sukuna had always found his bitchy student council president hot, especially when you're pointing fingers at him. he convinces himself that you'll be the perfect brat when beneath him— but what happens when he finds out that you're all bark and no bite? the esteemed president, actually an inexperienced princess.
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by anonymous <3
"And then she blocked me!"
"Eh. Deserved."
"Excuse me? Who could ever say no to these baby blues?"
"Blue eyes on a rat don't change a thing now does it?"
Rolling his eyes to the air vents, Sukuna shut his locker in a rattle of metal. Shuffling his duffel bag over his shoulder, he side-stepped to thump the whining, white-haired nuisance beside him with a broad shoulder.
"Kunnnaaa, he's being mean to me," pouted Satoru, throwing an arm over his shoulders and squeezing on his bicep in that not-so-subtle way.
"Well for one, maybe stop sharing your love life with Fushiguro of all people." Sukuna reached a hand out, snatching his friend by the back of his pearly white tresses and wrenching him off. "And secondly, off."
"Don't you love me anymore? Is there someone else? Am I— gasp—" trembling his hands, Satoru raised them to his mouth. Exaggerating his eyes in what he probably thought was cute. "Am I the other woman?"
"More like a skank." Toji grinned, immediately side-stepping a hit that came his way.
Sukuna sighed, deep from his soul that had grown weary dealing with the dumb-and-dumber duo he called his friend group. Unfortunately these knuckleheads were also apart of his team. Guess this was fate.
The hallway bustled with a stream of college stereotypes. The preps and their perfect palettes, prattling as they pranced around. The stoners who propped against lockers on the far end of the hallways, zoned out and scrolling. The nerds with their arrogant stares, standing upright as they beelined for their next class, somehow avoiding collision even with a textbook wedged in their hand. Everyone had their role in this academic ecosystem and moral wasteland.
Role. Stereotype. Stigmatism. Sukuna never quite understood it. How most people plopped themselves into a box with a poorly-scribbled label on the front and called it home.
By definition, he was a jock. Captain of the college's star rugby team. With mean eyes and rough hands. Where girls swooned, guys were scared.
No one expected the jock to be an engineering major. Guess that's the assumption when your enrolment in an institution relied on a sports scholarship.
"Engineering," he remembered how a pretty girl from finance batted her eyes at him in surprise. "Wouldn't have expected that from you."
Sukuna always rolled his eyes at that. And what would anyone expect of an engineering student? Someone more put-together, refined, with a pair of fogged-up glasses and maybe a tight fitting button-up?
He'd never understand it.
"Hey you three, quit loitering."
But he always understood that smooth voice.
He could already see it from his peripheral. Your creaseless blazer shining your badge proudly. The pencil skirt that was exactly three fingers above the knee. Your hair fixed appropriately without a strand straying. The school's code of conduct glinted in your eyes.
Another one who fit her role perfectly. The pretty student council president.
"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.
You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."
Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."
Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.
Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.
Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.
"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."
"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.
You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.
"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."
Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.
Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.
"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.
You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.
"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.
Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.
Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.
The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.
He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.
Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?
He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.
You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.
He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.
Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.
You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.
Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.
The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.
Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.
Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.
The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.
Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.
Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.
And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.
He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.
Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.
You stare still on him.
Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.
"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.
Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.
His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."
"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.
It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.
He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"
"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.
His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."
Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?
". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.
Something ticked within him.
His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.
"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.
Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"
"Got a problem with it?
"Watch it. I'm still your president."
"Dirty talking already?"
Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.
It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—
Thump!
"What the hell!"
"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."
Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.
Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.
"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.
Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.
"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.
The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.
"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But it looked like you wanted to.
"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."
Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.
He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.
Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.
You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.
Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.
Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.
Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.
Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.
"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.
You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.
"It's. . . big," you murmured.
And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.
Just a jock. And a princess.
"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.
He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.
Cute.
"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.
You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.
"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"
"Not unless you want me to watch?"
Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?
"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.
But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.
"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"
His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.
Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.
"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.
He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."
"What's with that name?"
"What?"
He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?
Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.
He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.
His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"
Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.
Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.
He paused for the first time that night.
Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.
Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"
"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."
He blinked.
Spoke in that terribly stark way.
"You a virgin?"
"Must you be so blunt?"
A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.
"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."
He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—
"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."
Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.
Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?
The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.
Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?
"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.
You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.
That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.
Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.
His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"
Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.
"Obviously! I'm not that—"
His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.
It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.
Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.
The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.
"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."
He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.
No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.
The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.
"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.
Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.
"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.
Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.
Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.
His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.
You nodded.
"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.
You squeaked. "Yes— yes."
Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.
Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.
He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.
"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.
You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.
He drawled. "Good girl."
Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.
"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.
Red, too.
Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.
He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.
He could get used to this darling side of yours.
A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.
You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.
You twitched when he reached your thigh.
"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."
"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.
"Fingers. . . I think."
Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.
No, here? You were just his princess.
"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.
Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.
The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—
You pitched a whine.
"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"
"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"
"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"
Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.
After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.
Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.
"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.
"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.
"Ryo—"
"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."
His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.
"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."
"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."
A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.
The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.
He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.
"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"
You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.
So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.
"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—
Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.
"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.
"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.
"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.
He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.
He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.
He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.
"Fuck— there," you whined.
"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."
Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.
"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"
"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.
"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."
Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.
Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.
His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.
"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.
His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.
His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—
Sweet. So fucking sweet.
"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.
So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.
But still speaking, it seemed.
"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.
"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.
He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?
"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.
Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.
His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.
A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"
His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.
"I— hngh. Kuna."
"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"
"Mngh."
His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.
Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.
"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."
Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.
Your hands froze.
So did he.
With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"
Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.
"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"
His eyes softened.
"Nervous?" He murmured.
You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.
Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.
"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."
A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.
The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.
"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."
"I. . . thanks. Thank you."
"For being a decent human being?"
He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.
Fuck. He could get used to this.
"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.
The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.
His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.
"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"
A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.
The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.
kim mingyu’s (unhelpful) guide to losing your virginity
❝ you’re telling me that you, Miss Dick Repellent, had sex with Captain Chastity By Choice over here. ❞
PAIRING ▸ kim mingyu x fem!reader
GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, humor, college au, best friends to lovers au, friends with benefits au
WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol consumption, rated m for mingyu, slow burn, he fell first but she fell harder but then he tripped and ate shit, probably the most self-indulgent thing i’ve written, mingyu and mc are both virgins, sexual content, sexual tension, protected and unprotected sex (i would not advise doing the latter), lots of teasing and banter, oral (f. and m. receiving), fingering, wall sex, couch sex, public sex, mingyu discovers what pasties are, soonyoung orders 20 connect fours, they are avid enjoyers of the barbie movies
SUMMARY ▸ after accidentally telling your friends that kim mingyu took your virginity (he didn’t), you’re shocked when he proposes to relieve you of the fabled v-card for good (he does).
PLAYLIST ▸ perfect by one direction • spell by niki • fatal flaw by ellise • give me a kiss by lolo zouaï • step? by bibi
WORD COUNT ▸ 31,273 words
AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ someone (fia) once told me i write too many college aus. i said yeah ur right. and i’m gonna do it again
“BIRDS AND BEES CANNOT PHYSICALLY FUCK.”
You sounded more distressed than informative while you were trying to reason with your longtime best friend, Kim Mingyu. He, on the other hand, appeared visibly worked up over this childish level of argument you two were having.
“It is a metaphor,” he said. “Everyone knows birds and bees aren’t screwing each other up in the trees.”
You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Hours ago, you had fucked yourself over after Kwon Soonyoung had casually brought up the topic of body counts. After everyone in your friend group went around listing theirs (Soonyoung: 3; Jungwoo: 3; Minghao: 2; Vernon: 5), you accidentally blurted out that your body count actually existed—one, to be exact.
