (fever-induced heat kink undertones), crying during orgasm, creampie, nanami is deeply in love.
nanami kento has always been a man of control.
he's precise in the kitchen, methodical with his huge hands, patient in the way he loves you â slow and thorough and devastatingly intentional. even in bed, even when he's buried so deep inside you that you completely forget where you end and he begins, there's a restraint to him; a gentleness, as if nanami is always holding back just enough to make sure you're okay, to make sure you're with him, to make sure he doesn't break you by accident.
but tonight is different.
tonight, you're burning up.
it started this morning â a little fatigue, a little flush in your cheeks that nanami kissed anyway before heading to work. by the time he came home, you were curled on the couch with a blanket and glassy eyes, the thermometer reading 102.3 and your smile still bright enough to make nanamiâs chest ache. he'd made you soup, forced water into your hands, tucked you into bed with extra pillows and a cool cloth for your forehead.
the perfect husband, as always, all quiet concern and warm palms against your skin.
but then you'd pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, fever-bright and insistent, and whispered "kento, please" against his mouth, and something in him cracked.
nanami tried to be reasonable. he tried to tell you that you needed rest, that you were sick, that this could wait, but you'd just shaken your head and hooked your leg around his hip, and the sound you made when he'd accidentally pressed against you â half groan, half whimper, all desperate need â had shot straight to his dick like a live wire.
so now here he is.
here he is, kneeling between your thighs on the rumpled sheets of your shared bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting everything in shades of gold and amber. here he is, watching you completely fall apart beneath him, your skin flushed an impossible pink, your lips parted and wet and whispering his name like a prayer.
and here he is, losing his goddamn mind.
because you're hot. not just in the way you always are â the way that made him fall in love with you in the first place, the way that still makes his breath catch when you smile at him across the dinner table â but actually, physically hot. like a furnace, like sin wrapped in skin and slick heat and the kind of wet that has him groaning before he's even all the way inside.
nanami sinks into you slow â he always does, because well⊠he's nanami kento and he believes in savoring things, in making them last â but the moment the head of his cock pushes past your entrance, he freezes.
"f-fuck," nanami breathes, and his voice cracks on the word, splinters right down the middle.
you're so warm.
youâre so impossibly, unbearably warm; it's like slipping into a bath that's just this side of too hot, the kind of heat that steals your breath and makes your muscles go liquid. your walls flutter around him, clenching and pulsing like you're trying to pull him deeper, and he has to brace one hand against the headboard just to keep from collapsing on top of you.
"kento?" your voice is soft, hazy, your eyes half-lidded and glassy in a way that has nothing to do with the fever and everything to do with him. "you okay?"
nanami laughs â it was a short, broken sound that's half sob, half something else entirely.
"am i okay?" he repeats, like you've asked him the most ridiculous question in the world. "sweetheart, you'reâ"
his hips twitch, an involuntary little thrust that sinks him another inch deeper, and the sound you make is so sweet, so wrecked, that he has to close his eyes.
"you're so hot. inside. it'sâgod, it's likeâ"
nanami can't even finish the sentence, he doesn't have the words for what it feels like. the heat is radiating through him, climbing up his spine, settling low in his belly like embers catching flame. every single nerve ending is on fire, every muscle pulled taut, and he hasn't even started moving yet.
you shift beneath him, trying to take more of him, and your hand comes up to cup nanamiâs jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. your skin is warm too â not as searing as the rest of you, but warm enough to make him lean into your touch like the tide answering the moon.
"then move," you say, simple as anything else, like you haven't just turned nanamiâs entire world inside out. "kento, please. i want you to move."
he's never been able to deny you anything, so he moves.
slow at first â because nanami is trying, he's really trying, to keep some semblance of control. he pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains, then pushes back in with a steady, rolling movement that has you arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. the wet sounds are obscene, amplified by the quiet of the room, and every single one of them makes his stomach clench with want.
but it's the heat that undoes nanami.
every single thrust feels like coming home and getting burned at the same damn time.
your body is so hot inside, so slick and welcoming and tight, and nanami can feel the fever radiating off you in hot waves; it's in the way your breath stutters against his neck, in the way your legs shake where they're wrapped around his waist, in the way your pulse flutters wildly against his lips when he leans down to kiss your throat.
"you feelâ" he gasps, and his hips stutter, rhythm faltering. "you feel incredible. i can'tâfuck, sweetheart, i can't think."
and nanami can't.
his brain has completely short-circuited, reduced to nothing but static and sensation. every logical thought has been burned away by the heat of you, replaced by something primal and desperate and almost frightening in its intensity. he wants to be gentle. he wants to take his time, to worship you the way you deserve, to show you just how much he loves you with every careful, deliberate movement.
but his body has other plans.
nanamiâs hips are moving faster now, snapping against yours with a rhythm that's more urgent than he intended. the headboard knocks against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat, and nanami knows he should care about that â nanami knows the neighbors will probably hear, nanami knows he'll be embarrassed about it tomorrow â but right now he can't bring himself to give a single shit.
not when you're making those sounds.
soft little gasps and moans that pitch higher every time he bottoms out, your head thrown back against the pillow, your throat bared and vulnerable and so beautiful it makes his chest hurt. your hands are everywhere â tangled in nanamiâs hair, scraping down nanamiâs back, gripping nanamiâs hips like you're trying to fuse yourself to him.
"k-kento," you whimper, and it's broken, shattered, the kind of sound that goes straight to nanamiâs dick and makes him see stars. "kento, don't stop. p-please don't stop."
