#implied fat reader

[livecrow]

John was cooling down from a run when he first passed you on the sidewalk.

A lovely, soft thing with your hands full. A fat, sleepy baby cradled in one arm and a 4-year-old at your hip.

Still hand in hand with the child, you point over to the verge, at a rogue patch of blue wildflowers springing out among the overgrown grass. Stopping for a closer look, you exclaim, all hushed and excited to the little girl, like you've stumbled across something wonderful, "Oh! Look, a bumblebee!"

The air that day is hot, but your voice is as cool and refreshing as a glass of lemonade as you take a moment to indulge the child's curiosity.

It makes his tongue feel painfully dry in his mouth, suddenly parched for a sweetness that his hydro flask couldn't quench. He wishes he really could taste it, drink in that sweet sound—but no, he'd swear instead he feels it at his nape, a cool trickle down the length of his spine. Could imagine a cold glass of the stuff, pressed to his neck, beads of condensation dripping. John's brow is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and yet he almost shivers.

As the bee buzzes about lazily to another flower, you patiently answer each question you're peppered with.

Actually, that bee is a she! No, she doesn't eat the flowers. She's collecting pollen! Hmmm, you weren't sure what the bee's favorite flower is!

You tell her that particular flower's name anyway. All while the babe at your chest babbles, apparently offering their own insight, drooling on your collarbone.

You beam when she sounds out the word and repeats the Latin back to you, only halfway mangled, asking you if you can pick one to bring home.

It's a beautiful thing. A mother. Right. You make it look as effortless as breathing. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But he feels green just looking at it.

He's a voyeur. Your honeyed words weren't for him. Neither is that soft, ripe body. Feels even dirtier when chubby fingers grab at your neckline. When he doesn't avert his gaze when it's pulled too hard, giving a tantalizing glimpse of your bra and cleavage before you are able to wrangle it back, redirect the babe's tiny fist.

Coveting some other man's happy, little family. Mulling over stealing it out from under some lad too bloody daft to have his wife wear her wedding band. Thinking about your voice saying other things. Making other sounds. Ones that are not fit for polite company.

No. He keeps a respectful distance, hadn't planned on disturbing you, intruding upon the tender scene. But your gaze still finds him, offers a friendly "Morning!" and a smile that's too good for a man like him.

You share some pleasantries. Brief and polite. Banal even. A wink and you'll miss it. Mother's Day is just around the corner, isn't it? He says as much.

...It shouldn't be anything he'd dwell on. Shouldn't be what he's thinking about on the rest of the walk home. While cooking dinner. While watching the game he'd been looking forward to.

And yet. That remark as you departed sent a thrill in him, nestled somewhere deep inside him, echoing in his head long after.

In the shower that night, he still sees you. How you laughed lightly as you hiked the baby higher up in your arm, resituating your hold as you turned to continue your stroll.

"—oh, no, they're my sisters! I'm not a mother."

No.

Sure as those Houstonia caerulea are a flower, you're a mummy.

As far as John's concerned, whether he's planted the tot in your belly yet is irrelevant.

[tang3r1n]

ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ ʙᴀʙʏ

cw; 18+, heavy topics ngl, refrences to poverty and starvation, angst, GAY LESBIAN SEX, slight cannibalism symbolism if you squint rly hard, refrences to sex work and/or sexual assault

A/N: abt 900 words and literally cranked this bitch out in lile half an hour. jesus fuck how in the hell did Sevika bring me out of my fucking writing dry spell. what the actual fuck. i haven’t written in a year and ofc when i do it’s fucked up analogies and lesbian sex.

To be born of the cursed flesh is a cruel fate worse than death.

To be born as a tainted babe, cast out from the womb with vile stares and scornful words, is the most unlucky a child could be.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. She’d lived her life good, honest, she deserved the fruits of her labor, a young life filled with pain and struggle. But she was that of the unfavored, not the blessed ones of Piltover, not the nobles with their mansions or the Council with their riches. She was impoverished, born starved, raised hungry, grown into a ravenous woman who begged for the moresles of candied love the scum around her shoved down her throat or inside her.

She lived to survive, didn’t have time for anything outside of the coins thrown her way and the scraps she fed from. Ironic how she never looked the part; plump and soft, malleable and pliable, her hunger hidden beneath that syrupy, sugary smile that oh-so softly graced her cherub cheeks. She pranced around in fine silks and soft feathers, smoke and shimmer stinging her nose and eyes, ears never without the soft whines and moans that fluttered through the halls of the brothel.

Men were somehow more starved than she, their oafish bodies sweaty and fetid as they grabbed her with rough hands, uncaring of the bruises and marks that grew, staining her already tainted body. She loathed them, pushing her brain to the clouds of smoke circling overhead as she rode out whatever sick ride they put her on. The rides were never long, thankfully, mercifully, their essence all that remained once they stepped off with little more than a sideways glance and those same scornful words she learned years ago. Her bed was a sanctuary, a soft, pillowy escape where she could let her mind drift and fly away, she dreamed of soft touches and sweeter kisses, honeyed words and gentle smiles against her plush skin.

This woman above her, her tan skin and dark lips, soft breasts and firm muscles, rough hands caressing her like she was made of porcelain, felt like heaven. Her touch was better than shimmer, a rush incomparable to any human emotion, a religious awakening, it was invigorating. Men were hurtful, slapping and choking all while they shared the same blood and flesh that she had— but this woman, with her metal arm and scars, was slow and sybaritic, gluttonous how she sucked and kissed at her skin.

Long fingers pumped inside her, working choked gasps and impossibly soft moans from the cursed one’s mouth, curling inside her cunt to almost lazily press against that spot that made her dizzy, stomach twisting as her eyes fluttered shut. The woman’s voice was low and deep, chiding her for looking away, for her hips trying to worm away from this pleasure, “look at me,” the woman whispered, licking a stripe up her neck littered in hickeys. The other keened, hazy eyes half lidded as she looked up to her savior, the older woman grinned, wolfish and possessed, yet she didn’t feel fear. Not like she had before, the woman was all-consuming, dominating her very soul and suffocating her under that strong body built by the gods, yet she could only cry and cling to her skin, begging for more and more.

She was starved, and this woman, bringing her to climax, the sinfully delicious sounds of her own cunt squelching clashing with her pitiful cries, was feeding her. Feeding that bottomless pit she had been build with, feeding her with lips sloppily meshed together in a fucked up display of power and perversion. Feeding her with those dangerous fingers circling her pearl and filling her up. Feeding her with praise and love like a false prayer, flooding her mind with devotion and compassion she so desperately craved.

With the burst of her orgasm, she wailed, tugging on her savior’s messy hair as her body shook in pleasure. White blinded her as her glassy eyes rolled back, devilish smile fading away with a dark chuckle. The woman gently slipped her fingers from her cunt, a dull ‘pop!’ making her ears burn as she watched the woman suck on the soaked fingers. The woman’s eyes rolled back, a delicious moan rumbling from her chest and in that moment she wondered if this woman was starving too. If her savior craved just like she did, if this woman watched her with the same kind of hungry eyes as she did.

She was pulled into another sultry kiss, lips smooshed and smacking as they stole each other’s breath, wrapped up in each other’s arms. The woman pulled away first, keeping her close with a firm hand around her thick neck, string fingers ever so gently cutting off her oxygen, “such a pretty girl,” the woman whispered, a secret for just the two of them, “my new favorite treat.”

Born damned, she scavenged for love and life, but staring into those dark eyes, she saw the same hunger, the same damned flesh tangled up in her’s in a macabre display.

[fairyboygenius]

summer camp! au 141 & co with the loves of their lives (the girl they meet two weeks ago during staff week)

price/ranger john is infatuated with the office assistant- a cute post-grad who is one of five people who can drive the golf cart to pick up supplies. he’s suddenly using his radio more often than he ever has to call her & her boss (laswell’s wife) over to pick up more supplies after his trip to home depot. nikolai just sighs and laughs as he watches, knowing john’ll share if he asks nicely. their utility wedding bands brush as they chop wood. camp name: sunshine

ghost is in deep, passionate, (perhaps) unrequited love with his favorite lifeguard. he would never admit it but his favorite days are when they’re on the schedule together at the pool or on the lake. she’s a lifer- been going since she was 7 or 8- so she’s teaching him all the ins and outs. they’ve requested their nights off on the same night every week for the rest of the summer. camp name: sodapop

butch!gaz has been in love with his best friend since they started going to camp together at 11. she’s a counselor now- but they both love working with the littles, the most perceptive 7- and 8-year-olds you’ve ever met. the two of them can talk any child out of a bout of homesickness. the wedding’s next week. all the raccoons are invited. camp name: dove

butch!soap has a thing for the counselor who oversees the CITs in their hilltop lodge. that’s always her first choice of living accommodation- not just because soap prefers the older kids, not just because there’s air conditioning and flushing toilets, but because the CIT director sleeps in a tank top and tiny sleep shorts and has the cutest morning voice. they’ll get matching carabiners at a dollar tree and the kids (most of whom are queer themselves) know EXACTLY what’s going on between their counselor and the STEM specialist. there’s a sacrifice happening to the ghost in the lodge to encourage them to get over themselves. camp name: birdie

butch!alex always prefers being a counselor for horse camps. farah would be enough- they’ve been best friends since 9, only hooking up once before they decided it was too awkward- but alex is more focused on another wrangler, the only one who can saddle and bridle a horse perfectly in under ten minutes. farah is already planning a double wedding between them and her with her crush- the media specialist, hopping on and off the golf cart with her camera, sweet talking smiles out of even the shyest kids. camp names: scout & bunny

trans!alejandro runs the rock climbing wall. trans!rudy works in the nature center and coordinates hikes. they’re in love and terrible at hiding it

alejandro camp name- lucky (short for lucky stone)

rudy camp name- apollo

valeria has come over from a rival camp to help with arts and crafts. she helps run paint parties at the barn (markers on a horse, anyone?) and as such falls for a wrangler- alex’s girl’s best friend, a cute newcomer who can convince even the most afraid child to calm down and go for a pony ride.

valeria’s camp name: tie- dye

li’s camp name: bambi

[buttdumplin]

Of course you want to show off the food of your hometown to the boys, but this really should have been a solo date with Kyle. Still, you manage to sneak some time together.

cw: Gaz x reader, fat latine reader, gn!reader, implied poly 141, established relationship, mexican slang word count: 1845

You throw the car into park and glance up at your rearview mirror. The three white boys smushed into the backseat push at each other to try to take a look through the window, grunts and mumbles escaping them. Kyle chuckles from the passenger seat, watching the commotion unfold.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” you turn to Kyle, “We could have brought it back to the house for them.”

“No saben igual después de tanto tiempo, y tu bien lo sabes, tesoro,” Kyle responds, an impish smile on his face.

With a groan, you close your eyes and throw your head against the headrest. It’s the first time yall are back in your hometown for more than a week, and with all the extra time to yourselves, the plan was to eat as much good food as possible. One of your tías told you about this place, where they serve al pastor straight from the trompo, each slice almost caramelized to a delicious crunch. They’ve got the pineapple sitting on top, too. She said it was the best quality she’s seen in town to date. Even her husband won’t stop talking about it. And now here you all are, parked against the curb with the air on full blast.

Every time you’ve gone to a mom and pop shop like this, it’s been you and Kyle stepping in first. You go in with kindness and chatter, and the older ladies always helplessly swoon over Kyle. Laughter bubbles and you both eat happily, and sometimes the ladies sneak extras onto your plates. It’s a sacred time full of loud smooches, the staff going “UUUUU’ all around you, a deep blush on Kyle’s face as you wipe at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, his radiant smile set to make your heart burst. It’s perfect. It’s home.

Once you’ve scoped out a place with your own private date, then you bring your white boys over. At that point, you’ve already tried the place, showered Kyle in kisses, and built rapport with the staff. So by the time they step in, the sun drawing eyes to their paleness, the staff won’t try to upcharge you. It’s a genius pull, honestly, one you’ve done yourself with tremendous success. The white folks always have more than enough money to spare, and since they usually don’t know the prices, well that’s on them. But as you sit here in the car, listening to them point out all the little details of the shop to each other, you can’t help but wish you’d left them at home.