This was a problem because, to everyone’s prior knowledge, you were a virgin.
i don’t think there ever will be a world where mark is not nct.
but i hope this new open door heals him and fulfills his soul in a way nct never could.
the firstfruit was so beautiful. i can’t wait for all the other stories he has left to tell. if this is still something he wants to do 🥹
i trust he knows what’s best for him.
and besides, we only live one life. i think we should live it doing what we love the most. and he’s in a position where the world is at his fingertips.
choosing change is sad but it’s not bad :)
sooo — good luck mark 🌱 thank you for the past 10 years, i hope you spend a little more with us 🩵
summary: mark needed a roommate as soon as possible, and luckily his problem is solved when you end up moving in. you’re sweet and can hold your own in a smoke session, but as you grow closer he’s caught in a dilemma—is it normal to think about you as much as he does?
wc: 4.4k | genre: fluff, smut | 18+ mdni
cw: weed use, slightly jealous!mark, masturbation, oral (receiving), voyeurism-ish, unprotected pinv sex (do not do), pull out method, pet names: baby
mark’s pov of roomie high, can be read alone!
if you asked mark lee about one good thing that happened to him this year, he’d probably talk about you—not that he’d ever admit it to your face.
especially since he lives with you.
before the two of you became roommates, your circles of friends tended to overlap and he’d seen you a couple of times, learning your name in passing, yet never having an actual conversation.
even if he wanted to, he never paid much mind outside of his immediate circle. life was pretty hectic—he was adjusting to a new job and had just moved to a new 2-bedroom apartment with a friend.
it seemed like he was out of luck when only 3 months into his lease his roommate made the brash decision to move in with his on-and-off girlfriend in hopes that their relationship would stabilize. his soon to be ex-roommate was aware it was a little toxic, super apologetic, but certain about his decision.
mark understood, kind of, but he still had to find a roommate before his bank account was run dry.
it felt like an answered prayer when haechan called him over to you at a random kickback. you were visibly distressed, and though you tried to stop your shared friend, haechan blabbered on and on about how you were looking for a new smoke-friendly apartment and roommate.
it was safe to say mark might not have been in his right judgement after smoking a bowl and a half by this point in the night, but he couldn’t see any downside to this.
you needed a place, he needed a roommate.
you liked smoking, he liked smoking.
plus, if haechan trusted you enough to suggest this arrangement, he thought he could, too.
taking in your nervous form and eyes darting between him and haechan, the words left his mouth before he could even stop them.
“i mean, i’m cool with it, if you are..?”
your eyes widened as if you didn’t expect him to agree, and you responded after a brief pause.
“..yeah, we can talk about it after today,” you muttered quietly, and something about the way you looked at him made the back of his neck tingle, but the feeling was quickly overshadowed by his relief at solving his apartment problem.
it started a bit awkward, with the two of you walking on eggshells and being overly considerate of the other. mark knew he couldn’t live that way, however, and after resolving himself, he decided to break the ice the way he knew best—with a little weed.
he grabbed his shoebox of supplies, finding you in the living room.
“hey dude, uh.. house-warming smoke?” he had asked shyly, and your eyes lit up at the offer, lips parting in a bright smile as you accepted happily.
he liked that look on you, finding himself smiling, too.
he rolled you a joint to share, and after a few back and forths, he found himself in comfortable conversation with his new roommate. you brightened as time passed, breaking into giggles and fits of rambling, and the two of you talked about all kinds of things well into the night.
he went to sleep that night with just one thought—he could really get used to this.
and he did, setting a new routine of ending nights with roomie meals and smoke sessions whenever your schedules aligned.
sometimes the two of you knock out on the couch at some point during the night, and when he wakes up and shakes you to get you to go to your bed, your cute groggy whines for 5 more minutes have him falling back asleep right beside you.
the longer you live together, the more he notices how being around you has affected him.
he tries not to stare when you walk around in those thin pajama shorts of yours, oversized t-shirts sometimes making it look like you don’t have them on at all.
when you get all dolled up for a night out, he wonders if you’re meeting with someone who will actually appreciate how good you look.
he finds himself dropping by your work every once in a while, too, walking home with you after picking up some food—usually something he knows you like.
he’s gotten used to falling asleep on the couch next to you, wondering how it would feel to have you just a bit closer. it stings a little when he wakes up to your side of the couch empty.
he doesn’t know exactly what compels him to do all of this, to feel like this, but he does know that he really, really likes having you around.
maybe a little too much—maybe a little more than a good roommate and friend should.
the night after a particularly heavy smoke session, he wakes up to you trying to be as quiet as possible in the kitchen. he groans as he stretches, groggy as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“if you’re making coffee can i also get a cup, please? i’m gonna be fighting for my life at work today..” he asks, having gotten used to your daily morning routines.
your laughter coming from the kitchen alerts him, and the sweet tone of your voice has him opening his eyes fully. “was already making enough for both of us.”
he sits up, gazing at you over the back of the couch, watching as you set down his mug next to your thermos on the kitchen counter.
this all feels entirely too domestic, too natural, as if the two of you are more than just people who live together—is this a normal thing? is it normal to want to join you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist?
when he finally gets up after you’ve left, he rushes to the bathroom, glaring down at the tent in his shorts. he shimmies out of his clothes, hopping into the shower. the hot water runs down his body, and he wraps a hand around his cock, hard and heavy. he runs his thumb over his tip, hissing at the sensation.
it’s not normal.
morning wood is a natural thing, yes, but as he jerks himself furiously, biting his bottom lip to keep his groans to a minimum, all he pictures is you—your voice, your hair, your scent, the way you call his name so sweetly.
he finishes before he knows it, the running water quickly washing away his release. post-nut clarity hits him like a train.
he has to chill out a bit. there’s no way he just got off thinking about you.
the last thing he’d want to do is make you uncomfortable, not when his life has just started to fall into place with you in it. he doesn’t need anything complicated.
that’s what he tells himself, but when his work day gets cut short due to a busted pipe in the building, he finds himself outside the bookshop you work at 10 minutes before your shift ends.
he enters, but before he sees you, he hears you, and not just you. there’s a familiar voice he hopes isn’t who he thinks it is. he rounds one of the bookshelves, nearing the source of the noise, and the sight he’s met with makes his blood boil.
you’re there, but so is haechan, and you have your hands over his face as he grips your wrists, laughing maniacally at god knows what.
mark knows the two of you are really close friends, and it shouldn’t bother him, especially since it’s thanks to haechan that he got close to you in the first place.
but he can’t help it as his jaw clenches at the sight of you in haechan’s hold.
mark might live with you, but there’s a boundary that he doesn’t cross. he wishes that were him in haechan’s place, comfortable enough to touch you, to hold you.
he gasps as he realizes just how far his thoughts have gone just as you catch sight of him over hyuck’s shoulder. you shake your still laughing friend off while you greet him.
“mark?? what are you doing here?” you ask in surprise, and mark realizes he forgot to text you like he usually does when he comes by. his feet just took him there before he knew it.
haechan greets mark, looking between the two of you with a grin.
“i got outta work a little early so i thought i’d come by. we can get take out for dinner on the way home?” mark explains. so much for chilling out—this just amps up the domesticity even more.
“take out sounds good with me!” haechan butts in a little too happily before you can say anything.
you and mark give him a pointed look. it’s not the first time he’s invited himself over, but in this moment mark feels more irritated than ever, frustration bubbling in his throat.
hyuck smiles at the two of you for a moment before laughing again. “i’m just kidding guys, you should see the looks on your faces.” he meets mark’s eyes with look that seems to say that he knows something mark doesn’t. mark quirks an eyebrow up, but haechan just laughs, turning on his heel to head home.
“wouldn’t want to interrupt anything, see you later cuties!”
your friend is gone before either of you can say anything, and all frustration in mark’s head is replaced with panic. had haechan been reading his mind? was he that obvious?
“wha- interrupting? interrupting what?” mark turns to you with a confused face, trying to play it off.
luckily, you are quick to change the subject. “he’s just being stupid, what do you wanna get for dinner?”
mark nods, grateful at your dismissal. “hmm, i don’t know. what do you want?” he responds.
“let’s get some noodles from down the street, i’ve been craving them.” mark feels his cheekbones lift, smiling warmly at you. he loves that you’re comfortable enough to tell him what you want.
“sure, it’s on me tonight!” he offers excitedly, and you beam in response.
“thank you, markie,” you reply, and the sweet nickname hits him straight in the gut. he doesn’t show it, matching your pace as you walk.
“anything for you.”
he means it.
at home, the two of you light up before digging into your food, but something about today is a little different. maybe it’s because he’s a little guilty about what he did in the shower this morning, or maybe it’s because he’s coming to terms with how he feels about you.
it’s a little too cold in the living room, and he goes to his room to put on a hoodie. he sees another hoodie on his bed, and picturing you in it, he grabs it without another thought and comes back out, handing it to you.
he quickly realizes how stupid he must look giving you one of his hoodies when your own room is just a few steps away. “oh shit, uhh, wait my bad.. you totally could’ve just gotten one of yours.”
you shake your head, beaming cutely at him “no, i’ll take yours, too lazy to get up. thank you.”
mark really thinks he made a mistake as you put it on. the sight of you in his clothes has his stomach stirring.
settling into the couch, you’re having trouble lighting the joint, so he puts it in his own mouth, lighting it before holding it up to your lips so you can take a hit. he gazes at the way your eyelashes flutter shut as you take a hit of the joint, the way your lips wrap around it so close to his fingers.
you don’t realize what you’re doing to him, or maybe you do, but he tries to push it all down as you slowly hotbox the apartment. it’s a friday night, so you two can smoke as much as you want, having the weekend off.
and smoke you do.
as the night progresses, the two of you have made your way through 3 joints, and mark holds his pipe in hand ready to light up even more. you’re honestly both high as shit, and you both know it too. every little thing on the tv is the funniest thing you’ve ever seen, and your noodles have been long gone.
mark sees you looking at him from the corner of his eye as he takes a long drag from his pipe, handing it to you before letting the smoke seep from his lips. he chuckles at how excited you seem waiting for your turn. you take a hit and set it down.