"not stopping," he grits out, and his voice is ragged, wrecked, nothing like the composed, collected man he usually is. "never stopping. not when you feelâfuck, not when you're thisâ"
nanami loses his words again, and he buries his face in the curve of your neck instead, breathing you in. you smell like sweat and illness and something uniquely, achingly you, and he wants to live in this moment forever. he wants to drown in the heat of you, in the tight grip of your body, in the way you moan his name like it's the only word you remember.
you're clenching around him â tighter now, your orgasm building, and he can feel it in the way your thighs tremble, in the way your nails dig crescents into his back. but more than that, he can feel the fever; the heat that seems to intensify with every thrust, radiating from your core and soaking into his skin, making him sweat, making him need.
"sweetheart," nanami gasps, and his voice breaks on the word, splinters into something raw and desperate. "i'mâi'm not going to last. you're too hot. you're so hot, i can'tâ"
you turn your head, catch his mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and clumsy urgency. it's not graceful â nothing about this is graceful â but it's real, it's you, and he groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst.
"then don't," you whisper against his lips, and your voice is thick with fever and want and something softer, something sweeter. "don't last. i want to feel you. want you toâahâwant you to cum inside me. please, kento. want to feel you."
nanami going to die.
he's actually going to die, right here, inside his wife, and he's going to die happy.
his hips snap forward harder, faster, every single ounce of control he had evaporating like water on hot pavement. he's gripping your thigh with one huge hand, holding you open for him, and the other is fisted in the sheets beside your head, knuckles white. nanamiâs whole body is trembling â from the effort, from the pleasure, from the sheer overwhelming muchness of feeling you like this.
"you're everything," nanami hears himself say, and his voice sounds so strange, so distant, like it's coming from someone else. "you're everything to me. fuck, sweetheart, i love you. i love you so much. i loveâ"
he's rambling now, words spilling out of him unchecked, and he simple can't stop, he doesn't want to stop.
you're so hot, so wet, so perfect, and every time he pushes inside you, he swears he can feel your heartbeat, he can feel the fever thrumming through your veins, he can feel the way your body clings to him like it never wants to let go.
your orgasm hits you without warning â nanami feels it in the way you gasp loudly, in the way your back entirely bows off the bed, in the way your nails rake down his spine hard enough to sting. but mostly nanami feels it in the way you clench around him, a vise of slick, searing heat that pulses and flutters and tries to completely milk him dry.
"oh god," you sob, and there are tears on your cheeks â from the pleasure, from the fever, from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. "kento, oh god, oh godâ"
nanami watches you fall apart beneath him, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent scream, your whole body shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure. and through it all, you're so hot, so impossibly, devastatingly hot, and nanami can feel your orgasm like it's his own, nanami can feel it in the way your walls massage his desperate cock, nanami can feel it in the way his name falls from your lips like a benediction.
he follows right after.
there's no warning, no buildup â just a sudden, violent crest of pleasure that crashes over him and drags him under. he buries himself as deep as he can go, hips flush against yours, and spills inside you with a groan that's almost a sob. the heat of you surrounds him, consumes him, and for one perfect, eternal moment, there's nothing else in the universe.
just you.
just him.
just the two of you, unreservedly tangled together in the sweaty sheets, trembling and gasping and so full of love it might actually kill him.
nanami collapses on top of you â careful, always careful, one arm bracing his weight so he doesn't crush you â and presses his forehead to yours. your skin is still warm, still flushed with fever, but there's a softness in your eyes now, a drowsy contentment that makes his heart stutter in his chest.
"that wasâ" you start, but your voice is hoarse, faded, and you have to clear your throat before trying again. "that was not how i expected tonight to go."
he laughs, breathless and a little unsteady, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"you're sick," he says, like it's just now occurring to him. "you have a fever. i shouldn't haveâwe shouldn't haveâ"
"kento." you cut him off with a hand on his cheek, turning his face so he has to look at you fully. "i wanted to. i want to. always want to, with you."
he closes his eyes, lets out a shaky breath, and when he opens them again, there's something soft and wondering in his gaze.
"you're going to be the death of me," he murmurs, but it sounds like a declaration of love.
you smile â that bright, brilliant smile that made nanami fall in love with you in the first place â and pull him down for a kiss that's slow and sweet and tastes like forever.
"good," you whisper against his lips. "then you'll die happy."
nanami laughs again, real this time, and gathers you into his arms. you're still too warm, still sick, still in need of soup and water and cool cloths and rest, but right now, in this moment, none of that matters.
right now, you're both exactly where you're supposed to be.
choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldnât have to do anything.
itâs not something heâs ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.Â
you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. youâve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.
"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. heâs already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. heâs wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like youâre the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."
"youâre going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but youâre already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.
"thatâs the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."
heâs wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like heâs polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the dayâs mask. when heâs done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshlyânever harshlyâbut with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.
you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when youâre down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like youâre something fragile.
"sleep," he whispers.
but you catch his wrist. youâre not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.
"stay," you plead.
he hesitates. "youâre tired."
"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but iâm... iâm exhausted. butâ but i want youâ but i don't want to do anythingâ"
something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.
"then donât," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until heâs hovering over you. "donât do anything. donât even think. just let me make you feel good."
"chosoâ" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.
he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.
"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you donât do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let meâ" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "âlet me do everything."
he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, heâs already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.
he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"
you spread your legs, trembling. heâs already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
"you donât even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "iâll do all the work. iâll get you ready. iâll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"
"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, pleaseâ"
he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesnât make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.
"thatâs it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."
you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. heâs relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.
"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "donât move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."
you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he wonât let you touch him. heâs leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like thisâserving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the laborâis exactly where he wants to be.
"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"
"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.
"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."
you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until youâre shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.
before you can catch your breath, heâs moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.
"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "iâm going to fuck you, and iâm going to make you cum again. and again. until you canât think. until you canât even remember your name."
"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.
he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"
you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.
he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and youâre justâ letting me use youâ shitâ"
he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. heâs doing all the workâhis hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.
"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. thatâs all. thatâs your only job."