Kyle notices the disappointment on your face as you pick at your fingers. Try as you might to keep your face neutral, your expressions are always so easy for him to read. This is the first time your private outings have been interrupted, all because the shop is just a bit too far from the house for the tacos to travel well and your cousin had to fucking say so. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss, waiting for you to make eye contact with him. There’s a distinct sadness in his eyes, a bittersweetness that’s never appeared on these outings before.

“Next time?” a little bit of hope cracks through his voice.

“Next time,” you swear, noticeably glum.

A thought freezes you before you can undo your belt. You reach for Kyle’s hand again, silly grin on your face, and turn around towards the other boys.

“How do you ask for the price of something?’ you ask them.

Kyle holds back his laughter at the question, squeezing your fingers with excitement. There’s joy on his face again and that’s all it takes for you to know you made the right call.

¿Cuánto cuesta?” they all say as one.

“No,” you say, your splitting with a grin, and Kyle can’t hold in his laugh. “Sorry boys, you’re staying here. Kyle and I will be right back.”

They don’t have the chance to protest or question before you’re bolting out of the car, coming around to open Kyle’s door and pull him from his seat. He lets out another loud laugh, the crinkles around his eyes sending warmth blooming in your chest. You’re both still giggling, if a little out of breath from sprinting inside, when one of the staff steps up to greet you, an older woman who's clearly enjoying the life you’re bringing into the place.

“Hola, mis niños. ¿Es su primera vez aquí? No me acuerdo haberlos visto antes, y a esas caritas las recordaría.”

“Primera vez. Un primo nos dijo de este lugar. Y nomas al verlo, se ve rebueno,” Kyle says, bringing you in closer as you wrap your arm around his waist.

“Una cita con el novio,” you tell her. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face with your sudden success, and it seems to catch in the staff member as well.

As she goes off to put in your order, Kyle helps you pack up some salsa, holding the small containers for you to scoop the goods into. You’re trying to figure out just how many containers you can fit into your hands, Kyle reminding you that you’ll need more guacamole than any salsa, when she returns with a big bag full of much smaller plastic bags of guacamole for you. Before you can even thank her, she’s handing each of you a plate with two smaller tacos, winking at you.

“Si quieren, pueden esperar ahí,” she points towards the door with her eyebrows, where there’s a couple of swings.

Walking over, you eye them a little nervously, worried about the structural integrity. The last thing you need is for it to give out on you, regardless of how nice it might be to reminisce in the seat.

“They’re welded,” Kyle whispers in your ear, “They’re solid.”

Sweet tears brim your lashes as you pull him down to cover his cheek in quick kisses. You can feel his shoulders shake with quiet mirth as he stays in place, accepting as much love as you’re willing to give him. If it were up to him, he’d never move from the spot, not even if his back starts aching or if hunger pangs strike. He’d stay pressed to you until something or someone forced him away. So for now he takes what he can.

“We should eat these before they get cold,” the false concern in your voice clear as you gently rock in the swing.

“Definitely. Wasting them would be disrespectful,” his voice low, pulling at the chain of your swing to bring you close together.

The first bite has you turning to look at each other with wide eyes, a pleasant shock bouncing between you. Words can’t do it justice. Your tía’s husband hyped these tacos up so much that you were a little worried about being disappointed. Turns out he didn’t talk about them enough. All either of you can do is let out groans as you chow down silently, Kyle’s strong arm keeping your swings connected.

“Hijo de su pinche putisima madre,” you say, gulping for breath around the sheer ecstasy of the food.

“Que chingandos fue eso?” he says, soft eyes searching yours as if you have the answer. They say food is sex, but the closest he’s ever come to feeling like this has been with you. What the fuck did they put in this. He leans back to face the woman behind the counter, “Seño, nos puede dar otras dos órdenes más porfa?”

“Ya te las puse, precioso,” she says, stepping towards him with a bulging bag in her hand, “Sabía que iban a necesitar más. El amor hace que te dé más hambre.” Before either of you can get up, she’s shoving another two little tacos into your hands, pressing a finger to her smiling lips.

You take slower bites this time, smiling at each other with cheeks bulging full of food. Now that you know what you’re in for, you’re going to savor every piece. Swings still connected, you nudge Kyle’s foot with the toe of your shoe, pressing your knee more firmly against his. He looks so at peace, his shoulders slightly scrunched as he carefully brings the food to his mouth, his nose crinkled up with delight at each bite he takes. You have the brief thought that maybe you should take a picture of this moment, but you can’t bear to tear your eyes from him. And when he turns, those big brown eyes locked on you, you’re sure you’ll never blink again.

“¿Que piensas, mi vida?” he caught your stare.

“Que te adoro,” you speak the words into his skin, kissing the arm holding your swings together.

“En aceite?”

“Clarín.”

Kyle quickly scans the room, just enough to make sure no one is looking your way, before bending and planting a tender kiss on your lips. His lips taste faintly of salt and fat, just as yours surely do, and you wish you could deepen the kiss, wanting more of the delectable combination. But he pulls away before you can, hunger for you burning in his eyes.

His voice is rough when he speaks again, tongue peeking out in search of the lingering taste of you, “We should get back to them.”

“When we get home?” your voice so breathless you barely recognize it as your own.

Kyle nods and stands, holding the bag of food in front of him, trying to discreetly adjust his pants. You’re both giggling again as he reaches for you, gently helping you up from the swing. Smiles are still stuck in place when you reach the car, slipping into your seats without saying another word.

You pause for a moment, waiting for some kind of commentary from the backseat. Now that you’re back in the car, you can look over and see that the swings are in clear sight of the car. A glance up at the rearview mirror shows you three grinning faces, each one more knowing than the next. They could dog you, tease you, joke about the scene they surely saw. But they don’t. Instead, Simon’s tummy breaks the silence, a loud rumble echoing through the car.

The entire car bursts into peals of laughter, the racket interrupted only long enough to deal out plates and servings. Kyle was right about the guacamole, as the boys pour entire little baggies of it on their tacos. Can’t blame them, honestly. That shit is creamy. And then a corus of moans breaks out in the backseat, first bites hitting hard enough to make the most stoic of them break into delight. You look over at Klye, find him already looking at you, and you both nod enthusiastically, biting into your food.

“We’re coming back,” he says, and then lower, “Just us next time.”

“Fuck yeah we are, that was set in stone the moment the woman greeted us. Gotta show off my boyfriend again,” you wink at him.

[tonycries]

KilIin' It Girl!

Synopsis. He’s a 10 but when he says “just” the tip - it’s never just the tip.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, “just the tip”, they go feraI, manhandling, spítting, chokíng, rough s, PÚSSYDRÚNK MEN, they’re big, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, Gojo’s powers, creampíes, cúmplay, implied marathons, true form Sukuna, dp, matíng presses, p talking, p sIapping, trying to hold himself back (failing), pet names, swéaring.

A/N. This song is saur good omg-

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - The pull-out game

Oh- Toji doesn’t think he’ll make it out of this alive. 

He’s clawing desperately onto the sides of your thighs, toned hips crashing against your shivering front with a grunt—“Just the tip now…atta girl, just- just take the tip.” 

So hot and raw. 

Because truthfully, Toji’s never let himself slip inside you without that stupid lil’ piece of rubber- and now that he wasn’t wearing one, it’s not like he couldn’t handle it - he swears! He’s just taking it nice n’ slow for your sake, watching just how your eyes roll cutely back at the curve of his mushroom head burrowing between your swollen folds. 

Your mouth waters at the way his veiny tip was filling up your gooey walls, and you find yourself bucking up with a whine. “But why j-just the tip, Toji?”

His tone is rough. Rugged. “‘Just’ the tip if you want to be walking out of this bedroom, mama.”

He was ready to ruin you. 

And that really doesn’t help because it only makes you arch your back with a carnal craving for more, more, more. Clenching-

“Fuh-fuck.” He’s spitting between clenched canines, nose crinkling with something that sounded like a growl before Toji’s teeth sink deeply into the junction at your neck. He’s muffling out his gravelly lil’ whimper at the way your walls were tuggin’ him even deeper inside. 

Repeating to himself- his head was spinning. “Just- just the fuckin’ tip- ngh- s’all you get. Just the tip-”

Jittery legs wrapping around his slender hips, you dig your heels into the base of his spine to hold him hostage. “But I want more than jus’ the tip—”

Gasping, “Oh. Yer killing me, doll-” With a hiss, he’s shoving two bulbous ends of his fingers past your drooling maw to shut you up. And then stuffing your other pair of lips with just a few more solid inches of his ravaging cock, so big.

So thick that the pure circumference makes you want to scream. His fat, strawberry-colored crown wedging sloppily against one of your sweetest spots, “K-killing me- fucking killin’ me-” 

Cockdrunken smile on your face, you’re bowing upwards with your lewd pussy to let his veiny shaft pry your walls apart even deeper-

And that makes something inside of him burst. “N-no–”

CRACK!

Toji’s slamming his open palm down on your wooden headboard enough to make it splinter - dark brows furrowed in restraint, temple beading with sweat, he digs his capped knees into the mattress and drills out a solid, feral thrust. 

“Oh god-” A mistake. Because just one taste of your hot, saccharine pussy and he’s shuddering viscerally, beefy biceps flexing above you as Toji holds onto the bedframe for dear life and attempts to pull back. “No- no no I-”

Toji snakes his other calloused hand down like he means to guide his bulky hilt back- before thinking better of it and giving your saturated cunt a good spank. Gruffly grouching out, “Any deeper and I won’t be able ta- haaah- pull out.”

As if to prove what he’s babbling out, Toji’s rolling his v-line back expertly. And your cunt’s rubbed all raw with the ravenous drag of his hips, the way his dark happy trail was massaging your clit.

It’s just so mean- but if you asked him, he’d have prattled out that you were being meaner with your sopping wet pussy. The way you have the audacity to pout as he’s shallowly driving his fleshy tip inside you, swiping teasingly down your outer cunt with his vein-covered underside. 

Gritting his teeth, shuddering, trying for all the world not to let a voice crack seep into his meaningful words, “Any deeper and yer getting pregnant, mama.”

“N-nghhh fuck—” You’re swervin’ your hips restlessly at each clammy slap after slap of his swole pelvis. The way he was just so lengthy, he’s easily probing a good bruise into each of your favorite spots and you can feel your poor body twitch- “Maybe I don’t mind.”

“Easy. E-easy there, girl. No talkin’ out of that ngh- pretty pussy, m’kay?” Toji’s trying to curl his scarred lips up into something that looks like his usual sleazy smirk but you can see through your bleary pupils just how much his maw quivers.

The buttony curve of his thumb glissades down your wet slit, “You just hafta take it-” Breathless, he’s stuffin’ you like a madman with just his bulging tip. Swabbing your pussylips so-very-open, “Hafta take- take it all.”

Oh.

And the big, bad Toji Fushiguro almost falters - almost gasps. That pussydrunk little slip-up making his weepy cock jolt in interest, n’ he’s seeing that hungry look in your eyes and oh-

Sputtering, the repeated thrashes of his length only grow harder as if to fuck the prior few seconds right out of you. A tendon in his neck popping at the swirling circles he was pounding your eyes into, “I mean- fuck…I meant take all of my tip, doll, don’t-”

“Mhm…” You’re batting your lashes in subtle victory, a primal shrill ripping from your throat at the way Toji then plunges his slick-glazed fingers out of your mouth. “All of it?”

Rovering straightly down to push on the puffy cylindrical outline of his cock rummaging inside of you, “Sh-shut up.” Resting his weight just on your hips to let his bawling tip pinpoint your g-spot, feeling you squeeze-squeeze-squeeze. And fuck- he presses down on that tummy bulge, already knowing he was in trouble. “This…this is still just the hah- tip.”

“It is?”

Thumbing apart your puffy lips, smearin’ them with a lecherous sluuurp. Toji can’t stop the drawling groan that escapes his mouth as he watches your bawling hole take in even more of him.

“Fuck yeah, just the tip. Just- just four…” And then he’s swiping across your treacly cunt so that he can shove his thick thumb in, fingering your elastic entrance enough to slurp up more of his plumpened cock. “No- five inches past the tip.”