“i’m about to be glued to this couch for the next 24 hours,” mark drawls out. he readjusts himself on the couch, letting out a borderline moan as he feels a few joints pop. the last thing he remembers is hearing you say something and feeling the couch shift before he drifts off.
a sudden vibration of his phone laying on top of his chest jolts him awake.
“what the…” he rubs his eyes. it must be well past midnight, and he looks over to your side of the couch, once again feeling that ache in his chest at the bare cushions.
he moves to get up and go to his room to lay in the comfort of his bed, still so high and way too tired to think. he almost misses a soft cry coming from the direction of your room. almost.
whipping his head in the direction of your room, he pauses, thinking he must be having a weed-induced hallucinations.
against his better judgement, he stalks very slowly to your slightly open door with the warm light from your bedside lamp peaking through. he thinks he’s hearing things until he hears it again.
but it’s not just a cry, it’s the sound of a name.
his name. in your voice.
“m-mark. oh fuck, mark.”
he slaps a hand to his mouth quietly, in disbelief at what might be behind your door, but as he approaches his suspicions are not only confirmed by another repetition of his name, but the view of you that comes into his sights.
you’re on your bed, wearing only his hoodie with your hand stuffed down your underwear. his eyes drink up your form, your chest heaving as you work yourself up. your legs are spread and your head is thrown back, moans of his name tumbling from your lips.
mark’s mouth goes dry, and he almost feels faint for a second with how much blood rushes to his head and his cock. this can’t be a high dream, right? he pinches himself. nope, not a dream.
he swallows thickly as he processes everything going on in front of him.
for a second he thinks maybe getting off to each other is a normal thing for roommates if both of you are doing it. he palms at his hardening member through his shorts.
but no, this isn’t normal, and it finally registers that you want him. you want him in the same way he wants you, and a streak of confidence runs through him.
sober mark would be hesitant, but high mark says fuck it. you’re literally calling out to him—not some rando, not haechan, you’re calling his name.
you want him to touch you, to hold you, to make you feel good, and what kind of roomie would he be if he didn’t give you what you wanted?
you don’t even notice mark come in until he’s made his way to your bed, the cushions dipping under his weight. you gasp, immediately closing your legs as your head snaps up to meet his hungry gaze.
“mark! oh my fucki- get out!” you start to ramble, clearly shocked at this situation. “i swear it’s not what it looks like.. i just-”
“what does it look like, baby?” mark comes closer to you. you immediately stop at his words, mouth opening in shock at this shift. mark continues.
“that you’re getting your pretty little self off while moaning my name? what are you thinking about?” he settles in front of your now curled up form.
“or, who are you thinking about? cause i think i can guess who,” he says lowly, lips forming a slight grin as he peers into your widened eyes.
you sit up slightly.
“mark.. you aren’t weirded out?” you ask hesitantly. weirded out is the last thing he’d be.
“why would i be? in fact-“ mark grabs your hand and leads it to his sweats, “let me show you how i’m feeling.” you gasp at the hardened tent, and his cock throbs at your touch.
“sorry for the interruption, but let’s get back to it?” mark backs up, pulling you by the waist until you’re propped on your back atop your pillows. “i’d love to give you a hand, baby,” he coos, settling between your legs.
he drinks up the sight of you. he loves you like this—wearing his clothes, looking like you’re his.
“all wrapped up in my hoodie, just like a present,” mark says lowly, his eyes moving down as he lifts up the bottom of his hoodie to meet your soaked underwear. “is all this for me?”
you seem to still be in shock, but you manage to let out a weak response.
“it’s all for you, markie.”
it goes straight to his pants and his heart, immediately pushing him into action even in his high state. he gets on his stomach to go down on you, not even bothering to take off your underwear.
he hums as his tongue meets your soaked panties, tasting you as your arousal combines with his spit.
fuck, he could stay here for hours if you’d let him.
using one hand to move your panties to the side, he slides his fingers through your slit, and you gasp at the direct contact. his tongue takes the place of his fingers, and your cries are like music to his ears.
“oh god mark, f-feels too fucking good,” you moan out. he runs a soothing hand along your thigh, loving the way you tremble under his tongue.
your eyes roll and toes curl at the pleasure, hands coming to grip his hair as he lets the mixture of his spit and your juices flow down his chin onto your bed. he groans at the feeling of your hands tugging at his hair, pressing himself even further into you.
mark buries his nose into your clit, looking up at you, and as if you sense him staring, you look back down to meet his eyes.
as soon as you meet his eyes, one last swipe of his tongue across your clit it has you cumming almost immediately.
mark stares up at you in wonder, groaning again as you throw your head up and let out a cry, legs shaking around his head as he helps you ride out your orgasm.
when he sits back up to admire his work, he swears he could cum then and there. in his sights is you still in his hoodie, eyes teary, panting from the pleasure he gave you, and underwear absolutely ruined.
“fuck, baby, you tasted too good.” he licks the remnants off his lips, and he’s so hard it hurts.
as you come down, your eyes are bleary as you stare into his, but it’s filled with so much desire telling him that even the haze of the high is still there, you both know exactly what needs to come next.
“mark, fuck me, please.”
he almost moans at your pleading, his heart doing flips at another confirmation that you want him, you need him.
“…anything for you, baby,” mark replies. he takes off his shirt and sweats, and your hands move to take his hoodie off of you when he stops you.
“no, keep it on. i need to fill you up like this,” he says, tone slightly pleading. if he was already beyond turned on seeing you get off in his hoodie, fucking you in it would be a whole different story. it’s another reminder to him that this is all real.
“condoms?” he asks.
“i’m on the pill, and i haven’t fucked anyone in a really long time,” you reply, getting slightly impatient. his chest fills with excitement at that news—he’d hate hearing about any other man being in this position.
“me too, baby.”
he lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing his cock up and down your slit to coat himself in your arousal. he knows you came just a second ago, and you’re still sensitive, but he loves knowing he’s the reason for all of it.
“stop teasing.. need you so bad mark,” you groan. he grins.
“shh, need to take my time stretching you out, baby.” he latches his head onto your entrance, slowly pushing the tip in. just the tip has you seeing stars.
“fuck mark, w-why are you so big..” he has to pause at your question, trying to keep hold of his self control as he slowly inches himself in, letting you adjust.
“you’re so t-tight,” he chokes out, teeth clenching as he feels your walls start to engulf him. if he moves too fast, he knows he’ll cum too soon.
as he bottoms out, the two of you moan into each other, his forehead resting on yours as you both feel each other. you feel like you were made for him, hugging his member perfectly. like always, words seem to leave him before he even realizes what he’s saying.
“can i kiss you, dude?” mark asks a bit too innocently for the situation you’re in, and your resulting laugh sends a vibration through you that has you both moaning out.
“i can’t believe you just called me dude when your dick is literally inside of me right now, of course you can kiss me,” you give him the okay, and mark doesn’t even care that he sounded dumb, right away putting his lips on yours.
the kiss is sluggish yet deep, and he starts to move his hips ever so slightly as he deepens your kiss further. his hips start to pick up more speed gradually, and you separate from his lips as you gasp out.
you’re moaning his name and he’s moaning yours, and the only thing he can think is that you feel so fucking good around him, like you were made to take his cock.
his hips start to rut into you more desperately, his pelvis hitting your sensitive bud as deep groans leave his throat.
he watches your face as you get lost in the rocking motion, shivering as drool leaks from the side of your mouth. you’re just so pretty, and even prettier fucked out for him, probably high out of your mind still.
mark is also feeling a pleasure like no other, mind spinning as he breathes harshly. he knows he’s not gonna last long.