"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. itâs too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way heâs using his body to serve you. "i love youâ hic!â i love you so muchâ"
"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus thatâs entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."
his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. youâre so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you canât move, canât do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.
you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.
"thatâs it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. justâ shitâ i-im gonnaâ"
he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. heâs breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. heâs still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.
"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.
you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."
"thatâs the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldnât have to do anything."
you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess iâm just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."
àšà§ Summary : A little bit of teasing, a lot of tears, and an unforgettable night of passion. Jungwon makes up for his mischief by treating you like a goddess, delivering the pleasure you crave and leaving you completely wrecked in the best way possible.
àšà§ Pairing : bf! Jungwon x gf! reader
àšà§ Wordcount : 4.4k
àšà§ Warning : explicit scene (i fear this is too soft to be called explicit...), softdom!Jungwon, creampie, unprotected sex (DON'T do it guys), belly bulge, squirting
Weekends at Jungwonâs apartment are usually peaceful.Â
Usually.Â
Today, unfortunately, Jungwon woke up and decided your suffering was entertainment. It starts in the morning when youâre standing in front of his apartment. He opened the door wearing those damn grey sweatpants and that fuckass tank topâwho you love way too much, itâs embarrassing. His arms and shoulders were exposed so casually that it felt almost offensive.Â
And the worst part?Â
He looked completely normal doing it. Like he had no idea what kind of effect he had on you.Â
âWhy are you just standing there?â Jungwon asks, one brow lifting slightly.
You immediately look away.
âIâm taking my shoes off.â
âYou stopped moving for ten seconds.â
âI did not.â
His lips twitch upward.
You brush past him quickly before he can tease you further, trying your best to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. The familiar scent of his apartment wraps around you instantly, laundry detergent, coffee, and the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air.Â
Usually, being here calms you down. Today, unfortunately, your hormones decided otherwise. Youâre ovulating. Which means every little thing Jungwon does feels amplified to a genuinely unbearable degree. The sound of his voice, the warmth of his hands, and the shape of his shoulders beneath those fuckass tank top. You hate how much you like them.Â
The weekend is supposed to be productive.Â
Thatâs why youâre sitting cross-legged on the couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs, several research tabs open, half-finished notes scattered across the coffee table, and a report deadline hanging over your head like a threat.Â
You know damn well that you should be working.Â
Instead, youâre staring at the same paragraph for the fifth time because Jungwon just walked past you looking scrumptious as ever.Â
He just casually walked into the kitchen to make iced coffee while pushing his hair back with one hand, exposing the line of his neck and shoulders so effortlessly that your entire brain short-circuited.Â
You squeeze your eyes shut. This is horrible.Â
Maybe itâs because youâre ovulating. Maybe your hormones decided to ruin your life. Maybe Jungwon simply exists too attractively for your own sanity. Whatever the reason is, you feel pathetically needy.Â
From the kitchen, you hear the clink of ice against glass. You glance up instinctively. Big mistake. Because now heâs leaning against the counter with his back facing you, broad shoulders stretching beneath dark fabric as he reaches for something from the cabinet, and suddenly you canât breathe normally anymore.Â
Jungwon turns slightly, one brow raised while sipping his coffee. Thereâs amusement flickering in his eyes already.Â
âYouâre doing it again.â
You nearly choke. That stupid, knowing grin. You duck your head back toward your laptop immediately, pretending to type something while your ears burn in embarrassment. Jungwon walks over eventually, completely unbothered, and drops onto the couch beside you. Close enough that his thigh presses lightly against yours.Â
âWhat are you working on?â he asks casually.
âReport.â
âYouâve written the same sentence three times.â
You glare at the screen.
Unfortunately, he wasnât wrongâstraight up just stating facts with zero hesitation. Which somehow makes it worse. Now you just look dumb and pathetic.Â
âMust be misstyped,â you mumble defensively.Â
Jungwon hums beside you from where heâs sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown behind his head lazily. âThree times?âÂ
âYes.â
âWith the exact same typo?â
Oh, God. You genuinely want to dunk your head into the couch pillow and never come back out.Â
Jungwon glances lazily at the screen, clearly expecting to catch another repeated sentence. Instead, his eyes pause. Then narrow slightly.Â
ââŠYou just wrote âJungwon shouldersâ into your report.â
Silence.
Complete silence.
Your soul leaves your body instantly.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Jungwon turns toward you with the most unbelievable expression of amusement youâve ever seen. You slam the laptop shut immediately.
âDonât look at me.â
The laugh he lets out is dangerously delighted.Â
âMhm.â
That smug tone already tells you today is going to be horrible. And somehow, it gets worse from there. Because Jungwon spends the entire day teasing you.
Youâre sitting on the floor beside his couch, pretending to organize your bag while Jungwon lounges above you, scrolling through his phone. Then he casually runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head back against the couch. It was normal, like every other person does that, but why does this suddenly feel like a threat?Â
Well, you wonder.Â
The entire day had been a slow, agonizing torture. Every time you caught a glimpse of Jungwonâthe way his tank top strained against the broad, powerful slope of his shoulders, the subtle, rhythmic flex of his back as he reached for a fileâyou felt a heavy, pulsing ache between your thighs. You were so worked up that your laptop screen was a blur; you couldn't focus on a single sentence of your work because all you could imagine was his heavy weight pressing you into the mattress, his skin hot against yours.Â
Youâd tried working earlier. Tried sitting at the kitchen counter with your laptop open and your notes spread around you. But every time Jungwon walked past, your concentration was shattered instantly. To the point where your report became completely hopeless.Â
The brush of his arm against your shoulder while reaching for a mug. The sight of his back shifting beneath his tank top as he opened cabinets. The way he casually leaned against the counter beside you, smelling like soap and coffee and Jungwon.Â
And unfortunately, Jungwon was observant.