You’re thrashing your limp body, “P-please-” His size felt simply heavy between your sheeny thighs, reaching a hand of yours up. “Hck! Toji, oh my god you’re-”

Oh, before you know it, before you can even register, he’s lugging up his rude right knee to pin down your wrist onto the dampened mattress. Pulling you to him- “Don’t you fucking-” Hard. “-run now.”

And you can hardly even flinch when Toji’s got you manhandled into such a pliant position, throwing your legs on top of his shoulders to bend doooown as the cherry on top.

A mating press. 

A mating press that renders your brain stupidly mushy, a throaty hiccup leaving your mouth when you swear you’re feeling the dull thud! of his red, split-ended tip scrape all the way to your cervix. His heavy balls meeting the target of your pussy with a stinging smack, Toji finds himself grinning. 

Fuck- he doesn’t even know how he got here.

Your rickety headboard already shattered, meaty thighs twitching against yours, cock buried balls-deep. 

And now Toji’s no longer holding himself back, drawing out a cute lil’ cross on the area just above your womb. Just where his thick, heated cock was throbbing as he’s bottomed-out and still rutting himself deeper and deeper. 

“X marks the spot now, mama.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - The overstimulator

“Fuck- ngh, fuuuuck, Kento.” Your body thrashes where Nanami’s fucking his thick, lengthy fingers into your core. 

Swabbing straight down the textured insides of your pussy, he’s nudgin’ your g-spot with his cold, cold wedding ring just to hear your cute moans pitch even higher. Panting, “You’ve got this- haaah- you’ve got it. Cum f’me, my love.”

And you can only babble out a few broken sobs in response, bucking through your nth high of the night and feeling your pussy still ache for his cock.

It’d been a few hours since your husband had come back from a long day at work - stern, rugged. And times like this, you knew it meant that he’d had a stressful day, times like this it meant you were casually slithering your hands to caress the fat, throbbing length between his sculpted legs. 

Mumbling out needily, “Want- hck! want this, Kento.”

And he’s gasping, he’s heady. 

Rubbing vertically down the line of your slit with his geysering tip, so wet that it’s letting off such a loud squelch. “But what if I’m too…” Rough. After all, he did have such a looong day today.

“Please?”

The thin lines of his lips part, “Oh, how can I ever say ‘no’ to my wife?” Pecking you softly near your temple, but the way that Nanami’s tannish-red crown twitches where it lay across your thighs told you a wholly different story.

Flipping you over to ride him, he’s easily letting gravity sink in the nub of his cockhead just past your folds, feeling his exerted breath hitch at the way your sappy walls were clenching. “Come on-” Muttering, you blink your hazy vision down just in time for him to hold up a strong, veiny forearm for you. “Come on come on- bite on it, darlin’ let me-”

Fit.

Even if it was just the tip, it was such a tight fit - and Nanami’s fingerpads drift down to your waist to squeeeeze. Bruising. Ravaging.

The only thing you can do is muffle your whimpers into the heated skin of his arm and take it. 

He’s fucking himself into you with a strangled moan, in short, rapid half-thrusts like he’s torturously holding himself back. “J-just a bit more-” The fatness of his tip squeezes past your hole with a wet plop! and he hisses, “There…there we go.”

The circumference of his girth lodges between the first ring of your entrance and makes you keen—“N-ngh- You can put in some more.” 

And Nanami groans like he’s geering up for a thorough thrust - before hunching his heavy body over and waiting. And letting the slippery globe of his cockhead slide-slide-slide across the roof of your pussy, “Do you…know what that would hah-” His cock throbs. “-mean, darling?”

Tantalizingly, you’re wriggling your pretty waist further down, trying to get his glazing tip to scope your deepest innards. “Please, Kento?”

“Fuh-fine…”

“Oh?”

“Fine- Why don’t we ask hah- her first, my love…” And you swear you’re seeing his lips flap away a thin line of drool, swivelling his blond head up to face your glistening pussy. Lovingly, Nanami glissades his damp thumb down your slope and coos—“How about it- think you can take-” Another coo, another rut- “-it all?”

“Fuh-fuck! Yes-”

But it’s not you he’s answering to - it’s the lecherous, loud slurp that emanates straight from your cunt. 

Nose crinkling in amusement, “Don’t talk to me in ngh- that tone. S’gonna make me want to…”

And you don’t have to beg for the tail end of that sentence - because Nanami’s planting his feet firmly flat on the surface of your bed and giving you a solid drilling. 

“Fuck.” Lengthy shaft grazing your insides, Nanami feels the way your gushing pussy clamps down on him and it’s enough to make him shudder. To make him furrow his brows, breath evaporating, tensing his core- “To…more…” Deep baritone now so airy that you can barely even make out what he’s prattling-

“Yes-” Your head spins at the complete n’ utter stretch of having him sensually probe your cunt open, hips turning in a lewd figure-eight. “Yes yes yes yes- just like that-”

“If you want it all then you fucking beg for it.”

Was this really your gentle, endearing husband? 

You can’t even fathom the sensual man that’s clinging onto a good chunk of your left ass cheek, using his practised strength to tug you right down onto his cock.

To take control after each spank of his hips- “Better learn how to ask n-nicely-” He’s spitting at your cunt now, tone reaching octaves higher. Shattering. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this pussy all fucking day and- ngh! and I tried to be nice. Tried to make it easy, my love, but you make me sooo…”

“S-so wh- fuck!”

You’re cut off with a sudden, slamming crash of his v-line against your thighs- so sudden, so rough that it makes him gasp, too. 

Eyeing the way he’d left his own clammy skin all red and raw with friction, the way the melty insides of your pussy felt bruised all ‘round his size. “Fuck- didn’t mean to-” And he’s motioning himself to pull out, but the only thing he’s doing is sloppily draaagging his cock down the lining of your pussy and making himself buck.

Battling against his senses. 

Pounding up and up and up-

“W-wasn’t supposed to go in this deep- oh-” Groaning at the sight of your slick-glazed folds slipping n’ sliding down his pulsating length. “Was supposed to be just- just the tip-” Nanami pushes his foggy glasses further up his handsome nose bridge for a much better look. Scrambling, “Was supposed to hold back and…”

At his trailing off, you’re forcing your voice out evenly. Gripping purchase onto his broad shoulders, “Are you okay, Ken–?”

“Of course, my love, I’m fine- I’m-” And yet, the only thing he can do is let his mouth hang filthily ajar as he perks his hips off the mattress to give your cunt one good pummel. 

All the way from tip to base this time. Until he’s buried oh-so-deeply inside of your wet pussy that it’s making you drool, that it’s making you whine, making the back of your throat sting with sobs at the sheer raw stretch. 

And he groans, “M’soooo not fucking okay, my love.” Molted gaze dead locked on you- “And you won’t be either after this.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - The mean.

The silver, studded circle of Geto’s tongue piercing draaaags sloppily down your cheek. Lapping up every salty bead of tears you were cryin’ out, “Why- please. Want more, Suguru—”

“More?” His raven lashes flutter in faux shock, and it’s so-very-agonizing once he’s tugging his teasing cock out of your hole even further. 

Just enough that he’s stirrin’ your entrance with the line of his slit, pumping in a lazy back and forth. “You want more here, gorgeous?” He’s panting, licking up the glittering ribbons of saliva that fall out of you with each scrape across the roof of your pussy. “Or here? Orrr—” Each lecherous motion. Making such a big show of twisting his free thumb down to press on your clit, “-here?”

“N-nooo–” Mewling, your mouth drops into the cutest pout as you’re bucking your hips up. Trying to close your trembly legs over his muscular hips, “I want you here.”

“Where?”

You’re damn near sobbing, “Here- oh, fuck!”

“Oh no, I lost track-” The rosy fringes of his mouth quirk up into such a mean smile- and before you know it, Geto’s pushing you into a pliable mating press n’ fucking you with just the pretty, red-hot crown of his tip.

Over and over. 

Grabbing onto your tits with one hand, pinning your hips down with the other. Grumbling, “Seems this ngh- cute cunt had me a little…distracted, gorgeous. Where? Say that alllll over again where you want me?”

You feel your ragged throat rip out with a desperate cry - a plea. 

His steaming hot cock was only twitching with each cockdrunken blabber you could let out. Rovering your insides with direct hits just below where your sweet spots were, Geto leaves you wanting more without even trying.

And the only thing you can do is tug on his broad shoulders with the heels of your feet, just begging for him to go deeper than just drilling into you with his thick, mushroomy tip.

“Hm? ‘Thick’, is it?” Fuck- only too-late are you realizing that you’ve babbled that out loud. Driven crazy by the mouth-watering gyration of his cockhead burrowing between your folds. Stirrin’ you all over. 

Geto leans over until his inky hair forms a curtain around you two, mouth prattling away with the smuggest smirk permanently plastered across his maw. “If it’s soooo thick I wonder how you’re gonna- hah- take it then.” 

“I-I will-”

“Not you, gorgeous.” He wasn’t even talking to you. He’s talking to your puffy, pert pussy - letting your cunt paint such a mess of slick drivelling all over his length. “Wonder if she would- hah- fit- let me see-” Making an even bigger mess just by snaking down one hand to smear open your folds with his ringed fingers. “Open up wide, say ‘ah’—”

Almost on cue, your oversaturated cunt lets out the most filthy squeeelch by the time he’s fitting in his lengthy middle finger, the chilling band of his ring pushin’ deftly against your walls. 

“Hmpf- tha’s more than an ‘ah’.” Geto titters from above you, and the way he’s stroking your elastic entrance open is just so mean. Deliberately scouring for where his plummy tip was hitting you in hard strikes, swabbing you into each n’ every spot to open you wiiiide open for his cock.

“Sh-shit-” You’re gasping, eyesight shattering with a few more of your pearly tears. “You’re actually going past the- ngh- tip, Sugu?”

Gruffly, “Wan’ me to pull out, gorgeous–?”

“N-no!”

“Thought it was about time to reward my hah- good girl.” He’s spitting out smoothly - but you can feel the way that Geto’s heavy cock was flinching with each rovering inch you’re swallowing up.

The way his high cheekbones flushed with a stain of rouge, the way he’s gritting his ivory white teeth and rutting. Like he can’t even hold himself back the way he wanted to. 

Like he can’t stop himself from gluing a thigh to the side of your hips and lifting his weight to push down on top of yours.

To pin you down. To make sure that his prolonged, throbbing length reaches spots oh-so-deep. Geto’s plunging the weepy divot of his shaft straight into your g-spot and there’s nothing you can do about it but sing out a few whines–“There- there- s’what you were begging for, right?”

And he’s doing this because your needy pussy had been asking for it. He’s doing this because of you - and not because of the way his cock ached every split-second he wasn’t inside you. 

No- definitely not because he’s shuddering. Panting. 

Dampened voice almost breaking with a whimper once your gooey wet walls clamp down ‘round him, “Riiight?” He drawls out, sounding almost maddened, way past ‘just the tip’ right now. 

“Y-yes- ngh, yes.” You hiccup out after every slash of his swabbing cockhead splitting your insides, he was just so long that the rigid length of his cock damn near reaches your lungs. Tugging him close with a hand on Geto’s firm chest. “B-but I want…”

“What?”

You blink your teary lashes up at him in a way that’s devastating, “Want it inside inside, too, Sugu.”

Oh.

Oh.

Inside inside - you wanted him to stuff you so full your poor hole couldn’t even remember what it felt like without him dripping out of you. 

You were going to be the fucking death of him. Geto could feel it.

Geto knew it - ‘just’ the tip his ass - he’s hunching over your restless body with an animalistic growl. Bottomed-out so deeply that the nub of his shaft digs into your cervix, his balls thwacking against your cunt, pre pouring out in a froth.

So hot n’ wet- it’s making his amethyst irises flash with the carnal desire for your sopping wet pussy to be filled up with something else. 