“fuck baby, i need you to cum on my cock.” he punctuates his words with his hand resting on your lower stomach as he starts to thumb at your clit.
your eyes shut tightly at the feeling, already reaching another high. the band in your stomach tightens and tightens as mark rubs harsh circles in tempo with his quickening thrusts, and with one last swipe it snaps.
you cum hard around him and he almost has to stop from how tight you’re gripping around him, walls pulsating as you ride out your high. unable to hold back any longer, mark pulls out, cum landing on the hoodie you’re wearing.
he collapses next to you, and the two of you catch your breath as you come down from both your sex and weed highs. he turns his head towards you, taking in how you look after he’s had his way with you.
you smile back at him, and pull at the fabric of the hoodie you’re wearing.
“markie, you came all over your hoodie, how am i supposed to stay warm tonight?”
your smile turns teasing, and his lips curl up as he picks up what you’re hinting at. he rises to his knees and grabs the hem of the hoodie, pulling it up over your head.
“nah dude, i can do a way better job than that old hoodie.” mark lays back down, gathering you into his arms. he tucks you into his chest, and you seem to fit perfectly enveloped with him.
both of you have cooled down, and the feeling of your skin on his is just what he needs. his mind wanders as he feels you drift off to sleep in his arms.
this isn’t normal for roommates, but fuck that—maybe it can be for you two. maybe you don’t have to be just roomies.
and when he wakes up the next morning with you still in his hold, the aching feeling of waking up to you gone replaced by a warm feeling in his chest, he’s sure.
he takes in the way you stir under his touch, cuddling further into his chest when he runs his fingers down your arm, taking in how soft your skin is.
the way your pretty lashes flutter open, and soft sighs leave your lips when he trails kisses down your neck.
the way you both call out of work that day, unable to hold yourselves back from one round in bed and another in the shower, the two of you drifting off again after with hickeys littering your skin and nail marks streaking his.
he knows he wants to be so much more.
to be continued?
a/n: thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! again it isn’t technically a new fic, but i’m happy to be back writing even if it's just at this capacity, and i hope it can be a catalyst for coming up with new fics!! :D
Not ‘cause it isn’t true — it is — but because they think it’s some kind of insult. Like he’s supposed to get pissed and defensive, to deny the accusation and blow up at them for even suggesting it.
On the contrary, he agrees.
You have changed him, and thank fuck for that.
His loser friends give him shit when he orders water instead of beer, laughing that he’s turning hippy or something. But water’s good for him — it won’t give him the bulging belly they all carry around. If that ever happened, he’d bang his head against the wall every day till he dropped the weight. Otherwise, his gorgeous girl wouldn’t nuzzle his defined stomach, wouldn’t pepper kisses along his treasure trail or grind against the ridges till she’s panting and drooling.
That would quite literally be the end of his world.
They exchange mocking looks when he shrugs off young women, muttering loud enough for him to hear that maybe he’s lost all his testosterone, that his dick doesn’t work anymore, that he probably needs pills to get it up. And well, that’s just bullshit — he can go all night with you. In fact, he does. Very often. So much so that he has no appetite for anyone else.
Those bastards think it’s stupid to be a one-woman type of man, that it’s a waste of Fushiguro’s good looks and better physique. But what do those divorced, cheating idiots know?
At least he gets to come home to a warm house, delicious food, and sleep on soft breasts. No one-night stand with some bleached blonde stranger is going to rake blunt nails through his scalp, whisper updates about their day, and coo when all he can muster is a grunt in reply.
Yeah, he has to ask for permission to go on a boys’ trip or hit up the bar on weekends, but that’s only ‘cause he doesn’t know if you’ve got brunch with the girls the next morning or if there’s a farmer’s market you just can’t miss — he really does love supporting local, small businesses. Sweet old Chiyo would be devastated if he wasn’t there to try out her new pickle combo.
And sure, he dresses differently now, smarter and neater than before, but does anyone really miss the stained, unraveling rags he used to just throw on?
Not his fault those cheap assholes don’t recognise that his jumper is cashmere and his jeans are from Levi’s — not stolen off a homeless man. Just like his girl says, you can’t put a price on the value of not contributing to child exploitation and forced labour. Ah, alright, he couldn’t care less about the hypothetical kids in third-world countries, but he does care that you beam when he practices the sandwich method on his own, and when he checks the label and frowns if it says the thing’s made with any hint of polyester.
Why the fuck would he even be dressing to impress his bum friends?
What kinda homo shit is that, he wonders — in a non-derogatory manner, of course. After all, he’s an ally. According to you, anyway.
Bottom line is, the guys can mock him all they want.
˖ ࣪૮₍ 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𓂃 ⭒ witnesses one of your meltdowns for the first time
“do you always cry like this?”
satoru's mutter stirred shame in your gut, but his thumb rubbing beneath your eyelid kissed comfort on your wet skin.
you choked a sob, fingers coiling in his shirt as you curled into his lap. “it's ugly,” is all you could quiver.
a large hand found the back of your head, cupping it and bringing you closer so that it tucked beneath his chin. “hey now,” he mumbled, impossibly soft and incredibly tender as long arms engulfed you.
“my pretty girl could never be ugly.”
“don't lie to me.”
his heart broke. deep and fragmented as he squeezed you closer. perhaps if your soul merged with his, he could protect you that way. shield you from the world that dared to crumble you. maybe that way, he could take the pain.
please, whatever god was listening, just let him take the pain.
“you just have big emotions,” he whispered into your hair after a slow, firm kiss to your forehead. he stroked along your spine, fingers spelling out love in every inch.
“and hey,” his voice lightened. “I'm a big guy. so I can handle them.”
as you hiccuped pitifully and nodding through streaming tears, he embraced your face in his hands and ghosted his lips on yours.
“so don't hold back on my part, y'hear me, sweet girl? let me hold the ‘ugly’ parts of you too.”
summary: after serving haechan with divorce papers, you can't take his silence anymore and head home to confront him.
warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content
notes: 7k words; very filthy with a happy ending
psa: reader and haechan grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.
The shiny floors of the lobby clicked beneath your heels. Probably louder than usual given you were stomping. The woman behind the front desk took one look at you and panicked, quickly rising to her feet as you approached, and said, “Ma’am, please let me announce you.”
“I don’t need to be announced to my husband,” you countered, shoving the doors open.
Hovering over his desk, Haechan lifted his eyes when you stormed into his office. He did a quick scan of you from head-to-toe, and liked what he saw if the smirk on his lips was any indication. He quite enjoyed the sight of you hurdling toward him like a freight train.
You slammed the papers on his desk, between his splayed hands, and said, “Sign these.”
And to the surprise of no one, he replied, “No.”
“Haechan, sign the goddamn papers.”
“Suck my dick.”
You threw up your hands and asked, “Do you seriously want a drawn-out court case? Do you have any idea how expensive that’s going to be?”
“I have plenty of money,” Haechan argued coolly. “And, thanks to me, so do you.”
“Go to hell,” you spat angrily, white hot rage flooding through your chest that he was just so… unaffected. You wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but you knew he would love that.
Haechan stood upright, grabbed the papers, and walked over to his shredder, feeding them into it. The loud grinding of gears filled the small space and once it finished, harsh silence filled the void.
You watched Haechan saunter toward you, closing the distance. His eyes were alight with mischief, as usual, while you glared at him in defiance and folded your arms.
“Long time no see, darling,” he purred, blatantly eyeing you.
“Don’t try to butter me up, dear. I want a divorce.”
Haechan shrugged. “Well, we don’t always get what we want.”
You took a step toward him, refusing to back down, and said, “You can’t keep me married to you.”
Haechan’s eyes fell to your lips and you could see that he was seriously considering kissing you. He quickly abandoned that thought, but leaned in, meeting your eyes again, and whispered under his breath, “Watch me.”
You bristled with frustration. “This isn’t fair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fair,” Haechan said, tilting his head cutely. Anything he could do to get under your skin. “I made you a deal from the jump.”
Your jaw clenched. Some of your bravado fizzled out when you remembered the last time you’d seen your husband, a month ago. When you told him you were drafting up divorce papers. “I’m not going to apologize,” you seethed through your teeth.
“Then I’ll see you in court.”
You bit your lip. He was beyond infuriating. You always felt like you were a step behind him, always. Throughout your relationship, Haechan played you like an instrument. He could make you do almost anything he wanted; and then convince you it was your idea in the first place. It was no wonder he was such a good lawyer, using his skills to get your brothers out of trouble.
You’d had enough and tried to disentagle yourself from your husband. Obviously, that wasn’t going well, so you tried to do the one thing he didn’t expect.
You braced your hands on Haechan’s waist and backed him against the desk, hard enough to earn yourself a grunt from his pretty lips. Drifting your fingers to his belt, you spoke coyly, “I want to negotiate a new deal.”
Haechan snorted, but his eyes were on your hands unfastening his pants. “What do you have in mind, darling?”