âYouâve been sighing a lot today.â
His voice breaks through your thoughts suddenly. Two steaming bowls of ramen sit in front of you now, the rich smell instantly filling the kitchen. Soft curls of steam rise into the warm apartment air, and Jungwon slides one bowl carefully toward you before sitting down beside you at the counter.Â
For a second, your chest tightens unexpectedly. Because, despite all the teasing today, Jungwon always does little things like this so naturally. Your heart feels annoyingly soft all of a sudden.
âYou didnât have to,â you mutter.
âBut I wanted to.â
The casual sincerity in his voice almost makes things worse. You quickly look away before he notices the warmth rushing to your face again. Unfortunately, Jungwon notices everything.
âThere it is,â he says quietly.
You narrow your eyes immediately. âWhat?â
âThat look.â
âWhat look?â
âThe one you get when youâre flustered.â
âIâm not flustered.â
âMhm.â
You hate that hum. It always sounds like heâs humoring you.
You aggressively stab the noodles with your chopsticks while Jungwon watches with obvious amusement from beside you. The kitchen light reflects softly against his figure, while he leans one arm against the counter, posture relaxed and unfairly attractive for someone simply eating ramen.
And somehow, despite how badly heâs been teasing you since morning, Jungwonâs expression softens for a moment while looking at you now.
Like, he finds your entire existence unbearably endearing.
âYouâre really needy today, huh?â he murmurs.
You immediately look back down at your ramen. âShut up.âÂ
.
.
.
"What was that? I can't hear you," he teased, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, deliberately stretching the fabric of his shirt across those shoulders you were obsessed with.Â
When you tried to pull him closer, your small hands grasping at him, he playfully dodged you, giving you a look of mock innocence. "Are you actually asking for it? I don't know, I'm suddenly feeling very... tired. Maybe tomorrow?"Â
He kept it up, pushing your buttons with a stubborn, teasing refusal that felt like a knife to your desperation. The frustration, combined with your natural sensitivity, finally snapped. The overwhelming feeling of being ignored while your pussy was screaming for his cock became too much. Â
The frustration. The embarrassment. The awful overwhelming ache of wanting him all day while he kept laughing and teasing, and acting unaffected.Â
A shaky sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. Jungwon froze instantly. Tears blurred your vision embarrassingly fast, and you covered your face immediately, mortified at yourself for crying over something this stupid. But it wasnât anger. It was worse. You just felt completely undone.
âYouâre so mean,â you whispered brokenly, voice trembling. âI just wanted youâŠâ
The moment the first tear fell, Jungwonâs expression shifted instantly. The smugness vanished, replaced by a look of pure, concentrated hunger and guilt.Â
"Oh, baby... no, no, no," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, suddenly thick and raw. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm sorry, I was just teasing.â
He moved immediately, grabbing your wrists gently and pulling your hands away from your face so he could see you properly. His eyes widened slightly at the tears sliding down your cheeks.
âOh, sweetheart.â
You tried turning away out of embarrassment. Jungwon wouldnât let you. Your face buried automatically against his shoulder, warm tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, while Jungwon wrapped both arms tightly around you. The second you curled against his chest, your body relaxed instinctively.Â
âThereâs my girl,â he murmured against your hair, rubbing your back slowly. âI pushed too far.â
You sniffled miserably against him.
âI hate you.â
Jungwon tilted your chin upward carefully after a moment, eyes softer now than theyâd been all day.
âIâm sorry for teasing you too much,â he whispered.
He didn't waste another second. Jungwonâs lips crashed onto yours, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a desperation that mirrored your own. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours, sucking on your tongue as if he wanted to consume you.Â
The atmosphere in the bedroom was thick with a tension that had been building for hours. Jungwon had spent the entire evening playing a dangerous game. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his action.Â
He could see the frustration in your eyes, the way your lower lip trembled, and how you were practically vibrating with a need you were too timid to demand. The playful smirk heâd worn all night finally softened as he realized he had pushed you just a bit too far. He didn't want you truly distressed; he wanted you wanting him, but the line had blurred.Â
"Look at me, baby," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, velvety register that always made your toes curl.
He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, grounding touch, designed to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. He shifted his lips to your temple, then your cheek, his breath warm against your skin.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dripping with genuine contrition. "I know I was being a brat. I enjoyed seeing you get all worked up, but I didn't mean to actually upset you. I'm sorry for teasing you so much, sweetheart."
He trailed a path of soft kisses down the bridge of your nose, lingering just long enough to make your chest ache. One pressed carefully against the corner of your eye. Another against your cheek. Then, finally, a sweet apologetic kiss right on the tip of your nose that made your breath hitch despite yourself.
Jungwon looked unfairly gentle up close like this.
His dark lashes were low, his expression softened by guilt and affection instead of teasing for once. One of his hands stayed warm against the side of your face while the other rested securely at your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of his oversized hoodie hanging off your frame.
âYouâve been so patient with me today,â he murmured.
You tried to look away out of embarrassment. Jungwon only followed.
âNo,â he whispered, brushing his nose lightly against yours. âLook at me.â
Your heartbeat stumbled. Because suddenly, all the teasing from earlier was gone. No smug grin. No playful mocking. Just Jungwon looking at you like you were something precious. Then he kissed you. Slowly. Not the overwhelming, breathless kind of kiss he usually gave when he got carried away. This one was softerâcareful and lingering, like he was trying to soothe every bit of frustration heâd caused all day.
It somehow affected you even more.
Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt while his hand slid lower along your waist, gently pulling you closer until your hips settled flush against his. The warmth there made your breath catch instantly. Jungwon felt it too. His own breathing deepened slightly against your lips before he kissed you again, slower this time, almost coaxing.
âThere she is,â he murmured. âMy pretty girl.â
Your face burned immediately.