“Oh.” Pumping his ringed index inside with a wettened noise, Geto fills the corners of his lips twitch in sensual amusement as he watches the glaze drip off of him. Snaking it up to lick off every ounce of your beaded sheen of slick, “Say ‘ah’ then, gorgeous.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “P-pussydrunk-”

It’s the first thing that’s slipping out of Choso’s mouth the very second he finds his red, bulging tip poking through your puffy pussylips. 

Dark chocolate eyes flashing with a thin sheen of tears, “I-I’m so pussydrunk-” He’s admitting to you out loud, head throwing backwards once he’s softly bucking his toned hips back n’ forth. “How am I- nghhh- pussydrunk already, baby?”

“Mm– I dunno, Cho.” A rhetorical question, but you’re answering anyway - mainly because the mere sound of your voice is enough to make your boyfriend’s aching cock twitch deliciously inside of you. “S’just the tip, too, right?”

Panting breathlessly, “Yeah- yeah, just the…”

“Tip—?”

“Fuck! But just don’t say it like that-” Keening out in a ragged voice that makes him sound devastated. Ruined. “It makes it so, so hard to keep my hah- promise.”

Ah, yes - the promise that it would be just the tip.

You’d already found it so cute when he’d admitted that for his first time, all the way up to the tip was the only thing that he’d be able to handle. And you were more than happy to let Choso’s blushin’ cockhead shyly scrape past your hole, just tasting the saccharine feeling of your pussy. 

But right now he was thumping his hips up into yours like he was anything but shy.

Like he was trying to mold himself to the rubbery texture of your sweet, sweet cunt. Over n’ over n’ over in stirring motions that slip his crowned shaft further past your fluttering entrance. 

You’re gasping out a few slurring slews of swears at the fleshy rub of his flared ridge, scouring in easily even deeper- “Cho! Baby, what happened to just the tip?”

“O-oh right.” Dark brows furrowing in concentration, he pokes his tongue between his teeth and tries to get his hips back into his steady, rhythmic cadence. Back to “just” the tip bein’ swallowed up by you whole- “There. There, is that-”

And it was just as he promised - for all of six strokes before Choso’s plumped tip finds itself wedging back down your walls. “Choso.”

“S’not my ngh- fault, baby.” He’s whining out, grabbing onto one side of your ass cheeks to pin you close to him. And Choso was just so inhumanly strong that he was treatin’ you like his own personal doll, “Not when you say my name like that…”

Meaningfully, the apples of Choso’s cheeks scorch with a bright blush. Continuing to whisper out like his life depended on it, “And not when you’re just so, so preeetty.” Arching his slender hips in a slooow, aching swivel to reach a spot deepest inside of you, he’s feeling the way your gushing walls clench and it’s making his mahogany irises well up with tears. “A-and when you’re this- ngh- wet-”

“Are you blaming me, Cho?” You’re teasing- only to have your big, strong boyfriend whimper. 

“No-” And the precise moment your hips buck into his, he’s grabbing ahold of you - clawing down the sides of your restless body, crushing your front to his washboard abs. “No no no-” 

Choso’s stopping your non-existent escape in an instant, pulling you back with an uncharacteristically mean hand at your throat. Just so pretty when he’s needy like this - temple trailing with a thin line of sweat, vision narrowed at you, rosy mouth babbling. “Never blaming you- never- fuck- I actually-” The tips of his ears flame oh-so-red, “-like it…wet.”

“O-oh.”

And he’s fucking into you like an animal - like he can’t even remember that pretty pink line of his tip he was supposed to stop at. 

Honestly- if you asked Choso right now, his fuzzy mind genuinely wouldn’t have been able to remember.

“M’going in past the tip.” Your boyfriend puffs out, eyes widening cutely once his stupidly melted brain realizes. “I’m going in past it- ngh- a-actually reaching your pretty womb, baby—”

The only thing on his mind right now being the way your squelching cunt kissed his tender cock, the way he’s able to pry apart your walls and glue his bawling crown somewhere near the back of your cunt. “Y-you feel this, baby?”

And you don’t know whether he means the squeeze of his ringed fingers claiming your throat, or the feeling of his damn cock. “What do you—”

Or the way he nuzzles his tight, aching balls up against your sheeny inner-thighs, “Feel how badly I want you-” Strangling out a few moans, Choso thwacks his ridged cockhead against your g-spot and watches you squirm. “How hard I am, ngh-” And watches your velvety walls gush out in pearly beads of slick to surround his hilt, to make it easier for him to hike up a thigh and push himself even more, more, more. “How deep m’stuck inside? You hafta take hah- responsibility, okay?”

“R-responsibility?”

And Choso’s just so pussydrunk that he’s slobbering all down into the crook of your neck, manhandling your knees up until they’re striking your tits.

Ears oh-so-popped that he’s barely even registering your question - only the deep, dull thud! of his plump mushroom tip being lodged into the base of your cunt And then Choso sees white-

“Oh, s’dripping out of you.” He’s muttering to himself, all that dripping hot mess of his cum. Cumming - just from bottoming out. Line of sight sparking with ivory-hot pleasure, Choso’s voice shatters. “O-oh, m’cumming inside. Really, really inside?”

As if to make sure, you can only watch in sinful awe once he’s scooping up a generous layer of the frothy sap covering your cunt. Seemingly about to stuff his seed back in- before thinking better of it and thumbing out a swoopy ‘C’ between your swollen folds. 

He’s tittering to himself as the creamy layer smears across and perfectly outlines his initial. 

You can’t help but gasp, boneless thighs quaking with each splattering wad of cum that knotted up your insides. “‘C’? What does…” 

Oh, but it wasn’t just a ‘C.’

With a dopey grin, Choso draws out a lingering ‘H’ then an ‘O’, ‘S’- before firmly pushin’ down on the button of your clit as he finishes off the final ‘O.’

“S’mine now, baby. And m’fuh-fucking pussydrunk.” There’s something so dark seeping into his tone that makes goosebumps skitter across your spent body. 

And Choso Kamo stares at you dead-on, mouth salivating with each speckle of cum he feels spill out of you until he looked feral. Looked ruined once his hips are pulling back for a mean thrust, “So don’t blame me for whatever happens.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - The biiig stretch(es)

All three realms would quake the day that Ryomen Sukuna was caught off-guard by something - anything. As if there was a single person in existence that could- oh, fuck, he can feel his hands tremble where they’re sliding down the insides of your sheeny thighs.

Laying you out across his chiselled front in a full nelson, it felt like the room itself was spinning.

And the way you’re grindin’ yourself back down cutely onto his matching, bulbous tips makes the king bite back a gruff snicker. “Aww, look at those pretty human thighs shaking so much. Heh- think yer gonna swallow me whole before ya even know it.”

You’re whimpering, feeling the points of his dark black nails dig against the flesh of your legs. He’s stuffed you so full that it takes you a second to catch your breath from the sheer stretch, “I- I can-”

THWACK!

The only thing you’re getting is the mean swat of one of his hands slamming down onto your teary slope. Sukuna’s voice booming, “Nooo ya fucking can’t. You’re getting just the tips tonight, mama.”

“B-but Kuna-”

“B-b-but-” Another spank, and another teasing glide of his veiny lengths. Just enough past his swabbing cockheads to give you a mere taste of his veiny shafts, but not enough to satiate your drivelling, needy core. 

There was something so addictive about the way that Sukuna could doubly pry your walls open, and the idea of his thick veins massaging your insides made your mouth water. 

Something his multiple crimson eyes takes lecherous note of, a brow raising priggishly. “See?” And you don’t know what he even meant until a second of Sukuna’s clammy palms knocks your ajar mouth closed, holding back the slippery wads of spit from escaping. “Tch- can’t even keep spit inside- how are ya gonna take both my cocks, brat?”

“I can.” Perking your back into a perfect curve, Sukuna himself has to bite back a groooan once he’s bucking up into you. The mouth on his stomach salivating at the way your ass cheeks jiggle against his pelvis-

Deeper.

“Wan’ more-”

“You think you deserve more?”

And it’s not that he thinks you can’t handle it - well, maybe he didn’t want to split your poor pussy open so early in the night - but it was just so fun teasing you. 

To watch the way your hazy eyes fluttered with tears, mouth falling into a cutesy pout. “But I want it…”

So irresistible that Sukuna can’t help but lurch his monstrous head over and plant a wad of spit straight between your kiss-swollen lips. “There.” Then finally your cunt. “There. See if you can keep that inside, mama.”

And before you can complain, he’s pumping out every remaining gust of air left in your lungs with a loooong drag of his twin cocks. Just once. Before meanly keeping it there, letting the fat circumferences of his tips throb-throb-throb against your cervix. “Happy—?”

With a stubborn mewl, you’re trekking your hands up to clasp onto his tattooed thighs below you. Nails digging into his clammy flesh as you’re trying to bounce your exerted hips backwards- “More.”

“Spoiled brat.”

And if this was anyone else - for anything else - the king would have made a fresh example for all to see what happens when one doesn’t follow his orders. 

But this was you. And the more you’re trying to suck his solid, swollen inches up, the more he’s feeling a restless sort of instinct take over him. The more he’s feeling…feral. 

Pre spurting out enough to drench your weepy slope, “Fine. Fuck.” One of his hands wraps around your throat, the other latches onto one side of your hips. Two more spread your trembly thighs widely agape- and before you can register a thing, before you can even breathe, Sukuna has his bulging cocks sinking inside your hole in one, fluid motion. “Fine.”

Hard. 

Rough.

Repeatedly. 

It’s so much. Enough to make you throw your lolling head back into his collarbones and squeal as you cum- mouth blabbing constantly, “I’m cumming- c-cumming? Ngh- Kuna-”

“Don’t even know when you’re cumming.” He’s rolling his eyes. All the while you’re just bucking and whining at the peaks of your high. “Training first…h-heh. Can’t blame me fer biiig stretch when ya asked for it- can you even say it? ‘Biiig stretch?’” 

“B-big–” You’re seeing an utter white flash behind your closed eyelids, thighs twitching each time the lines of his veins aligned with your g-spot. “Big- nghhh stretch-”

“Hm, close enough, heh.”

Slow. Agonizing.

If you wanted more than just his tips, then you were going to get it. 

But at his pace first - one that left your eyes pathetically criss-crossing with each lazy intrusion. That left your waist squirming for more, and Sukuna’s teeth gritting with the utter sensation of your velvety walls tuggin’ down on him.

Trying to milk him dry-

“M-milk you–?” You’re blinking up at him with those pretty, pretty eyes, and he swears he can feel your saccharinely wet pussy only grow wetter at those words slipping out. 

So gone on the feeling of your cunt that he didn’t realize they were slipping out. Sukuna’s eyes widen, breath hitched n’ raw—“Well…”

If anyone else could see the soundless, almost shy Ryomen Sukuna right now then they’d simply drop into a faint. 

Because you swear the pointed tips of his ears were slowly staining red, the slimy edges of his second mouth sleazily grinning behind you. Rovering the tip of his massive tongue down to glissade down your slit. 

And somewhere near the base of your treacly cunt, the curve of his heavy balls twitch-

Sukuna’s picking up the speed of his vulgar strokes, just so your fuzzy mind won’t hear the crack in his deep baritone. “If ya don’t milk me dry then m’banishing you, mama.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - The ruined

“F-fuck- mmm, Taku-”

“What was that?” The breathy tone of Ino’s voice fans across your features - right where he’s keeping his forehead plastered to yours, lips pulled back into a feral grin. Voice octaves higher- “What was thaaat?”

And he’s rubbin’ the roughened end of one thumb between your pussy folds, trying to get you to let off those pretty noises once more.

But fuck- 

Fuck. 

The only thing he’s managing to do is make you throw your head back and clench your sloppy cunt ‘round his pinkish girth. “Fuck- oh.” The dewy wet walls of your channel are squeezing him so tight that he’s the one who whimpers out in need—“F-feels so good.”

Rovering the globular crown of his shaft to knock against your pussy repeatedly, Ino swipes a buttery line of pre down the sides of your walls and moans once he feels you overspilling with slick.

The measurement of his puffy length so long that your folds struggle to take him all in, “Awww, sweetness, look at you.” Grinning, “Look so pretty takin’ just my hah- tip.”

He squeezes the pulpy top of your clit, tawny bangs falling over those greedy eyes of his. He’s locked his dilated pupils on you, and the way that Ino was pounding you into the mattress was restless.