You reached in and grabbed him, peering up at your husband with heat as you fisted his cock. “Sign the papers and I’ll make you feel good.”
He played dumb. “How?”
You smirked and dropped to your knees.
Now, to your credit, Haechan never anticipated this move, but he wasn’t mad about it. He viewed your filing for divorce as the start of a chess match, and behaved accordingly. He had no doubt he would win, but he also kept in mind the queen was the deadliest piece on the board.
Haechan sank his teeth into his bottom lip, fighting a grin at how impatiently you dragged his pants down around his ankles. He gripped the edge of the desk behind him and teased, “You look so good on your knees.”
Your eyes had been glued to his cock, which was hardening in your hands like clockwork, but you shot him a scowl at that and snapped, “Don’t talk. It dries me up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You parted your lips and steered him into your mouth, focusing on the head with your tongue. You’d barely gotten him into your throat and a shudder rushed through your husband’s body. Still sensitive as ever. You loved that about him. He never got used to your touch.
Haechan tipped his head back and let out a staggered whimper, like he was trying his best to keep it at bay and failed, and one of his hands came round to fist in your hair. You liked when he pulled on your strands, so you let him do as he pleased. For now.
You sat at his feet, pliant and pretty for him, gazing up at him with teary eyes as if you were made just for his use. You knew he liked that, and you wanted him to bend to your will.
Haechan guided your head back and forth slowly, sinking his cock into your wet mouth until your lips sealed around the base of him. “Fuck,” he growled, pumping himself into your throat a little faster and you tapped on his thigh.
You sucked in a breath when he pulled himself from your mouth and coughed, blinking the tears from your eyes. You shifted your weight on your knees, very aware of the dampness in your panties, and finally looked up at your husband.
“Open up,” he whispered, bringing your head forward with his hand in your hair.
“Can I hold onto you?” you asked shyly, as if you weren’t currently sucking him dry like rent was due.
Haechan smiled at you being so submissive. “Of course,” he said, always rewarding your surrender with gentleness.
You reached for him, settling your hands on his hips as you took him in your mouth again, eagerly swallowing him down. The room filled with the wet squelches of his dick thrusting into your throat and soon, his endless stream of quiet moans. You hated how much you liked listening to his noises, but you couldn’t help the vicious clenching between your thighs. You dared not touch yourself though, and kept your hands on his hips.
Haechan gave a few last jagged thrusts, grabbed your hair with both hands, and emptied his load into your mouth, easing himself on your tongue until you’d licked him clean. Meanwhile, he made sure to whisper, “Good girl…. That’s my girl.”
You shivered at those words. They always made unspeakable memories rush back to you.
Your husband finally released your hair as you rocked back on your heels. You wiped at your wet cheeks and mouth, until Haechan slipped his fingers under your chin and raised your head to make you look at him again. Fucking hell, he thought. You were the most beautiful thing in the world. He touched your cheek affectionately and rasped, “You’re so stupid, darling.”
Expecting praise, you blinked in surprise. “What?”
“You sucked me dry after I shredded the papers.”
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glared at him as you realized that you had lost any and all leverage at the moment. You were so fucking turned on that you were prepared to confess to him that you weren’t nearly dumb enough and he should fuck you stupid, just to make sure.
You shook your head, hoping to rattle your traitorous brain back to its senses, but your pussy was in control at the moment, and she was livid. And horny.
Haechan watched the wheels turning in your head as he fastened his pants and taunted, “Just admit it. You wanna fuck me so bad.”
You clambered to your feet shakily and hissed, “I fucking hate you.”
“Sure you do,” your husband said dismissively. “See you at home.”
You glared daggers at him as Haechan circled back around his desk, going about his day as if you hadn’t just given him the blowjob of his life. “You owe me a new deal,” you eventually said.
“I owe you a nut. No more, no less.”
You seethed with anger, but didn’t dare humiliate yourself further and trudged out of his office in defeat.
The moment the door closed behind you and he was alone again, Haechan collapsed into his chair and heaved a big breath, muttering, “Holy shit.” It had taken all of his willpower to hide just how bad he’d been shaking.
He propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, wondering what in the hell he was going to do to remedy the situation he’d caused.
Your car idled in the driveway of a familiar house for almost twenty minutes. You stared at the unassuming two-story home, nearly identical to the dozens of others in the neighborhood. For a while, you lost yourself to the memories.
If you divorced Haechan, another chapter of your life would come to a close. Oh well, you thought. All good things must come to an end.
Says who? Haechan’s voice echoed in your mind. He never subscribed to such ideas. There was no rule that said life couldn’t be good - and stay good - forever.
Loss was nothing new to you, but it was the loss of your brothers that made your chest hurt. They worked very closely with Haechan. He would win them in the distribution of assets, for sure.
You sighed deeply. It didn’t change all the history you had with your family. The kids nobody wanted, that was your lot. Once upon a time, you’d been among the worst; an untamed hellion of a girl who wanted to damage herself and those around her as much as she could until there was nothing left.
It was the only way to take back control.
Haechan had saved you from yourself, and for that you would always love him.
You glanced down at your phone and reread his text for the millionth time. Not long after you’d left his office, Haechan had messaged you, Wait for me at home. Please. We can talk.
You’d responded, Fine. And left it at that. Truly, you wanted to talk to him more than anything. That’s how this ridiculous stalemate had begun in the first place. The bridges of communication between you and Haechan had inexplicably broke down.
Actually, not that inexplicable. Haechan was burning them down and you didn’t understand why.
Thinking about the big fight that led to you kicking your husband out, you shook your head and decided the three boys inside would be a good distraction. You hopped out of the car, dragged yourself onto the porch, and lifted your hand to knock, but the door swung open before you could.
Mark was already flashing you that big smile of his. “We had a bet going on how long you would sit in your car,” he said with a tiny laugh.
You rolled your eyes. “And Jaemin won?”
“Jaemin won.”
You snorted and slumped into your brother’s waiting arms, huffing, “Bunch of fuckers. All of you.”
Mark chuckled, patting your back as he hugged you tightly.
You were ushered into the warm kitchen and landed in a heap in the chair pulled out for you at the dining table. Jaemin was regaling your siblings about some drama with the neighbors while Jeno poured glasses of wine. You muttered a soft “thank you” when he slid a glass your way.
A few glasses later, you said, “He’s right though. I am an idiot.”
The conversation had inevitably turned to your marriage with Haechan. It went without saying that your brothers were very invested in how things would end.
“You really went to his office just to blow him?” Jeno exclaimed, putting his glass to his lips.
“I was trying to negotiate,” you said innocently.
“Yeah,” Jaemin said, lingering on the word. “Not your best move.”
“Tell me about it,” you droned, tossing back more wine, but it did nothing to dull the embarrassment you felt at being outmaneuvered.
Mark drunkenly spoke up, “I think it’s a great move.”
All eyes shifted to him and his rosy cheeks.
Mark glanced around the table and said awkwardly, “We men are simple creatures.”
You giggled while Jaemin and Jeno bobbed their heads in agreement.
A soft buzz settled in and the familiar symphony of laughter filled the kitchen, although one voice was missing. You sat with your brothers until night fell, reminding you of all the years you spent with them, talking till the sun came up.
Nobody knew you like they did. This was your safe space, the place where part of your heart would always live; the only good piece of you that existed.
“Divorce does seem a bit extreme, though,” Mark started, his eyes batting sleepily. “I mean, did you guys even try couples therapy?”
“You can’t convince someone who knows everything to go to therapy,” you replied, your voice filled with disdain. Therapy had been one of your first suggestions, but Haechan would rather dig to hell with his bare hands than be vulnerable with a stranger.
“Good point,” said Jeno. He was probably the most similar to Haechan in that regard. They had so many wounds from the past. Talking about it didn’t make them go away, especially when they’d spent so much time trying to forget.
Jaemin scratched his head. “You guys got married so young. You had to know that as you got older you’d hit some bumps in the road. Why are you ready to throw in the towel now?”
“I can handle bumps in the road. Shit, I can handle mountains, but I don’t want to handle them by myself. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership - that’s what we promised each other,” you said softly, stopping when you remembered the day you married Haechan. Sorrow filled you then. You’d both been so happy.
“What changed?” Mark asked carefully.
You stared at your glass of wine, swirling it slightly. You knew Mark probably heard Haechan’s side; they were best friends as well as brothers. Mark was the only person Haechan confided in. Not you. He only showed you his best side, his perfect side. But you’d bared your soul to Haechan and it killed you that he wouldn’t reciprocate.