âDonât call me that.â
âBut you like it.â
Unfortunately, the tiny shiver that ran through you betrayed the truth instantly. Jungwon smiled against your mouth.
âSo sensitive today,â he whispered.
You buried your face briefly against his shoulder with a quiet groan, still embarrassed by how easily he affected you. The movement only made him laugh softly under his breath.
âYou spent the whole day staring at me like you wanted attention,â he teased gently, fingers tightening slightly at your waist. âAnd now youâre shy?â
âYou made me like this,â you muttered against his shoulder.
âMhm.â He tilted his head just enough to press another kiss into your hair. âAnd Iâm gonna make it better too.â
The warmth in his voice sent another wave of heat through you. Jungwon leaned back just enough to look at you again, eyes darker now but still impossibly affectionate.
âHow about I make it up to you properly?â he asked quietly.
Your stomach twisted.
âYouâve had all this frustration building up since morning,â he continued softly, thumb brushing beneath your jaw. âI wanna take care of you now.â
The sincerity in his tone nearly undid you all over again. Especially because this wasnât teasing anymore. Jungwon was looking at you like he genuinely hated seeing you upset. Like your feelings mattered more to him than the game heâd been playing earlier. You nodded shyly after a second. His expression melted instantly.
âGood girl,â he murmured warmly before kissing you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding into your hair while the other held your waist securely against him like he had no intention of letting you go for the rest of the night.
He shifted lower, pressing a soft, slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the other, teasingly grazing your lips without fully capturing them yet. He was being agonizingly patient with you. It was almost cruel how patient he was now. Not teasing to frustrate you this time. Just savoring you.Â
"Forgive me?" he breathed, his voice dripping with affection.
You tried to maintain at least a little dignity.
ââŠMaybe.â
Jungwon smiled immediately.
âOh? Only maybe?â
âYou were really mean today.â
âI know.â Another soft kiss against your cheek. âIâm sorry.â
This time, you only nodded quietly. The tiny bit of stubbornness youâd been holding onto melted away under the softness in his voice. Without thinking much about it, you shifted closer and buried your face in the crook of his neck.
Jungwon let out a soft, contented sigh as you tucked yourself into his neck, his arms wrapping around you instantly to pull you flush against his chest. He held you with a protective, needy grip, his face burying itself in your hair as he inhaled your scent deeply, as if he were trying to memorize you all over again.Â
Jungwon guided you carefully toward the bed, movements unhurried and gentle. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as he eased you down against the soft sheets, never fully letting go of you even for a second.
The bedroom light was dim now, warm amber shadows stretching softly across the room. Against them, Jungwon looked almost unfairly beautiful, hovering above you like thisâdark hair falling messily over his forehead, lips slightly swollen from kissing you, eyes heavy with something so openly affectionate it made your stomach flutter nervously.
He looked at you like you were precious. Like you were something to be adored. And somehow that gaze always affected you more than anything else. Your hands instinctively reached for his shoulders again the second he settled over you. Jungwon immediately smiled.
âThere they are,â he murmured warmly. âKnew your hands would end up here.â
You looked away instantly, embarrassed.
âDonât start.â
âIâm not teasing.â His nose brushed softly against yours. âI like it when you touch me.â
The honesty in his voice made your heartbeat stumble.
Jungwon lowered his head slightly, pressing slow kisses along your shoulder this time. Warm lingering presses of his lips against sensitive skin that made tiny shivers ripple through you despite yourself.
âSo pretty,â he murmured between kisses.
Your face burned.
âYou say that too much.â
âNot enough.â
Another kiss. Slower this time. Jungwonâs hands moved carefully along your waist and hips, not rushed or impatient like earlier. Now every touch felt deliberateâlike he wanted you to feel how much he adored you through every small movement.
âThere you go,â he whispered soothingly after one particularly shaky exhale. âJust relax for me.âÂ
He started with your shoulders, pressing slow, lingering kisses to the skin, his lips warm and soft. "You're so beautiful," he murmured between kisses, his voice a low hum of praise. "So perfect. I can't believe you're mine."
His hands began to roam, not with the urgency of before, but with a reverent slowness. He traced the curves of your hips, his palms grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. Every time you let out a small, needy whimper, he would pause to kiss your forehead or your eyelids, reassuring you, reminding you that you were safe and cherished.
"I'm going to take such good care of you," he breathed, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. "I'm going to give you everything you want, baby. Just tell me... tell me what you need."Â
Your throat tightened slightly under the weight of his attention. Because suddenly, after all the teasing and overwhelming frustration from earlier, the only thing you could really think of was him.Â
âI want you.â
âOh, baby,â he murmured, sounding almost overwhelmed himself.Â
As he slowly peeled away the remaining layers between you, his gaze never left yours for long. And when he finally paused above you, taking you in properly, the expression on his face softened into something dangerously tender. Like awe. A shaky breath escaped him quietly.
Your face immediately burned.
You instinctively tried turning away, embarrassed under the intensity of his attention, but Jungwon gently cupped your cheek and guided you back toward him.
âNo,â he murmured. âDonât hide from me.â
The warmth in his voice made your chest ache.
Jungwon lowered himself again slowly, pressing kisses along your shoulder, down the sensitive curve of your collarbone, lingering everywhere that made your breathing stutter. His lips brushed softly along your inner thigh afterward, warm enough to send a sharp shiver through your body. Jungwon noticed immediately.
âThere,â he whispered with a small smile against your skin. âFelt that.â
You covered your face instantly with one hand, mortified by how easily he could read you. Jungwon laughed quietly under his breath before gently pulling your hand away.
âDonât get shy now.â
Jungwonâs hands moved slowly along your waist, thumbs brushing comforting circles into your skin while he kissed the dip of your hip gently enough to make your stomach twist.Â
"Look at how you're shaking for me," he whispered, a small, loving smile playing on his lips. "You're so sensitive, so responsive. I love how much you want me."