Short, jerky thrusts of his hips - he’s so messy with it, just barely teasing your hole with the fatness of his girth on one stroke, pushing all the way past his tip in the next-

“Just the tip, remember?” Huffing out a slight cloud of laughter at the crestfallen look on his face, you’re echoing his own words from just before. 

And Ino feels his cock twitch animalistically inside of you at the mention of those very words, “F-fine.” Grumbling, as if he wasn’t the one that decided he wanted to agonize your poor pussy tonight. With aching, shallow strokes that rub the flare of his ridge against your hole. “Just the tip- just the- oh, fuck.”

“Didn’t do anything—” You’re keening out, knowing fully that the slight grinding gyrations of your hips were enough to drive Ino mad. 

His half-lidded eyes follow the movements of your waist in circles. “S-stop squirming.” And before you know it, he’s got a hand clinging to your neck. Blocking off your breezy airway, he holds you still and wedges the plumpness of his tip inside your cunt, sensually. “You know what you’re doing, pretty.”

“Fuck- nghhh-” You find yourself bawling out, lips twitching into a smile despite yourself at just how hypnotized your beloved boyfriend was. “But you’re the one putting it- ngh- even more.”

“Th-that’s not…” Ino flushes, and instead of answering directly he’s planting a wet thwack! of his cockhead to glue against the tender insides near your g-spot.

You’re feeling the calloused end of his thumb smear apart your bloated folds and the friction was incredible. As if to confirm for himself, he swipes away the mess on top of your slope to watch how your hole quivers with each slip n’ slide of his tip.

Torturing himself just as much as he planned to torture you. 

Just about to prattle something pussydrunken - maybe how it was actually your pussy that’s making him stuff in even more of his cock. Maybe how you were actually begging him-

But no. Oh, Ino sees the pornographic struggle of your tight rim aching to swallow him all up and gasps. 

Instantly jolting his head up as if he’d just been electrocuted, instantly clawing at the matted strands of his hair before realizing that he didn’t have his ski mask on to hide away. 

To stop himself from looking down again n’ again. To stop himself from replaying that exact scene inside his melted mind as he’s mindlessly pushing you into a mating press, “O-oh…just let me-” Swallowing, Ino’s words ring hollow even to his own ears. “Let me just…”

Trailing off, the only thing you can do is yelp at the complete n’ utter stretch.

The way he was ruining you on his sopping wet cock, mazing in the point of his tip until he presses a firm smooch to your g-spot. Your cervix. “Oh my god- mm-” You tilt your head up in amusement, squeezing his throbbing cock on purpose. “Wha’s that about just the ngh- tip, Taku?”

“Yeah, about that—” With a slight pout, Ino stares you dead in the eyes as he’s scouring his mushy cockhead past your hole. Letting that circular lil’ divot press deep, deep, deep- “Forget I ever said that, sweetness.”

You’re cracking a smug grin, mouth opening to gloat-

SMACK!

Before weak, trembling fingerpads harshly slap the side of your waist, “T-tch you’ve already got me- ngh- ruined- what more could you want?” Sleek brows furrowed, he’s looking at you like he’s begging. “And m’not losing it- I’m just…just—”

Just wrenching off the hand holding your throat to guide your own hand, of course - right up to squeeze his own neck. To make you choke him. 

Ino gnaws down on his plump lower lip to keep himself from whimpering once he’s letting his cock wreak havoc on your cute innards. Scouring and scouring deeply, just smushing the velvety end of his pre-glazed tip on your cervix.

Safe n’ sound. All snugly inside.

He babbles, “D’you want me to beg, pretty?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The Strongest.

“C’mon- again.” Gojo’s raspy tone trembles, gnawing down sensually on the shell of your ear from behind. “Again. Promise it’ll be just the tip this time. Just the- haaah-”

And he can’t even finish his sentence - doesn’t have the ability to. The sanity.

The patience to just sit there and fuck you with the curve of his mushroomy tip- to not just pump n’ pump out masterful strokes that have your silvery slit splattering out in ribbons of white. 

To him, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

His large, bulbous tip twitches where he’s taking you in a mean doggy position - throwing his fuzzy head back with a moan the very second he feels sappy ivory cum slip down into a frothy ring ‘round his hilt, “I said m’sorry, sweetheart. This time I ngh- promise s’just the tip.”

“B-but you said that ngh- four rounds ago.” You’re whimpering into your splotchy pillow, saliva seeping from your maw like an open faucet. 

Gojo rounds his lengthy fingertips down past your soaked panties and feels the leaky line of your slit, “But my sweetheart.” Cooing, every tiny pummel of his cockhead had your toes curling in pleasure, hands fisting at your damp sheets. “My girl. My wife-”

The cum-glazed fingers of his fingerpads break off from your pussy with a squelch, instantly being pushed between his plump lips. 

And Gojo doesn’t feel even an ounce of hesitation as he suuuucks—tasting himself, tasting you. The wet pants of his breath are sweltering down your arched back, “Mm– the love of my life.”

He was just gone.

Six Eyes working overtime without him even realizing- he’s seeing the sparks of arousal that light your veins and lets himself grin. Giving your treacly cunt another easy slide of his shaft, “Does that mean I can stuff ya nghh- full again, my girl?”

Your husband swabs the rubbery insides of your pussy with his probing cock, and he was just so thickly swollen that the circumference of his tip leaves your walls damn near indented. 

Knees shaking weakly on top of your creaky bedsprings- “I-I didn’t say that, Satoru-” He almost flinches at your words, before the mere sound of your voice makes the bawling orifice on top of his length splurge out pre. Bucking your hips gingerly backwards, “You won’t ngh- keep it just the tip I know it.”

“But sweetheart—” Your cunt was still so sensitive, and just the slightest graze of his prominent veins leaves your lips all wobbly. “This pretty pussy’s just haaah- beeegging f’me. Look at her-” Your head perks up in shock at the sound of Gojo Satoru giggling, “Look-”

At the sound of him smiling dopily, letting his ravenous cock fuck your hole open until you were stupid. 

He’s relentless - just lingering, sloppy slashes of his hot tip protruding your wet insides. And juuuust when he could see your brows furrowing, mouth falling into a cute pout at the realization that he was way past the tip- he’s pulling back.

“Wh-whoops.” Gojo flicks his dexterous index down to toy with your poor clit, tutting. “Naughty girl, oh- you’re sucking me in past the tip.”

You’re grumbling, “M-me?”

“Not you, my sweetheart…” The way his thumb rubs your pussylips open is enough to make you see stars, and Gojo pushes his fleshy thighs up against yours. “-m’talking to her.” The perfect excuse- he’s lecturing your dripping wet pussy, reeling your cute hips back until the slope of his cockhead nuzzles allll the way near your g-spot. “Tch, how daaaare you take in more than the- ngh- tip, h-heh.”

And you swear you’re feeling Gojo’s reddened skin buzz with slight cursed energy as he laughs at his own joke. 

“You’re doing it, sweetheart, y-you…” Trailing off, your entire body feels like it’s been shocked in the most sinful way as Gojo thumps his strawberry divot on the target of your favorite spot.

And soon enough, he can’t even bring himself to tease you.

Soon enough, he’s incredibly past the pinkish line of his slit marking the end of his tip. With the veiny underside of Gojo’s shaft stuffed deeply between your folds, again n’ again he spanks your g-spot wetly. 

You’re shivering, mentally counting that he’s now nearly bottomed-out—so fully that the cobwebs of his cum from hours prior splosh around inside of you. “T-Toru– oh!”

Only for your plea to be cut off, for your entire body to hit back against his toned pelvis with a resounding pap! He’d hauled you backwards by the flimsy fabric of your panties and it was making you moan, “Say that again-”

“Wh-what?”

“Say it.” Repeating, Gojo’s now fucking you like he hated you. Like he couldn’t stand a single split-second that your perfect pussy wasn’t filled up by him. Licking up the droplets of tears that trickle down your cheeks, “Say it again- ngh- say- fuck.”

The bottom of your stomach stinging with that familar twitch, you find yourself shrilling out- “Toru- fuck fuck fuck- Toru, I’m…”

Close.

But he could already tell.

His Six Eyes already knew- and he wasn’t even trying to activate that gift of his. Barely even has to to feel the squelching squeeze of your sappy pussy, the way you’re jolting after each forceful thwack! of his cock pummeling into your ready cunt.

Gojo’s fingertips pinch ‘round your cutely swollen clit, and he finds himself drawing his fucking name right on top. A nice, neat S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your head spin, “Y’know who my- faaaaat- fuckin’ cock belongs to, sweetheart?”

You babble–“Wh-what?”

But Gojo doesn’t mind that you didn’t answer, he doesn’t mind - he barely even registers it. So far gone that he’s nodding along to the lewd slurps and squelches given off by your treacly cunt, “You.” Chuckling, hitching, rutting—“You you you- all yours.” 

The sculptured lines of the strongests’ hip bones pull back ever-so-slightly- only to come pressurizing back with a final, hard drilling thrust. “So it only makes sense that you’re gonna take it allll, right~?”

Every inch, and every splattering wad of cum he’s emptying out.

You’re hit with the waves of your own high, legs giving out underneath you until Gojo wraps an arm underneath your front and pulls you up. Plastering you against the slick, glissading curves of his abs- “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck- nghhh- m’cumming.”

“I know.”

Clawing down the clammy flesh of his forearms, your head lolls back against Gojo’s collarbone with every squirt of frothy white cum he was stuffin’ into you. Eyeing down those cute lil’ beads of sap that glue your inner thighs together, “A-and you’re in so deep- fuck, Toru!”

“I know- heh.”

Gojo made sure to pound you through every single peak of your high, right where it made your body erupt in the most bliss- as if he had a sixth sense.

And he’s making sure to let the sticky ring of slick n’ seed drench his happy trail, cock fucking those thick dollops of cum inside until you’re seeing white. Until you can feel nothing but the way his bulging tip reaches up to your cervix and throbs—“Promise it’ll be heh- just the tip this time, my girl.”

♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - The lawyer?!

“Just the tip hck! remember?”

“You say just the tip but…” Your husband tilts his head down at you with the most lecherous grin, fat thumb lazing between your pussylips to spread your hole wiiide open for him. His other hand was busy still tugging off his work tie, barely home from the office and hungry. “-this pretty pussy’s saying otherwise, angel—”

And oh- he was right. 

But Higuruma had been working overtime for months just for an upcoming trial early tomorrow, and you knew if you let him slip in anything past the tip then it would end in another type of all-nighter.

You’re softly smacking his broad deltoid, and he’s only lifting your flimsy nightgown with a chuckle. “Ah ah- don’t shoot the messenger now. M’just hear to do as my wife asks, sugar.”

Easily slap-slap-slapping his red, bulbous tip to slip n’ slide past your first ring of muscle. Higuruma croons at the way your legs fall instantly open for him once his throbbing cock siiinks in, enveloping his bulged tip. 

The sensation is enough to make his stern lips fall open with a sigh–“And right now- fuck- she’s telling me she wants a lil’ more.”

Filling you up with just a few inches up to his ridged crown, the line of his slit scrapes the roof of your pussy and you have to force yourself to speak over the loud sluuurp. “I-I’m not falling for that- ngh, Hiromi.”

And oh- that makes him pant.

That makes him shudder, that makes his jaw tick with a slightly feral twitch. Squeezing in the slimy end of his hot cock until you’re seeing stars, “Oh- say that again, angel.”

“Hiro-”

“Louder.”

“Hiromi.”

And that makes him dig his knees deeper into the springy mattress and rut-

“Fuh-fuck.” Like some fucking animal. He’s gritting through snarled teeth, that bitter sting the only thing keeping him from fully plunging his rotund crown inside of you and fucking you stupid already.

Higuruma throws his head back, usually-groomed raven locks falling over his line of sight. He’s as unruly as he can be and fucking you just as much, letting the curve of his tip thump and thump your walls repeatedly. 