“Nothing, I guess,” you finally admitted, your voice quiet as if shame had taken over. “We were always like this, but I was too in love to notice. Now, I see everything and… he won’t let me in. I feel like I don’t know him anymore.”
“You left, because you wanted him to come after you.”
You could hear the sympathy, but also the sharp edge of Mark’s voice. It was a statement and an accusation, and you knew then and there Haechan had come to that conclusion himself and shared it with his best friend. Maybe he hoped one day Mark would get the chance to voice it to you.
Once again, refusing to do it himself.
“My ears are burning,” announced Haechan as he walked in.
You ignored him as he took off his shoes and slipped out of his coat. When he marched right up to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, you grimaced dramatically.
“Honey, I’m home,” said your husband cutely.
You deadpanned, “How was work?”
“Great. I got my dick sucked.”
You’d walked right into that one. Sneering, you so badly wanted to swing at his head. But he’d probably like that.
Haechan skipped away victoriously and poured himself a drink.
One-by-one, your brothers found excuses to leave you alone with your husband. The wine made you warm and relaxed, so you didn’t put up much of a fight. You sat across from Haechan at the table, watching him throw back a shot of something heavy, and tensed with just how goddamned attractive he was.
Your heart was mad at him. Your brain demanded you sever all ties to him for the sake of your peace. But god, your body wanted him so badly you couldn’t fathom going another night without bouncing on it.
All of which was made much worse by alcohol. You felt lighter, more at ease, and you realized too late you were now at a serious disadvantage when dealing with your husband. He could argue circles around you to begin with. Now, you were weighed down with wine. You were practically putty in his hands.
“You look drunk,” Haechan finally spoke to you, his eyes clouded.
“I’m not that drunk,” you shot back impatiently, avoiding his stare. You were going to hang onto your anger if it killed you.
“I can’t fuck you if you’re wasted.”
That snatched the wind right out of you. You looked everywhere but at him, knowing you would make a fool of yourself. “No one is asking you to,” you said, your voice low.
“That’s why you came back,” Haechan said calmly, spinning his glass of wine before taking a sip. His tone was red hot with mockery when he added, “You can hate me all you want, but you can’t stay off this dick.”
“Don’t be mean,” was all you could bring yourself to say.
“Why not?” Haechan reached across the table and snatched your hand, proceeding to play with your fingers. “You leave me. You threaten me with divorce. But I’m not allowed to be a little mean?”
You exhaled loudly. His hands on yours was ruining you. You wanted him to drag you across the table and take you in his arms, holding you until your heart healed. However long that took. But he had a point and so you surrendered. “You’re right. Be as mean as you want. I can take it.”
Haechan scoffed. He looked down at your hand and grabbed your ring finger, spinning your wedding band that he’d slid on your finger the day you married him, and whispered, “Feel this?”
“Yes.”
“You know what it means?”
“I know what it means.”
Haechan grabbed your hand tight and hissed, “It means if you wanna get out of this marriage, you’ll have to kill me.”
You tried to yank your hand back, but you were no match for his strength on the rare times he wanted to exert it. “Let go.”
Haechan shook his head. “Never.”
You glanced toward the table and watched him lace his fingers through yours, stroking his thumb over your hand gently as if he wasn’t ripping you to pieces with his words. Before you could stop it, tears slipped down your cheeks and you quickly used your free hand to wipe them away.
“Don’t cry, darling,” your husband cooed.
“I can cry if I want to,” you told him petulantly, like a fussy child. You chastised yourself for sounding so pathetic and groaned, “Fucking merlot.”
Haechan chuckled darkly and brought your hand to his lips, pressing one kiss after another across your knuckles.
Your eyes widened. Damn it. His soft lips reached your wrist and his kisses turned to nibbles then to suckling. You shifted in your chair, because you were flying at breakneck speed toward insanity. With his guard down, you ripped your hand away and whined, “We’re supposed to be talking.”
Haechan smirked, licking his lips. “I think you should take me upstairs and have your way with me,” he said shamelessly. “I owe you an orgasm.”
You let your head fall back and groaned. “Sex is not going to fix this.”
“I know that, but sex can at least do something about this tension,” he said matter-of-factly, and when you opened your mouth to argue, your husband cut you off, “You want it. Don’t even try to lie. I can see it’s eating you alive.”
It was the truth. You missed him so badly your body ached for him.
You were at the end of your rope. He was making you crazy with lust. Haechan always knew exactly what to say and do. You swung around to finally face him and said, “If I do this, you’ll meet me halfway with the divorce.”
“Not a fucking chance.”
You swore at him and got to your feet, heading upstairs to the room you shared with him. Haechan was right behind you, noting your steady gait. You notoriously stumbled all over the place when you were really drunk, but you seemed to have sobered pretty well in the past few minutes. Surely he didn’t have anything to do with that.
When you stepped into your room, Haechan slipped in behind you and shut the door, just as you wanted. You turned to him and he backed you into the wall, cornering you with his body against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat and stammered his name, but any other words died on your lips when Haechan pressed a kiss to your neck.
“I just think there’s a more…,” you trailed, eyes fluttering at his hot mouth tracing under your jaw. “Amicable way for us to handle this.”
“I agree,” Haechan said blithely, lilting back to start unbuttoning your shirt.
Your body heated up by a thousand degrees. You watched him undressing you and stammered, “But you won’t… compromise with me on anything.”
Haechan tossed your shirt to the floor and then went to work on your jeans. His eyes were on the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. “Give me something I can compromise with,” he replied, calm as ever. “You keep asking for things I can’t give.”
“But that’s…,” you hesitated, his lips back on your neck, sucking right over your thundering pulse. Sanity was throwing itself out the window. His hands palmed at your breasts, slowly but surely taking off your bra.
“I’ve been counting down the days till I could fuck you again,” Haechan said in a low growl, kissing his way across your collarbone.
“I want that,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. You quickly cleared your throat and lied, “I-I mean, I want us to talk things out. You know, in between fucking.”
Haechan’s breath was scalding on your skin when he laughed. He traveled his lips down to your breasts, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. You were so malleable in his hands. He couldn’t wait to hear you beg before the night was over.
“Babe, I…,” you rasped, raking your nails over his scalp, trying to steer his dangerous mouth away from your chest. “I can’t think right now.”
“That’s the point, darling.”
Uh-oh. It was coming. You could feel the desire and the need boiling over and flooding into your veins. Any second now you were going to snap, throw him onto the bed (or the floor), and ride him into the sunset until he begged for mercy.
You sharply yanked Haechan’s head up, making his lips brush against yours and earning a delicious groan from his pouty lips. “You’re the worst.”
He grinned with delight like the devil himself. “You knew that when you married me.”
That was true. You knew what he was and what he was capable of. Mark’s question came to you again. What changed?
“You don’t fight fair,” you sighed under your breath.
“Why should I?” Haechan smarted, nibbling beneath your ear and playing with your breasts. “This is way more fun. And I always win.”
You held onto his shoulders and whimpered when he bruised your neck, crying out his name when he pinched and rolled your nipples. “Let me win once,” you choked out, grasping a handful of his hair again.
“When I win, so do you,” Haechan said shortly. “If you win, I lose.”
Those words swam around in your mind for a moment. Haechan kept kissing and touching you, but what he’d said drove you insane. “Are you saying… that what I want hurts you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
Haechan pulled back to look you in the eyes and you wanted to crumble to the floor. “Yes, you do. For you to win, you want me to change who I am. For me to win, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”
“I don’t want you to change,” you exclaimed, cradling his head in your hands as if he were about to vanish before your eyes. “I just want to know you.”
Haechan grabbed your wrists and pried you from his face, sneering, “No, you don’t. You don’t want to know just how broken the man you married is.”
Your lips trembled as you began to cry. “You think I’m not broken too? I just want you to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but you won’t do that. It’s beneath you.”
Haechan released your hands. “It’s above me, not beneath.”
The tears were steady now. “Just love me,” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. “That’s all I want from you.”
“And that’s all I’ve ever done,” he said coldly, leaning in to press his brow to your forehead. “But you fucking left me.”
You nodded and opened your mouth to speak.
Haechan crowded into you even closer. You didn’t think he could possibly press himself into you harder, but he did. His nose brushed yours as he whispered, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”
His eyes went dark. You were ready to fold. All he needed to do was say the word.
Haechan reached up and grabbed your jaw gently. “When you left me, I wanted to hunt you down, drag you back, and tie you to the bed.”
Fire lit itself through your veins. Your heart skipped a beat. The way he’d said it made your knees weak. “Why didn’t you…,” you asked, shifting your weight. “Come after me?”
“You don’t want to stay with me. Who am I to make you?”