Before he even entered you, he pinned you down, his mouth attacking your neck and breasts, his teeth grazing your nipples until you whimpered. You reached up, your fingers digging frantically into the muscles of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back, pulling him closer, begging for the friction.Â
When he finally positioned himself between your legs, he paused, his thick, pulsing cock brushing against your entrance. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss that tasted of devotion. He didn't use a condom; he wanted you to feel every inch of him. Â
"I'm going to be gentle, sweetheart. I'm going to fill you up so completely," he promised.
He entered you with an agonizingly slow push, savoring the feeling of your tight walls gripping him. He stopped halfway, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed through the intensity of the sensation.
"You feel so good... so tight," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. "God, I love how you feel around me. You're perfect, baby. Absolutely perfect."
He was just watching your expression with that same unbearable tenderness that had been undoing you all night.
âYou okay?â he whispered.
You nodded immediately, fingers tightening against his shoulders.
He began to move in a slow, rhythmic cadence, each thrust deep and deliberate. He wasn't trying to wreck you yet; he was making love to you, focusing on the emotional connection, the way your eyes locked, and the way your breaths synced. He praised every sound you made, every arch of your back, whispering how much he loved you, how much he adored your body, and how lucky he felt to be the one inside you.
"That's it, just take it all," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection as he picked up the pace slightly, the friction building into a searing heat. "You're doing so well for me. Such a good girl. Just let go, baby. I've got you."
Every word was spoken with such open fondness that it became impossible to stay embarrassed for long. Especially when Jungwon looked at you afterward like he was completely gone for you already.
As the tension peaked, Jungwonâs movements became more urgent, his possessive nature resurfacing. He gripped your hips firmly, pulling you higher against him to ensure he was hitting every sensitive spot. He wanted to feel every inch of you, to merge his body with yours until there was no space left between them.
"I want to fill you," he gasped, his breath hitching as he neared the edge. "I want to leave every drop of me inside you. I want you to feel me deep in your belly."
With a final, powerful surge, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his body shuddering as he released a massive, hot torrent of cum deep inside your womb. He groaned your name into your neck, his grip tightening as he pulsed over and over, filling you to the brim, obsessed with the feeling of his seed claiming you.
As he reached his first peak, he didn't pull out. He buried himself as deep as possible, his cock throbbing and expanding inside you as he blasted a hot, thick load of cum deep into your womb. You screamed into the pillow, feeling the warmth flood your internals, your walls pulsing around him. But he didn't stop. He stayed inside, grinding his hips to keep the friction going, driving you closer and closer to the edge.Â
The second time he came, he was relentless, pumping more seed into you, his cock twitching inside your tight heat. You could feel your belly beginning to tighten and bulge slightly from the sheer volume of his cum filling you. The intensity of the pleasure, combined with the feeling of being completely claimed and filled, triggered something visceral inside you.
Suddenly, your internal muscles clamped tight around him in a violent spasm. With a shaking, guttural moan, a massive spray of fluid erupted from you, soaking the sheets and splashing against his stomach and chest. You squirted for the first time in your life, your body convulsing in waves of pure, blinding ecstasy, your pussy milking him dry as you shuddered.
Jungwon froze, his eyes widening as he felt the hot spray and saw the wetness covering them both. He looked down at the drenched sheets and then back at your flushed, dazed face. He was in absolute awe.
"Did you... Did you just squirt for me?" he breathed, his voice trembling with a new level of obsession. He looked at you as if you were a goddess, his heart hammering against his ribs. Seeing you react this wayâcompletely shattered and undone by himâmade him fall for you all over again, deeper and harder.
As he pulled back just an inch, his gaze dropped to your stomach, where the slight, tell-tale bulge of his multiple loads was still visible beneath your skin. A small, possessive smile quirked his lips, and he leaned down to press a lingering, sweet kiss right over your navel, his lips grazing the skin where his seed was pooled inside you.Â
The room felt unbearably warm now, sheets tangled around both of you while the soft amber light cast shadows across Jungwonâs flushed face and messy dark hair. He looked completely undone.Â
You were curled against Jungwonâs chest with his oversized blanket tangled around both of you, your cheek pressed right over his heartbeat, while his fingers lazily traced patterns along your bare back. Neither of you spoke for a while. Mostly because you physically couldnât look him in the eye yet. Not after everything. The moment Jungwon realized that, he smiled against your hair immediately.
âThere she is,â he murmured sleepily. âHiding again.â
âIâm not hiding.â
âYou literally tucked your whole face into my chest.â
ââŠItâs comfortable here.â
His arms tightened around you at that answer. The reaction was immediate and instinctive, like Jungwon couldnât help himself whenever you got clingy after affection.
âMmm,â he hummed softly. âStay there then.â
You could hear the smile in his voice. This was your least favorite thing about Jungwon sometimes. No matter how overwhelmed or embarrassed you got, he always sounded unbearably fond of it. Like your shyness was something precious to him instead of awkward. The mattress shifted slightly as Jungwon leaned down to press a slow kiss into your hairline.
âYou okay?â he asked quietly.
You nodded against him.
âTired?â
âA little.â
âUnderstandable.â His hand slid slowly up your spine soothingly.
âYou know Iâm obsessed with you, too, right?â
Your heartbeat stumbled. Jungwonâs gaze softened even further at your stunned expression.
âMaybe worse than you,â he admitted quietly.
For once, you had absolutely nothing teasing to say back. So instead, you just curled closer into him again, hiding your burning face in his neck while Jungwon laughed softly and held you tighter like he never planned on letting go.
!! warnings: smut (mdni), slow burn, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names, praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v
!!wc: 19k
!! a/n: enjoy hotties!