“Yeah- yeahhh there we go.” You’re flinching once you feel the knobbly pads of his fingers reach for your pulsing clit and pinch. Mean. Tugging. Letting you scream yourself hoarse every time his pre-glazed tip juuust skids down your walls, “Better say my name hah- louder, sugar- can’t hear you over that cute cunt begging for more.”

You’re whining, “Ngh- f-fuck you—”

“You are, my wife.”

And it’s just agonizing - Higuruma knew how to time his jackhammers just right so that he’s never fully scraping your textured g-spot. Never fully past his drooling slit - and it was driving you wild. 

Driving your hips upwards with two hands thrown ‘round his clammy neck, your fingers disappear into the depths of his dark tresses and make him sigh. With you mewling, “N’ what if I hck-” Fuck, he’s swervin’ his creamy cock over to slash oh-so-close against your g-spot. Making your lips wobble prettily, “-what if I said I wanted more now?”

Fuck.

A killshot - enough to make the bottom of your pussy seep through with a gooey pool of his precum. 

And Higuruma likes to think he’s all sensible, he likes to think he can handle it- until his damn baritone voice cracks just as soon as he’s trying to sound stern for you. “M-maybe I won’t listen then- since you haaaah- wanted just the tip so badly. Won’t give you the rest of my cock until you’re acting proper, angel.”

“Really, Hiro–?”

“N-no.”

So gone on your pussy that the lawyer can’t help but tell you the truth. 

Oh, you’ve broken him.

And the only thing that tough, uptight Higuruma Hiromi can do is wedge his feet into your ancient bedsprings and slam a mean kiss against your cervix. 

The spheroid of his cockhead slaps the base of your pussy, and his palm slaps the top. “You-” Talking to your fucking pussy, “-just like her, sweet thing. Gonna make me fucking—lose it.” You’re speechless with utter cockdrunken need whilst Higuruma pounds away his honed inches.

No rhythm. No method. Maddened. 

Targeting the thrumming area of your g-spot, slipping in a zig-zagging line straight down to strike the door to your womb.

Feeling so good that his flinching orifice splurts out a few beads of heated white- cumming early, just from how long you’d been teasing him with that damned ‘just the tip.’

“Fuck-” Your hips buck upwards to chase what you’ve been yearning for for so long, thighs shaky with every needy web of seed slithering between your pussylips. “Yes- right there mm, feels so fucking full, Hiro–”

“Yeah? This what you wanted for so long, sugar—?” Cooing, Higuruma gives your slick-glossed cunt another sweet spank to get you squelching from between your legs once more. Just flooding the sticky sheets with all your sap every time he’s planting such sloppy drags of his cock, just so hot. So stuffed. The creamy knots of his cum stick to your thighs like adhesive, “If you wanted me to fuck you stupid so- hah- so badly then you should’ve just asked, y’know?”

Blubbering through your tears of bliss, you whimper once he’s catching your lips in a ravenous kiss. “B-but you have that trail so early in the morning tomorrow n’ you need ngh- sleep.”

“Well then-” Ah, his grin answering is feral– and you suddenly get the feeling that you won’t be making it to tomorrow walking - or alive. “-better cum f’me eight times before tomorrow morning, angel.”

A/N. CUZ YA KILLIN’ IT GIRL-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[screampied]

#RENT-A-DILF! t. fushiguro

ৎ୭ sum. sims 4? more like sims whore. out of procrastination and sheer boredom, you install this pretty new game titled ‘rent-a-dilf!’ the catch? he actually spawns in real life and wants more than just one day with you. girl��

wc. 8.1k (erm)

warnings. fem! reader, dilf! toji, loser girl reader, unprotected, size differences, size kinks, he’s reaaal nasty, brief toy usage, praise, dirty talk, fīngering, squīrting, face fúcking, me breaking the fourth wall, cunnīlingus, bjs, making him whine, implied marathons, breeding kink, impact play, petnames, toji being well … toji!

an. HUUGE thank u 2 kali @blkkizzat for beta'ing some !! <3 this came to me in a dream so… this is all over the place eheh.

“HEY, GIRL. WANNA GET DILFED? PLAY NOW!”

“huh..” you swipe a fat thumb down the dimly lit screen of your phone. ah, the things you do at the buttcrack of midnight. your eyes were glued to your device for about a good hour as you allowed curiosity to get the utter best of you.

RENT-A-DILF! ™ was a brand-spankin’ new romance simulation game. it was a cheap knockoff version of tinder and the sims combined but made up of purely dilf characters. it was easy, you’d list your desired preferences and the game would randomly choose the perfect matches for you. it’s a 50/50 chance that you’ll match with one of the higher-up characters—specifically, the newest one that recently got added to the roster of digital men. toji fushiguro, also known as his ridiculous alias of ‘GUTREARRANGER385.’

at first glance - he’s smokin’ hot.

the app allows you to spin toji around, swipe a thumb through his shaggy black bangs, and even dress him up. your eyes skimmed toward a few words near his bio that read, ‘thirty-three, single, verified dilf, full nelson / doggy enthusiast. . ,’ and an extra tag that read ‘oh, i’m also filthy rich.’

well…

toji was a top-rated character, and again, he was just added to the line-up about a few hours ago.

as you sink into the fat cushions of your pillows, you grip your phone.

it was almost eerie—it was as if the dark-haired character was looking straight at you. while you’re deep in thought, still taking in his displayed stats and filthy bio, your eyes trace back up toward his face. it reads that he’s about a staggering height of 6’2 and judging from his burly build alone, he was fuckin’ jacked.

such swole muscles . .

you couldn’t stop staring for a bit, and the black compression tank with loose-fitted shorts didn’t exactly help things either.

his stance was idle as he had an accessory of a priggish grin curling across both sides of his scarred lips.

his lips, you were so busy fawning over toji’s body that you didn’t even notice the scar that vertically ran down the right side of his mouth. it’s such a brief detail but it’s sexy.

you kind of wanted to know more about him. now that you thought about it, the game had dozens of ‘???’ symbols near the pink box where his lore was supposed to be. he’s new so you’d probably have to wait until you learn more about him.

with your eyes trailing back toward him, just so smug. you could tell from his demeanor despite him being just literal pixels on your glowy screen.

or so you thought..

“fuck it,” you sigh, lightly tapping the print of your thumb against the bright pink ‘marry me?’ button.

you did a lazy skim beforehand about the app’s so-called ‘pity system’ and how dim your chances were at actually snagging toji. like hell, you were gonna spend money on a game—you just had to hope that you were lucky.

it’s damn near close to one at night before you slouch back, sprawling your legs out in an attempt to get more comfortable.

staring at your screen and scratching your head, seconds . . minutes go by and nothing happens.

the game swallows up the last remnants of your free gems and you’re leering back at toji who you could’ve sworn just rolled his eyes at you.

what . . the . . fuuuck . .

okay, girl. sooo nothing happened. now what?

your brows start to contort together in frustration and now you are really bored.

all you wanted was to see what was the hype around this new popular dating-slash-romance-simulator game and now, you were disappointed.

then again, you’ve heard of how games like these were known to scam their players.

with an annoyed groan, you toss your phone near the edge of the bed before crawling over toward your burgundy-colored nightstand. there, you lightly pull on the wooden handle, opening your drawer.

your eyes land on your sparkly-colored rose toy. just about a few days ago, it came in the mail and you were oh-so ecstatic to try it out.

holding your thumb over the heart-shaped power button, you hear the loud ‘beeeep!’ indicating it’s turned on.

reclining back, you lift your nightgown before sighing deeply. hopefully, your cute ‘lil toy could help make you forget everything that just happened.

honestly, you didn’t really think the stupid game would work anyway. you’ll leave a one-star review later.

the entire game screamed a scam but hey, you only live once. it was worth a shot. actually, no it wasn’t.

but on the bright side,

you were starting to forget about the app the moment your pinched fingers slid your panties to the side. a soft moan leaves from your lips the moment the rubber edge of the vibrator smears against your bare clit. your back nearly arches forward, and as you’re gnawing on your bottom lip, you can feel your toes curling.

“f- fuck,” you swallow in an incoming breath, hearing the loud ‘bzzzz’-ing resounding through each of your paper-thin walls.

the stimulation had you forgetting about that shitty game within seconds. you lie back against your pillow, sweet harmonic whines purring out of your dry throat as you gradually succumb to your coarse thoughts.

then it hit you.

why don’t you just fantasize about . . him?

toji fushiguro.

dark-haired, smug grin, scarred sly lips, beefy build, and cold green eyes..

as you started to envision him in your clouded mind—you let off a soft whine. your thoughts were scrambled, but the first image that popped up in your brain was his arms. his muscles, the various veins that would pop through his biceps.

oh- you only imagined what it would feel like to have his arms wrapped around your throat.

the thoughts alone make your thighs squeeze together, and the buzzing from the toy shrieks even louder once you turn it up a single notch.

‘powering off. . !’

wait,

what?

snatched straight out of your lewd fantasm, your fingers pause as they lie against the rubber toy. your eyes widen once the vibrating stops— and then in your room, it’s dead quiet again.

“you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” you whine, the realization that your toy dying mid-fantasy making your mood turn even more sour.

first, you lose in the game and you lose at playing with yourself too? damn, girl you’re a failure!

oh uh, sorry.

“heh, need help, sugar?”

you freeze the minute your ears perk up, hearing a smoky raspy voice. its low, with a bit of huskiness underneath it too. coldness sets against your thighs, creeping at the skin that hides underneath your pulled-up nightgown before you gulp.

was that…

“yeah, it’s me. y’er wished uh- ‘dilf.’ whatever i’m supposed to say,” toji adds in a raspy tone, crossing his beefy arms with a puffed-out chest. it was as if he was reading your mind. you probably had the dumbest expression plastered across your face because toji then smirked. “what? y’er toy that failed to make you cum made you speechless too? awwwh.”

smug bastard.

a wave of embarrassment crept against your skin as you closed your dangling, open jaw. oh fuck.

he saw that- he saw you, little ‘ole you playing with yourself. just seconds ago, you were fantasizing about if he really was here, and now actually he is.

in the flesh . . . literally.

“i… uh,” you stammer, struggling to form a proper sentence. toji stands tall, a few inches away from the edge of your bed. hooded, green eyes stare at you and he’s just loving it - the way your eyes rove down his body, openly checking him out.

he wore the same outfit you picked out for him in the game.

a compression tank top with some shorts. (you added a tiny pink bow on his head just to be funny) the more you ogled at him with cute, enlarged eyes—the more you realized just how big he was. ‘big’ was an understatement, the guy was huge. toji towered over you even while you were lying in bed. “wow,” you softly utter, your eyes coincidently landing on his bulge.

toji was packed- and it was as if his bulge was having a staring contest right back at you.

“i know, darlin.’ he’s big ain’t he?” toji snickers.

you finally meet toji’s eyes before scoffing. his personality traits weren’t kidding about him at all. he’s cocky. “i’m just- you’re real?”

“pretty much.”

“but… how?”

“touch me ‘n find out, darlin.’”

you deadpan, but it was tempting.

you don’t even realize that you’re already sitting up from your bed—slowly inching yourself toward him.

toji eyes you with the same impish simper, puffed chest, and hefty arms crossed. he’s so brawny, and the moment you softly feel on his left bicep with a hand, he snickers.

“mhm,” he mumbled under his breath, and you could feel his muscles tense at your touch. multiple veins pulsed down his exposed arms and oh- the entire thing was so sensual.

you still felt embarrassed but now you started to feel something else. toji noticed you started to stare at his hands and he raised a dark brow. “this not enough for you, yeah?” your eyes widened once he then bent down, a few inches away from your face. he’s actually real, and sure, you were probably staring at literal pixels but you didn’t care. “want me ‘ta touch you, pretty girl?”

“please,” you whine, and that single word comes out of your mouth so quickly. it flew past your lips within and split a second and you didn’t even register how fuckin’ whiny you sounded in front of him.

your body was burning hot, and you were blazing up underneath your nightgown. “i- i mean, yeah,” you try to play it cool, only embarrassing yourself even further. toji’s so close thought that you could fully smell him.

he smelled manly, a citrusy mixture of wood sage and leather. it’s strong, so strong that it makes you blink thrice.