“You are my husband,” you said, raising your voice, and pushed his chest. “You’re supposed to drag me back to you. That’s what I wanted!”
Haechan’s eyes flickered.
You shook your head and cried, “I moved your queen across the board into enemy territory, where she was alone and vulnerable. And you did nothing.”
“I can only move one step at a time. She can move anywhere.” Haechan looped his arms around your waist and said, “She’s so much stronger than me. I knew she’d come back.”
“Don’t ever let me do that again.”
“I won’t.”
That was enough. You kissed him then, full of hunger and longing. Haechan kissed you back with so much lust and pain, you could feel it pouring out of him and into your skin. If you could just melt into him, life would be a lot easier.
Haechan steered you to the bed and shoved you onto the mattress harshly. In the next second, he was tugging your pants and underwear down your legs. Finding yourself naked while he was fully clothed, you laughed quietly. That was exactly how you would describe your relationship. You were open and real, he was sealed away and perfectly pressed.
“What’s so funny, pretty girl?”
You shook your head. “You’re so quick to strip me down. But you have to always be untouchable.”
Haechan snorted. “You can touch me.”
Your husband crawled over you and kissed you until there was not a single thought in your head anymore, chasing away the strife. You were completely tactile, only aware of his body on yours and his mouth on yours. You would be content with kissing him until sleep finally took you and put you out of your misery.
When the first cuff closed around your wrist, you weren’t surprised. Haechan didn’t stop for a moment until your hands and ankles were chained to the posts of the bed, distracting you with his tongue in your mouth. For the final touch, he smiled wickedly at you and gave you one more kiss while wrapping a blindfold around your head and tying it snug.
“Be good,” Haechan warned, climbing off the bed. You could hear his footsteps across the floor, and then nothing. With your sight gone, your hearing was all you had.
You laid there. Not that you had much of a choice. You tested the cuffs a few times, making the chains jingle. “H-Haechan,” you called out after a moment.
There was a small sound of movement, then familiar fingers touched your folds. You immediately squirmed. You must have wrestled a bit too much for his liking, because fingers became a flat hand delivering a single smack to your sex.
“I said behave,” your husband scolded.
You stilled yourself, but the rapid thumping of your heart threatened to rip you apart at the seams. Haechan touched and caressed between your legs, tormenting you, waiting for you to snap. The last thing you wanted was to give him any satisfaction. So, you bit your lip and willed your body not to move as two fingers pressed into your core.
Haechan tsked his tongue. “You think it pisses me off if you’re quiet?”
“God, I hope so,” you retorted.
Your husband laughed and the sound was downright salacious. His voice was even worse. “Joke’s on you. I’m not stopping until you traumatize the neighbors.”
You bit your lip harder, because his fingers were sinking in and out of you at a delicious pace, hooking against your sweet spot while his thumb pressed and rolled your clit. You could hear yourself getting wetter and wetter, so turned on it was borderline embarrassing.
“I’m not doing it,” you said stubbornly. “You won’t break me.”
“Famous last words.”
Your lower body tightened against your will. Damn him, you groaned inwardly. Despite your blindfold, you just knew he was smirking, his eyes on your perfect cunt as he buried his fingers inside. He dragged them against your walls, as deep as he could go.
“Remember when we were sixteen…,” Haechan started, fingering you to the edge of your first climax of the night. His tone was so dull, like he was discussing a business meeting that could have been an email.
“And you came in me after five seconds?”
A hand slapped over your mouth. Deserved, you mused. He’d lasted at least twenty seconds.
“You begged me for it,” your husband reminded, cocky. “You begged me to do it again too. You loved fucking training me with your body.”
You said something, but it was muffled against his palm.
“It’s my turn to train you. And you’re going to come now or I’m going to leave you tied up here until one of our brothers gets curious enough to check if you’re still alive.”
Fuck him and all the mean fucking filth that always came out of his mouth, you thought, but it was worthless. Your body coiled and shook as you released, your back arching on the mattress as much as was allowed by the restraints.
Haechan kept stroking his fingers in and out of you as you came, a victorious gloat on his face. He removed his hand from your mouth to press on your lower belly to keep you in place, your noises of pleasure filling the room.
“Fuck, yes, baby,” you moaned, writhing on the bed as he milked the last of your aftershocks. Finally, the need that had built inside you since getting on your knees for him was satiated.
Or so you thought.
“That’s one,” Haechan said nonchalantly and you gulped.
Time swiftly lost all meaning. Haechan worked you from one climax to another, your pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Actually, it was music to him. He loved listening to you beg.
At some point, Haechan’s phone rang and he had the audacity to answer, fielding someone’s questions levelly while still fucking you with his fingers. You partly wanted to ask who the hell was calling so late, but you couldn’t formulate the words when release was already dragging you back into its throes again.
Your husband hung up the phone and asked, “Where were we?”
“Please, Haechan. Please,” you chanted, whimpering desperately. Your body was slick with sweat, your cheeks damp with tears spilling from beneath the blindfold. You were an overstimulated mess, your body trembling wherever and whenever he touched you; even the lightest, briefest of caresses.
“Please, what?”
“I can’t take anymore.”
He chuckled. “You sure?”
You nodded rapidly. “Yes. I’m sure. Please.”
“Hm, I dunno,” your husband said, as if he were talking to himself. “I really like watching you get off.”
You were totally at his mercy and as far as mercy was concerned, Haechan had no reason to show you any.
Haechan played with your clit, his hand wet with the evidence of your many orgasms, and wiped off some of your slick on his pant leg before resuming his ministrations. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t keep coming over and over like you do, my little slut. I’d just stay inside you forever.”
“Fuck… you.” Your body arched off the bed again as you finished on his fingers, writhing. The orgasm was so intense you couldn’t even make noise, your breath stuck in your chest as you were trapped in a high between pleasure and pain.
The moment you settled down, Haechan said, “Tell me to stop.”
You took a few breaths. You were a nerve laid raw and he was still pumping his fingers in you, no matter how much you squirmed and shook. “If I tell you to stop, are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice wet with tears.
Haechan said nothing and the silence was brutal enough to crush you. For a moment, he just stared at you in wonder; your shivering and glistening body, your cheeks soaked with tears, your chest heaving for air. He had you right where he wanted you, but it wasn’t enough.
The bed shifted and you knew he was kneeling between your legs again, but this time, he propped over you and brushed his lips against yours, swallowing your cries. You felt his hard cock resting on your folds and it made you clench.
“Can I put it in?”
“Yes,” you said without missing a beat, nodding quickly.
Haechan slid into your wet, sore cunt and ripped your blindfold off, making you squint against the light. Your husband’s eyes rolled at the tight perfect vise of your walls and he groaned deep in his chest, biting his lip to keep from chanting, “Fuck.”
The sound that came out of you when he sheathed inside was mortifying. You let your head fall back on the mattress, satisfied at finally being filled, but so aching with release you couldn’t keep still.
“You don’t want a divorce. You want my attention. Now, you have it. Tell me what you really want from me,” your husband demanded, canting his hips back and forward, thrusting into you deep.
Your body accepted him hungrily. You pinched your lips together to stifle any more noises. They wouldn’t help your case. You were so sensitive it was almost brutal, your lips parted on another moan as he stroked his cock into you slowly, over and over. “I-I want…,” you trailed, your eyes rolling back. Another orgasm was already building.
Haechan smiled slightly at the twisted pleasure on your face and dropped his head to your chest, kissing across your breasts and lingering on your nipples. He snapped his hips into yours, driving his length into you so hard the headboard began to smack against the wall.
“Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted, fighting the binds around your wrists.
Haechan bottomed out in your heat and stilled, gazing down at you and watching you shuddering on his cock. “You want me to stop because it hurts or you’re about to come again?”
“I can’t come anymore.”
“I think you can.”
You blew out a breath. He was like a brick wall. Felt like one too, much to your delight. You searched his eyes, knowing there had to be some way to get to him.
Your husband smiled down at you and taunted, “Go ahead and think about it, baby. I can do this all night.”
You slumped into the mattress in defeat, your arms going limp at your sides. You unclenched your fists in surrender, letting go of the sheets. “Untie me,” you finally said. By your tone, it wasn’t a demand, but a request you knew he wouldn’t deny.
One-by-one, Haechan unbuckled the clasps around your wrists and ankles. You lay there demurely, acting like he’d done what he set out to do, but you weren’t broken. Not by a longshot.
The moment you were free, you launched at him, swinging at your husband’s head to throw him off balance. He caught your hands with his own, like you knew he would, but you tackled him anyway, knocking him to his back and landing right on him. Haechan fought back enough to make it interesting, but he relented pretty quickly when you dropped down on his dick and started riding him.