The first time you heard his voice crack through your headset, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
âYo, you got a mic?â
You didn't. Not then. You were three hours deep into a solo grind on some obscure indie shooter, your apartment dark except for the glow of your monitors, your fingers numb from clutching the mouse too tight. The lobby had auto-filled with a random squadâtwo of them muted, one of them him.
Heeseung.
You didn't know his name yet. Just the username:Â 23_heeseungâand the way he called out enemy positions like he was born with a map of every corner burned into his brain.
âBehind the crate, left side. Grenade incoming.â
You followed his callouts without thinking. Survived a flank you never would've seen coming. Won the round because of him.
After the match ended, he sent you a friend request.
You stared at the notification for a full minute before accepting.
That was three months ago.
Now, your phone buzzes at 11:47 PM, the familiar vibration shaking the wood of your nightstand. You're already in bed, scrolling mindlessly, but your heart does that stupid little skip it always does when you see his name.
Heeseung đź:Â you up?
You bite your lip, typing back quickly.
You:Â unfortunately yes. can't sleep.
Heeseung đź:Â same. ranked?
You:Â you know i can't say no to you.
The three dots appear, disappear, appear again. Your stomach flips waiting.
Heeseung đź:Â good. because i was thinking about you.
The message is innocent enough. But the way your pulse quickens, the way your thighs press together under the coversâthere's nothing innocent about how you react.
You:Â thinking about me how?
You're bold in text. Bolder than you'd ever be in person. The screen is a mask, and behind it, you're someone who says exactly what she wants.
Heeseung đź:Â the way your voice sounds when you get hype after a clutch. the way you laugh when i miss a shot. the way you say my name when you're frustrated.
Your breath hitches.
Heeseung đź:Â can i call you?
You:Â yes.
The call connects before you've even finished typing. His voice fills your earâlow, warm, with that slight rasp that means he's already in bed too.
"Hey, princess."
The pet name sends a shiver down your spine. He started using it a few weeks ago, casual at first, then more deliberate. Every time he says it, you feel something shift between you.
"Hey," you whisper back, suddenly shy.
"Were you really trying to sleep, or were you waiting for me to text?"
You hesitate. The truth feels too exposed, too raw. "Waiting," you admit quietly.
A soft chuckle on his end. "Yeah. Me too."
Silence stretches between you, but it's comfortableâcharged with something unsaid.
"I've been thinking about you all day," he says, his voice dropping an octave. "Couldn't focus during practice. Kept imagining you sitting in your room, biting your lip, looking at your phone."
You're glad the dark hides the blush creeping up your neck. "That'sâthat's weirdly accurate."
"Because I know you, baby." The endearment slips out like it's natural. "I know the way you fidget when you're nervous. The way you get quiet when you're thinking about something you want to say but won't."
Your throat tightens. "And what do you think I want to say right now?"
He's quiet for a long moment. You hear him shift, the rustle of sheets, the soft exhale of breath.
"I think you want to tell me that you've been touching yourself while thinking about me."
The words hit you like a shockwave. Your thighs press together involuntarily, heat blooming low in your belly. You should deny it. You should laugh it off, deflect, change the subject.
Instead, you whisper, "How did you know?"
Another soft chuckle. "Because I've been doing the same thing, princess. Thinking about you. Wondering what sounds you'd make if I was there. If my fingers were inside you instead of yours."
Your hand drifts down your stomach, fingertips brushing the waistband of your shorts. "Heeseung..."
"I want you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"Open your messages. I'm sending you something."
You pull your phone away from your ear, switching to speaker, and see the notification pop up. An image. Your thumb hovers over it, heart pounding.
"Go on," he says, his voice a low murmur. "Show me what a good girl you are."
You open the image.
It's him. A mirror selfie, dimly lit, his shirt discarded, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The v-line of his torso disappears beneath the waistband, and your eyes catch on the evident bulge straining against the fabric. His hand is wrapped around it, palm pressed flat, as if he's holding himself back.
"I took that earlier," he says, voice rough. "Right after I got out of the shower. I was thinking about your mouth."
Your mouth goes dry. Your fingers move on their own, saving the image to your hidden folder.
"Fuck," you breathe.
"Yeah?" A hint of smugness in his tone. "You like it?"
"I'mâ" You swallow hard. "I'm looking at it right now. I'm touching myself."
He groans, the sound low and guttural. "Good girl. Tell me exactly what you're doing."
You slide your hand into your shorts, past the elastic of your panties, finding yourself already slick. The moan that escapes your lips is involuntary.
"My fingers are inside me," you whisper, your voice shaking. "Two of them. I'm imagining they're yours."
"Are you thinking about my fingers, or my cock?" His voice is strained, like he's holding back.
"Both. Iâ" You curl your fingers, pressing against that spot that makes your vision blur. "I want your fingers first. I want you to stretch me open while you watch me fall apart."
"Fuck, princess." A sharp exhale. "Keep going."
You sink deeper into the sensation, your hips rolling against your hand. "I'd let you do anything to me. Anything. I'd get on my knees for you, Heeseung. I'd let you fuck my throat until I can't breathe."
"Jesus Christ." His breath rattles through the speaker. "Say that again."
"I'd let you use me however you want," you repeat, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. "I've wanted you for so long. Every time we play together, I'm not thinking about the gameâI'm thinking about your hands on my waist, your mouth on my neck. I'm so fucking down bad for you, Heeseung."
A long, shuddering exhale. Then, quieter: "Princess, I need you to stop for a second."
Your hand freezes. "Why? Did I say something wrong?"
"No." His voice is strained, almost pained. "No, baby, you said everything right. But if you keep talking like that, I'm going to get in my car and drive to your place right now, and I don't think either of us is ready for that tonight."
Your heart stutters. "What if I want you to?"
Silence.
"Heeseung." You pull your hand out of your shorts, needing to focus. "What if I want you to come over?"