“yeah what?” toji gruffs, and god he’s just getting closer ‘n closer. by now, he’s just a few spaces away from kissing you.

you’re hoping - praying that he couldn’t hear the dramatic thumps of your heart’s weak pulse.

it’s pounding loudly, competing with drums with each ba-dump! it creates in your chest. toji softly cups your chin, and raises a thin brow once you lean into his touch right away.

“ ‘m gonna need to hear that pretty mouth tell me what to do.” and his smoky voice softens just a bit.

leafy eyes intently stare at you before they shift toward your quivering glossed lips. you’re needy and oh, could he tell.

you lock eyes with toji before letting off a cute sigh. it’s more of a frustrated one—and he’s gingerly rubbing a thumb down your pouty bottom lip. “touch- i want you to touch me, toji.”

“aht ahttt. manners, darlin’,” toji eggs on, guiding his thumb near the corner of your lips. the edge was killing you, and the haughtiness in his voice only made you more irritated. “ ‘pretty please?’ c’mon, talk to me nice.”

toji’s simper turns pompous as he watches you attempt to shoot daggers at him. your knees squeeze together and you’re just so impatient that you just sucked it up, complying. “p.. pretty please, touch me toji.”

“good girl,” he murmurs, and his voice pitched a bit lower this time. it’s almost dangerous, and you gasp once his big hand snakes around your neck.

you’re still trying to wrap your head around how this is even real - but fuck, you were never one to complain.

toji takes a glance at your snapped-shut thighs and he chuckles. “aw, poor thing. that cute rose toy didn’t seem to be much help, huh?”

“……”

ouch.

he just had to remind you of that. but his hand around your neck felt good. he’s gentle, slowly making his way down your chest. toji then starts to make you lie down on your back.

with a flop! the comfy queen-sized bed springs out and you sigh.

“toooji,” and it’s almost like you’re whining again. you hated how slow he was taking, and you knew it was on purpose. the stare he’s giving your body makes you almost moan. your room was slightly dim, but you could still make out his towering wide silhouette. “m- more.”

toji gets on your bed, the mattress dipping from the sudden weight before he grumbles. “bet you fuckin’ do,” and you gasp once he stares between your legs. you moan, watching as toji starts to smell your thighs. he doesn’t just smell though, he’s slowly rubbing his nose and entire face up and down your skin. he’s feral already, and you could tell just from the grunt that leaves his lips shortly after. “ ‘m guessin’ you don’t want me to just touch you anymore, huh sugar?”

“no,” you breathlessly reply, nearly writhing from his touch once his shaggy bangs ghost against your skin.

toji could already smell between your legs. so peachy, and he even made out the faint candied aroma of your body wash that lingered on your skin. your back was already creating an arch at the temptation alone. once his barred hands sprawl your legs apart, he stares straight at your dripping cunt.

oh - you were perfect..

toji huffs, taking a second to smear a thumb down your slit that’s dribbling with so much slit.

leisurely, it cascades down your folds and you watch with glassy eyes once he brings his same thumb up to his lips, getting a taste. “mmm, ain’t that a treat,” and you moan, a hand of yours clawing on his head. toji snickers, feeling your weak grip trying to push him further between your thighs. “my, aren’t you impatient,” toji rasps with a guffaw. “but heh- fine, spread these legs f’ me. ‘s been a while since i’ve eaten good anyway.”

and the moment toji feasts himself between your pretty plush thighs — you were fuckin’ screwed..

he was a literal animal. the second his tongue delves itself inside of your cunt - he’s insane.

toji grunts, pursing his carmine-colored lips as your feeble hips start to rock against his mouth.

“o- ohhh my god,” you’d whimper, tugging at his raven strands. his head movement was just ferocious, swerving from the left to right.

his tongue’s stupidly long too, and toji dips it inside of your pussy before fishing it right back out. he reels it out of your puffed folds before diving right back in.

he’s sluuuurping you as if his life depended on it, savoring your sweetened taste as his lips stuck against your clit. “ngh- fuck, toji,” and your lips couldn’t help but curl into a cute oval.

his tongue..

he’s bullying it between your folds, profusely circling the pointed tip around your pretty ‘lil clit. briefly, it gets trapped within his teeth and toji gives it a little nibble.

a soft yelp! rips out of your throat at the tender munch of his canines playfully munching on your sweetest spots. toji found it cute how you were so squirmy, so much so that his callused rough hands had to hold your hips down. with a cute shimmy, you’re wriggling your twitching sex against his mouth.

already, you watch the glittery stream of your slick starting to drip drip drip down his chin.

toji’s green eyes glance up at you and he snickers, popping in a single digit. slooowly, you feel his thumb sinking inside of your cunt before disappearing into the void of your entrance. you’re moaning, maintaining your firm grip on his head before whimpering. “mm, yank on it harder why don’tcha.”

toji grumps—his head pulling forward roughly at your adorable strength. he’s buried not six inches deep but nose deep, and you shiver once the tip of his button nose starts to rub up ‘n down your sobbing pussy.

he’s addicted- not only that but the epitome of pussy drunk.

“tojiiiii!” you slur out his name, a gasp shortly following out of your lips. the dexterous shapes and curves of his tongue make you whine out his name again . . and again . . and a-fuckin’-gain.

as he’s easing another thick finger inside of your cunt, you’re starting to fantasize.

why didn’t men like him exist in real life?!

he’s messy, giving each area of your cunt a multitude of sloppy kisses. bubbles of saliva trickle past the corners of his lips as he’s stuffed right between your legs.

toji’s damn near animalistic- his buds continuing to whine out for more of your divine taste.

he doesn’t think he’s tasted anything this good since.

you’re full, exhaling a sharp breath once you feel him plug in yet another digit.

“biiiig stretch, baby. three’s the fuckin’ charm,” toji huskily groans, staring straight at your pussy.

it’s so pretty, he’d never get over the shine that coats the entirety of your loving entrance. if he’d squint, he’d mistaken your clit for a blossoming flower. a more lewd one at least anyway.

it’s sloppy with the way he’s got three fat fingers barreling inside of you at once. toji watches as your stomach dips and you’re gasping, tightly pulling at his scalp. “hehhh, atta girl. get these fingers wet if you want toji sir later.”

toji sir….?

just as you were about to eye roll, you let off a moan once you hear the ridiculously wet sloshes of your cunt. he’s pumping all fingers in and out of you while flicking his tongue — multitasking.

with a ‘pop!’ he takes one out before sliding it back in, feeling you bare around each digit like a good girl. “oh- fuck, please don’t stop. pleaseplease,” and you grow even more hysterical as you’re just basically fucking against his face now.

as you’re jerking your hips against toji’s face, you feel a bit of stubble along with his slanted scar smearing against your cunt.

it tickled, but oh- you weren’t laughing.

your eyes were rolling at the enticing sways of his tongue every time. they reach deep- far deeper than the tips of his fingers if that was even possible. as toji’s still idly swirling his flat tongue inside of your gummy orifice, he hears you exhale a deep shriek. “ ‘m gonna cum!”

“awh,” toji slyly murmurs, and you coo out a surprised ‘oooh’ the moment he snatches out of his dewy-coated fingers.

they’re covered in translucent webs of your tangled slick when he gives your cunt a pat. “hear that, baby? said she’s gonna cum,” and he’s not even looking at you. verdant eyes gave your pussy his entire uninvited attention instead, and you feel him blowing his hot breath against your puffy slit. toji even presses his ear up to your wet folds before nodding. “mhm. ‘s exactly what i’m sayin.’”

“uh?? are you seriously talking to my pu—”

“quiet now, sugar. you’ll get y’er turn,” toji utters, making you moan with a spanking right against your fluttering clit. as you’re still laid back with your legs widely splayed out, you quietly bite back whimpers once his palm starts to maneuver a circle around your entrance.

a wet splash! ends up making you spurt out a few droplets of slick right onto the center of his hand. “nasty giiiirl,” he purrs, turning his palm around before licking it right up while staring dead at you.

your neck starts to feel a bit numb as it’s slightly raised just so you can keep staring at toji. he’s just toying with your pussy, casually flicking his tongue against your nub just to hear you whine.

“t- tojiiii.” you wail out, feeling your nerves practically scream at you.

you felt every bundle of axons in your body violently shake you to your very core. your thighs wrapped around toji’s broad neck, merely suffocating him—but he had to admit, going out like this wasn’t so bad..

“give it t’ me then,” he gruffly rasps against your pussy. his breath yet again fans against your folds, noticing that cute ‘lil pulse that would always occur whenever his lips were just a few inches apart.

toji even whistles against your slit, lolling out his tongue before lapping you up from top to bottom.

teasingly, he even goes down toward your neglected puckering hole to give it a loving lick. “all on my tongue, girl. hah- make a mess,” he continues, and you’re whimpering as he’s gruffly talking you through your incoming release.

all you’re seeing is nothing but white once it finally comes. bright, blinding splotches of white that blur your vision for a few seconds..

the moment you let go, you let off a sweet squalling orgasm that rings through your ears and toji’s.

more of a sobbing battle cry and it’s oh-so cute.

at least toji thought so, and he could feel the lessening hold of your fingers releasing from his ravened tresses.

toji’s slurping you clean, making sure his tongue doesn’t miss a drip of your syrupy mess. it coats down on his tongue perfectly, falling on his sizzling tastebuds and even pouring a stream down his chiseled chin.

“there we go girl, uh huhhh.” as he’s talking with his mouth full, you fall back against your bed.

you’re beat - stars clouding your vision and your current state was so cartoonish.

your legs felt like they stopped working, no batteries left in each limb and you’re still moaning whilst he’s lapping up the last few syrupy drops.

licking near the crevices of your inner thighs, toji hums. “heh. y’er cute. ‘s been a while since you’ve got eaten out, sugar?”

in a sluggish mumble, you stare at toji with metaphorical heart eyes. “i guess.”

“poor baby,” he clicks his tongue, sitting up. you’re panting heavily, watching as he gets up. toji’s broad body hovers over you and he runs a hand through his matted black strands. “y’know-” he pauses at the feeling of your hand reaching near his shorts. toji looks at you before snickering, raising a brow. “aw, don’t tell me you want a taste too. ‘s that what you want?”

“mhm,” you utter, and you don’t even realize you are drooling once you’re fondling your fingers with the hem of his briefs. they’re a viridescent green, matching his eye color. once you meet the strip of his boxers with bold black letters that read, ‘DADDY TOJI,’ you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

of course he’d wear briefs that had his name on them.

“don’t be shy, girl,” toji murmurs, placing a wide palm on your head.

you crawl forward as he’s now lying down on the bed with you on your knees. toji’s tank top was wrinkly, and it was pulled up just a tad bit for you to peep at his snatched waistline. it’s sharp, you’d guess that if you tried to touch his hips you’d be left with a paper cut. “ ‘m alllll yours t’night. and he watches as you waste no time, speedily pulling down his boxers.

you’re met that same huge bulge you saw when he was in the game—

it’s big, so big that it almost looked painful.

the way it poked out the fabric, hardening from the tent that was concealing it from being sprung out.

once you pull down his briefs, his cock eventually does spring out, and your eyes cutely widen. “f- fuck.”

“yeahh, toji sir’s gonna be inside you in a minute.”

“stop talking about your dick like it’s a person.”

“make me.”

he’s so annoying,

silence was your reply and toji snickers once he sees you deadpan. he liked getting on your nerves. he found it cute how you were trying to keep up your stubborn façade while wrapping a hand around his monstrous length at the same time.

but fuck.. he’s just so thick-

at first, toji could barely fit around your entire palm. his tip’s swollen, a ruddy crimson red with a pearly split tip.

it’s got veins running from not just one side but all, and you were frothing inside of the mouth just imagining that thing down your throat. you’re so close up to it, glancing at the tears of pre-cum that snivel from the meaty sides. you couldn’t help but give his rounded tip a few kitten kisses.

“m-mhm,” toji grunts, his core muscles underneath his tightly fitted shirt flexing.

seconds later, you softly swirl your tongue around his tip—getting a good enough taste before humming with a closed-eye smile. “go ‘head, get a taste.”

toji’s hand claws on the crown of your head once he ogles at the sight before him.

you - arched over, a hand slowly jerking up and down his hefty shaft. a vein on his dick prods against your finger the moment you cup your lips around his head. it’s massive, and it takes you a second to relax your jaw out.