“Shut the fuck up, Haechan,” you growled when he opened his mouth to speak, probably to irritate you and you were beyond irritation already. Your whole body was screaming, your sex was utterly spent and aching, but this was the only way you knew how to slap that obnoxious look off his face.
Haechan grunted every time you slammed down on him, letting you pin his hands on opposite sides of his head. Your pussy grabbed him hard and when you stopped bouncing on his dick to roll your hips back and forth at a relentless pace, his eyes fluttered back and he moaned loud enough to make you laugh at him.
“If you would have come after me, we could have been doing this,” you said, annoyed. “You’re so stupid, my love. You’d rather have your pride than my pussy.”
Haechan shook his head. “Not true.” He struggled to get the words out with how hard you rode him, but finally managed to say, “There’s nothing I want more than you.”
“Act like it.”
Your husband reached for your waist and started to sit up, but you braced your hands on his chest and shoved him to the bed again. He grumbled in frustration and grabbed your hips harshly, digging his fingers into your flesh.
You propped yourself over him and dragged your lips over his jaw, nibbling at his neck. Then, you wrapped your fingers around his throat and squeezed, and hissed, “Come inside.”
Haechan’s eyes widened at you and he rasped, “Now who’s not fighting fair?”
You tightened your grip on him and worked yourself on his cock, feeling his hips rising to meet you like he couldn’t control it. “All’s fair in love and war,” you whispered.
Haechan didn’t question which one the two of you were. It was always war with him. He knew nothing else, and here you were matching him just as hotly. He whispered your name like a prayer and gazed up at you in worship.
It was all too easy to surrender to you, so that’s what he did.
“Give it to me.” You coiled both hands around his neck and kept your hold tight. Given the fucked out bliss on his face and the black pool his eyes had become, it was exactly what he needed. His cock was so painfully stiff in your cunt, you wanted to give him release so badly it possessed you.
Haechan panted and grabbed hurriedly at your body, his voice pitching as he warned, “I’m coming. Fuck. Don’t stop.”
You ground yourself down on his length and lost yourself to the high, crying out in pleasure when you finished one last time. Haechan released into your pulsing sex with a moan that echoed through the room, both of you whimpering through your ends. You rutted against each other to get through the aftershocks, Haechan painting your walls with his seed.
Your vision went blurry and you fell forward onto his chest, your husband’s arms wrapping around your body to catch you. Haechan held onto you with a desperation he rarely showed and felt himself floating back down to reality. Everything was warm and fuzzy, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air.
You hid your face in his neck and closed your eyes. More than anything, you didn’t want to be parted; you wanted to stay locked against him forever.
“Are you okay?” Haechan asked after a moment.
“No,” you replied, making him shift under you with worry. “It hurts.”
Haechan started to gather you and lift. “Flip over so I can pull out.”
You clung to him harder and shook your head, and whispered sadly, “No. How I feel about you… it hurts.”
Haechan sighed heavily. “How do you feel about me?”
You let him sit up, keeping you in his lap, and even though he’d gone soft, you just didn’t want to be separated from him. You were fiending for any part of him you could get. You wanted the connection, you needed it. You were desperate to feel him. “That you’ll never love me as much as I love you,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding in the crook of his neck.
“It really pisses me off when you say shit like that,” Haechan snapped.
Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Haechan laid you down on the mattress beneath him and then pried himself out of your arms and off the bed. You grabbed the blanket and covered yourself, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, and watched him start to dress.
“You didn’t deny it,” you spoke up a moment later.
Haechan bristled with anger and rounded on you. “I have never done anything different. You changed, not me. I’ve never lied when I told you I love you, but you lied when you said you would never leave me.”
“So, I’m the problem?” you exclaimed.
Haechan made a face, like that was exactly the conclusion he wanted you to reach.
“Don’t you see that I always have to do something drastic to get your attention?”
Haechan mocked, “Don’t blame me for you being dramatic.”
You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the blanket close around your naked body, and peered up at him with tears in your eyes. “You shut me out, Haechan.”
He stopped and frowned at you. “I did not,” your husband snapped vehemently, like the thought repelled him.
“You did.” A soft sob escaped and you covered your face with your hands.
Haechan panicked, dropping between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me,” he said, whispering your name gently.
You shook your head, still hiding your face.
“Look at me,” he said again slowly, reaching for your hands gingerly and pulling them away.
You were a mess, your eyes red, your cheeks glistening with tears, your lips still swollen from his kisses. “You never tell me how you feel,” you cried, sniffing back more tears. “I’ve told you everything, but you won’t let me see you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sleeping with a stranger. It hurts.”
Haechan hung his head in shame, staring vacantly at your lap. He sucked in a breath to steady himself and clung to your hands.
You leaned your head against his and continued, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you want to stay a mystery to me. You won’t let me in. I feel so disconnected from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Haechan’s eyes were misty now and he said, “I don’t want you to know… the shit I went through, the things I had to do. I don’t need you to carry that. I want that person to be dead. If I tell you about him, it would be like bringing him back from the dead when I worked so goddamn hard to bury him.”
“I understand, but that’s the thing about us and our brothers. We are the worst of the worst. We’ve been through hell. That’s why we’re the only ones that could get through to each other.”
“I know, but you’re different,” Haechan said shakily, wiping at his cheeks. “You’re my girl. If you knew… I could never survive you looking at me differently.”
You shook your head and assured him, “Don’t tell me, baby. Don’t dig up that body for me. Leave it be. But you’re so concerned with making sure I only see you how you want me to see you, that I’m barely getting glimpses of the man I love.”
“So, me crying right now - is that doing it for you?” Haechan asked with a tiny smile.
You laughed. “Yeah, it is. I don’t want you to cry, but crying is normal. It’s human. You think I don’t know you hide in the bathroom when you cry, because you think it’s weak? Why do that when you could be crying into my boobs instead?”
Haechan nuzzled your neck. “This is kinda nice.”
You chortled again, hugging him to your chest. “I just wanna feel you,” you whispered tenderly. “All the good. All the bad. Everything. Tell me how you feel… right now, in this moment.”
Haechan breathed you in, letting himself be cocooned by the warmth of you. Honestly, being on his knees between your legs and in your arms, feeling how hard you were holding him like he was your entire universe was healing something inside him. He’d never let himself be so sensitive to you and your touch before; that type of intimacy was too terrifying. It could so easily be abused.
“I think I’ve mastered the art of appearing vulnerable, but never actually being it. I always treat every conversation like an interrogation. Every relationship is a chess match. I don’t know who I am without this mask. I don’t want anyone to know the real me. I have to be…” Haechan trailed, the realization finally hitting him.
You nodded your understanding and finished for him, “It’s how you took back control.”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“I know about that all too well. I figured if I broke myself beyond repair, then no one else could do it.”
Haechan met your eyes and ran his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. He could see the joy pushing through your pain; connecting with him like this was all you’d ever wanted. “And now?”
“The good with you is replacing the bad from my life before. I don’t think you know just how much you saved me, Haechan.”
Haechan smiled at you, warmth blossoming in his chest when you leaned in and kissed him warmly on the lips.
“I love you, and I don’t need to know your past to keep loving you. I just don’t want you to hide from me anymore,” you said, brushing his hair back from his face. He would never know just how beautiful he looked to you, his cheeks pink and his eyes starry.
“I’ll do better.” Haechan blew out a breath. He felt… lighter. It was such a foreign feeling to him. This stalemate between the two of you had thrown him off kilter. He thought you wanted more than he was willing to give - to dig up the past. But he’d misunderstood. You just wanted him.
He could let you in. It wasn’t so scary anymore.
“Thank you, and…,” you bit your lip to fight the urge to cry. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”
That was all he wanted. “I forgive you,” Haechan said, and he meant it. The battle was over and somehow, you both had won.
THIS IS SOSO FUCKING GOOD!!! @yutaholic YOU ARE A FUCKING BLESSING TO THE UNIVERSE WHAT THE FUCK YOUR WRITING?? THE EMOTIONS?? THE BANTER?? PUSH N PULL?? EVERYTHING IS GOD SEND MYGOD
GUYS HELLO I NEED HELP THERES THIS VERNON FIC AND I CANT REMEMBER WHAT IT EXACTLY IS I CANT REMEMBER IF I REBLOGGED OR LIKED IT BUT I CANT FIND IT ANYMORE AND I AM GOING INSANE 😭 it’s kind of a horror/supernatural au/fic wherein vernon gets possessed or sumn KSHFJSJS THATS MOST OF THE GIST I REMEMBER PLS HELP
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