He's quiet for so long you think the call dropped. Then his voice returns, softer than you've ever heard it.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. I've never been more serious about anything."
"Then I'm on my way."
checkpoint: approaching
He lives twenty minutes away. You spend every second of that time in a state of barely contained chaos.
You change out of your ratty sleep shirt into something that's effortlessâa black cami, loose shorts, no bra. You spray a cloud of perfume into the air and walk through it. You brush your teeth twice. You pace the length of your apartment until you think you might vibrate out of your skin.
When the doorbell rings, you freeze.
Three slow, deliberate breaths. Then you open the door.
Heeseung stands in the hallway, phone still in his hand, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He's wearing a black hoodie, the hood down, his hair slightly damp like he showered before coming. His eyes find yours immediately, and the intensity in them makes your knees weak.
"Hi," you manage.
"Hey, princess."
He steps inside, and the door clicks shut behind him. The air between you is electric, heavy, charged with every late-night text, every whispered confession, every moment of longing.
He sets the duffel bag down without breaking eye contact. "I can't believe I'm here."
"I can't believe you came."
"Did you think I wouldn't?" He takes a step closer, then another, until he's close enough that you can smell his cologne. "After everything you said? I would've walked here if I had to."
Your heart is a drum in your chest. "Heeseung, Iâ"
He cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. The touch is so gentle, so deliberate, it steals the breath from your lungs.
"Can I kiss you?"
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He leans in slow, giving you every chance to pull away. You don't. When his lips meet yours, it's softâtentative, almost, like he's savoring the first taste. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and they move against yours like he's memorizing the shape of them.
Then you part your lips, and the kiss deepens.
His tongue slides against yours, and you moan into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie. He walks you backward until your back hits the wall, his body pressing against yours, and you feel exactly how hard he is.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your mouth. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."
"I need you," you breathe. "I need you to touch me. All of me."
His hand slides down your side, from your ribs to your hip, fingers curling under the hem of your cami. "Like this?"
"More."
He pushes the fabric up, revealing your stomach, the underside of your breasts. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark and hungry.
"Take it off," he says. "For me."
You obey, pulling the cami over your head and letting it fall to the floor. You're not wearing a bra, and his eyes drop to your chest, his breath catching.
"Fuck, princess." His thumb traces the curve of your breast, circling your nipple. "You're so beautiful."
Heat floods your cheeks. "Heeseungâ"
"Shh." He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, trailing a path down your sternum until his lips close around your nipple.
Your head falls back against the wall, a moan escaping your throat. His tongue swirls, flicks, sucks, sending sparks of pleasure arrowing straight to your core. His hand kneads your other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.
"Feel good?" he asks, his voice muffled against your skin.
"Yesâgod, yesâ"
He switches sides, giving the other breast the same attention, and you're already trembling, already needy. His hand slides down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your shorts, past your panties, finding you wet and ready.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans, his fingers sliding through your folds. "Is all this for me?"
"All of it," you gasp. "Only you."
He sinks one finger inside you, slowly, watching your face as he does. Your mouth drops open, your hips bucking to meet him.
"That's it, princess. Take it. Take my fingers like the good girl you are."
He adds a second finger, curling them just right, and your vision whites out. You cling to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his hoodie, as he fucks you with his fingers, his thumb pressing against your clit.
"I want to taste you," he says, pulling his fingers out. "I want to taste this pretty pussy."
Before you can respond, he's on his knees.
He pulls your shorts and panties down in one motion, guiding you to step out of them. Then he looks up at you, his eyes dark with hunger, and presses a kiss to your inner thigh.
"Hold the wall for me, baby."
Your hands find the wall as he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. When his mouth meets your cunt, you nearly slide down the wall.
He licks through your folds like he's been starving for it, collecting your wetness on his tongue, groaning at the taste. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucks it into his mouth, and you cry out, your hips grinding against his face.
"Fuck, Heeseungâ"
He doesn't let up. His tongue spears into you, fucking you open, then back to your clit, alternating until you're a mess of moans and breathless pleas. His fingers return to your entrance, pushing in alongside his tongue, and the pressure builds, coils, tightens until you're on the edge.
"Cum for me, princess," he says against your skin. "Let me taste you."
That's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you, and you cry out his name as your walls clench around his fingers. He licks through it, drinking every drop, drawing out every tremor until you're shaking and oversensitive.
He stands slowly, his chin glistening, and his lips meet yours in a kiss that tastes like you.
"Now," he says, pulling back, "my turn."
He shrugs off his hoodie and tugs his shirt over his head, revealing the lean muscle of his torso, the smooth skin you'd only ever seen in photos. He kicks off his shoes, then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Watch," he says, pushing them down.
His cock springs free, already hard, the tip flushed and glistening. You've seen the photo, but in person it's differentâthicker than you expected, the veins visible under his fair skin.
"Touch it," he says, his voice rough.
You reach out, wrapping your fingers around him. He's hot and smooth, and when you stroke him, he groans, his head falling back.
"Like that. Fuck, just like that."
You sink to your knees in front of him, your mouth watering. You want to taste him, want to make him feel half as good as he made you feel.
"Can I?"
He looks down at you, his eyes soft despite the hunger. "You don't have to ask, princess. Anything you want."
You take him in your mouth.
The taste is salty and warm, and you hollow your cheeks, taking him as deep as you can. His hand tangles in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding himself.
"That's it. Good girl. Taking me so well."
You find a rhythm, bobbing your head, using your hand on the base where your mouth can't reach. His moans grow louder, his hips beginning to thrust shallowly.
"I'm close," he warns. "If you don't want me toâ"
You hold him deeper, taking him down your throat, and he cries out, spilling hot and thick onto your tongue. You swallow, looking up at him through your lashes, and the look of reverence on his face is worth every second.
He pulls you to your feet, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips.
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