“nnghm-” you blink twice, laying your wet tongue flat against his flushed crown. toji watches, and he’s oh-so smug. the hooking curve he had on his cock didn’t help either.

you could already start to feel the creases of your mouth numb as you tried to fit him inside. the bittersweet taste of his pre-cum lingers on your buds as your lashes suddenly close.

“niiiiiice ‘n slow, babygirl. you got it,” toji says in a smoky gruff.

the muscles in his burly thighs tense the more your mouth slams down on him. with his nostrils flaring up, toji lets off a loooong groan that puffs out of his chest. “fuuuckk-” he grunts, feeling your tongue circle its way around his sparkly tip.

it’s glimmering with excess dewdrops of cum and you couldn’t help but lap up every drop. toji then sits up on his knees, making you keep your current position.

his knees dig into the plush mattress as he stares at how you’re slowly taking him in your mouth.

with a hand still wrapped around his thick shaft, your lashes flutter once his bulbous cockhead kisses against your uvula. “ahn-” you gulp, a few strands of saliva pouring down the corners of your cracked lips. toji groans, feeling you already starting to lather his entire meaty length with spit as a substitute for lubricant.

it’s messy - and toji eyes you the entire time, his grip against the top of your head getting a bit stronger.

“good girl, mhm. no teeth, n- no fuckin’ teeth. wanna feel that pretty tongue ‘n that tight throat,” and you let off a muffled moan once his tip sloppily drubs against the back of your throat yet again.

you lie your tongue flat, making it wander everywhere—tasting the tasteless veins that were shaped akin to lightning strikes.

it’s all over his cock, and your eyes are closed as you try to savor every inch that eases its way down your right throat. “god- that’s it, that’s what this cute mouth is for, yeah? for dick, huh,” and some more drool seeps from your lips as toji holds up your chin, rubbing a thumb over your mouth. “p- put that mouth to good use, sugar.”

your plump lips wrap around toji’s cock as your head starts to bobble. wholly, you’re taking him in with the end of your conic-shaped tongue teasingly sliding down the midline of his shaft.

toji’s nostrils flare up as he starts to push you closer into his unsteady hips, sucking in a dramatic breath once he feels you starting to wetly fist his cock quicker with one hand.

again, it’s damn biiig, throbbing in the palm of your hand and you moan once you guide your other hand between your legs.

with quick reflexes though, toji reaches in and gives your wrist a slight swat.

“no touchin’, girl.” he grumbles, and you let off a pout as your puffed cheeks heat up. “don’t worry about her right now, she’s fine where she’s at, promise.”

if you didn’t have your mouth occupied you’d smack your lips to voice your frustration, but alas…

your head continues to bobble as you take various fat inches down your throat, occasionally taking a second to breathe for air.

toji’s abs flex as you continue, digging his thick stubby fingers down your scalp. “mmp-” you let off a muffled moan, feeling your thighs squeeze shut.

pathetically enough, you were still dripping and the conditioned air fanning against your exposed skin only made you ten times more sensitive. toji lets off a deep, heavy sigh once you start to fondle his balls.

they were all round ‘n swollen, and he nearly choked on his own words once feels your stringy saliva trickle down toward his heavy, neglected sack.

“nasty s- slut,” he huffs out, already starting to feel his cock tightening. your throat and its warmth were dangerous—and he can feel your jaw starting to slacken. “mmm, gettin’ handsy on me, yeah pretty girl?” and toji brings two fingers toward your face, plugging your nose.

it only lasts about two seconds and you moan, his dick sloppily popping out of your mouth and he hears you gasp. a lustrous stream of spit starts to dribble down your chin as you pant, cutely glaring at him.

“aw, such a messy baby. look at that wet jawww,” he smears a hand down your chin, watching you lean back in.

toji grunts, feeling you grip his base and he knew sooner rather than later, that he was getting close.

you’re opening your throat niiice and wide as if you were preparing to belt out a high note. he’s tapping back against the roof of your mouth and near your twitching uvula repeatedly, and that’s when toji starts to thrust his hips into your mouth.

“fuck, f- fuckk keep goin’,” his voice starts to pitch deeper with an even more husky rasp before he starts to pant. “ ‘m gonna cum, gonna fuckin’ cum right down this messy throat. ‘s that what ya want, pretty?”

“mhm,” your head nods, and you could feel your cunt twitching between your legs at the erotic imagery.

the mental image of toji splattering ropes and ropes of hot cum on your achy pink tongue. it makes you nearly drool just imagining it, and you start to moan again.

toji groans, never getting over the lewd sliminess of your saliva mixing. sloppy strands continue to fall past the edges of your quivering lips as your glassy eyes glance up at him.

toji’s puffing and huffing feverish heavy breaths that make you throb even more. his chest sinks in and out as he’s preparing to shoot a nice load right on your tongue. “hah- fine then, open wide baby girl. better take it all.” toji groans, shivering once your lips tickle down the slope of his frenulum.

with a loud spurt! toji ends up releasing, slimy creamy strings gradually painting near the inside of your mouth.

it comes out slow but it’s so hot- you let off a soft mewl at the bitterly somewhat sweet taste soaking on your highly anticipated tastebuds.

“mmmh.” you let off a satisfied hum, flapping your lashes as he dumps such rivulets of cum down your throat. frosty ribbons ooze down your throat one drop at a time and toji grunts.

“hah- good . . good fuckin’ girl, c’mere.” toji grunts.

as you’re trying to catch your breath yourself, he softly pulls you up by the neck, bringing you into a sultry hot kiss. you moan once his scarred lips harshly crash against yours at full speed.

toji swipes his tongue across the edge of your mouth, barely batting an eye that he’s tasting remnants of his cum on your lips.

as both tongues mercilessly fight for dominance, toji leans you to lie back down on the bed. he’s warm, and you can feel him shiver once you drag a palm down his beefy chest.

you taste a bit of mint on his tongue as he parts your legs with one hand blindly, giving your bare pussy a playful squeeze with his entire wrist.

“mmmpf-” you whimper against his lips, and toji’s big hands slowly trail their way toward your untouched tits. he squeezes them also.

you feel a curve of a smile from toji stretch against your lips as he hears you whine. still delving his greedy tongue in and out of your mouth, occasionally tilting his head, toji brushes his thumbs against the fleecy fabric of your nightgown that sheaths your perked nipples.

before you know it though—you now found yourself bent over and arched.

your lips were all hot and swollen, ridden entirely and you already missed his lips on yours as you laid chest flat down with a cute pout. you could feel toji’s eyes running down your back, shortly hearing a titter come from him once he stops to look at you.

“goddamn, sugar,” toji lets off a whistle as he enjoys the view from the back. your face was met between your fluffed pillows as you chewed on your lip in utter anticipation.

your slicked orifices were just weeping out with your syrupy arousal, clenching from the cold air aerating against it. toji wanders his eyes down the cute shape of your ass with his shaft in hand.

his stare - you could feel it, including the incoming chill that ran down your spine.

with a loud echoing spank, toji swats a hand against your ass, groaning at the jiggly flesh. “so pretty ‘n plump. ‘m gonna take my time with you.”

you moan as your ass instinctively wriggles. toji’s rough wide hands softly caress down your hips before he starts to align himself.

here it goes…

you were mentally preparing yourself, biting on the edge of your cottony pillow. the instant you feel his dewy tip smudge its head against your folds, you let off a deep sigh. shortly afterward, a sweet ‘oooh!’ departs from your lips from the fat size alone. your stomach was already seizing, and the wait was steadily killing you. “fu- fuck,” you croak out, hearing toji’s husky breathing from behind you.

all eyes were on you, and your sweet drooling cunt that just doesn’t know when to stop leaking.

it’s a gorgeous sight in his eyes—

the way how your pulsing inside your clit started to accelerate more ‘n more once he brings his flushed cockhead towards your entrance. “ahh, such a pretty pussy. let’s get the good girl a bit more loose,” toji heaves, and your mouth drops the second his hips sharply pierce inward. gradually, he’s starting to ease his way in..

he’s slow and gentle—

mainly because just a bit of pressure and he’d snap you in half like a twig.

he was that big, and once you were starting to feel the splitting stretch of his cock, you were hysterical. “ohmygoddd.” you blurb out, your hips already pathetically stuttering.

the stretch was so delicious, it’s so good that your eyes were starting to roll back toward the back of your skull yet again. toji groans, feeling your cunt trying to hug against him tightly, greeting him with a cute gummy flutter.

once his thick tip bullies its way inside with its sheer size instead of words alone… it’s game over.

a single thrust was enough to snap you right into reality, and you moan right as his hips punctuate its first hit.

that single hit soon turns into a combo, and toji’s cock started to maintain a decent pace before striking your cunt at all angles. he stares at the fat of your ass that bounces back against his sharp pelvis and he grunts.

“hah- that’s it, girl. fuck back into me, yeah.” and another rude palm smacks against your ass cheek. you whimper, feeling your toes curl at his weight pressing right up against you.

toji lifts his shirt which was practically gluing against his skin due to his masses of sweat. leaning in all the way close, he hovers his weight over you—making his abs rock against you as he starts to grind on your body.

“lemme hear ya,” he hoarsely whispers, feeling your cunt twitch the moment he wraps a hand around the back of your throat.

toji’s strokes were mean-

the epitome of ruthless once he’s just straight-up jackhammering into your walls.

your legs didn’t take long to become wobbly as you were whining his name constantly, choking on your crude inaudible syllables.

“toji—”

“again, not you little girl,” and you moan once his tip thrashes deep into your cervix. it’s nearly reaching there, attempting to drown it with sloppy vigorous kisses.

a palm goes over your mouth, muffling your sweet repetitive moans before he smirks.

“her,” and you whine, feeling him creep a free hand down between your parted thighs. toji rubs circles against your stuffed full cunt, hearing your whimpers pitch louder.

his rhythm was the definition of crazy, and as he was pounding into you continuously, you were slobbering all over the bare center of his palm. toji spanks between your legs, hearing your muffled yelp before lowly chuckling against your ear. a loud splash was heard from your cunt and he starts to smear it back against your throbbing entrance.

“mhm, see baby. she’s tryna talk to me again. ‘m more interested to see what she’s got to say,” and your eyes were practically crossed-eyed now. as toji’s deep voice talks your ear off, he playfully nibbles on your lobe. “wet pussy first, then the whiny wet girl, yeah?”

“mmph-” you moan, bawling your sheets into the open palms of your hand. toji gawks as your body starts to gradually lift.

it’s cute- your ass raises and you’re trying to match his pace. toji’s hitting you well and he’s hitting you deep.

each tilt of his hips sends you whiplash and you’re hacking on your own spit. “mmng.” as your muffled sounds resounded through your walls, you feel his hand go against your ass again.

toji’s favorite part always was to just see your skin bounce back against his.

the jiggle—it was the icing on the cake. the swerves of his hips have you getting dick-drunk within seconds.

bulging widely, your eyes enlarge the exact moment you feel something go against the back of your head.

it’s his foot- thankfully he’s wearing socks.

“fuuuck, such a nasty fuckin’ grip,” toji growls, bringing both hands toward your hips again. he’s holding you firmly, with his foot raising toward the back of your neck. you let off an even prettier moan this time, mutely gasping from the angle.

with toji’s foot near the back of your head, he’s in an even deeper position. “take it. take this dick, t- take it.” as you’re moaning, toji pushes you further into the follow.

oh- you were getting close again.

very, very close. so close that you could taste it in your tongue, it’s salty flavor never subsided.

it was coming quickly, and this time it felt a bit different.

your cunt’s glossing the entirety of toji’s cock that buries itself inside of your clingy walls before he groans. taking the pillow out of your mouth, your words and sounds aren’t so muffled anymore. “t- toji! somethin’s about to—”

“i know… iiiii know,” he cuts you off, and his thrusts against you start to slow. slow but still insanely deep.

you feel a bit of a bulge nudge against the lower pit of your tummy and you exhale. he’s in wholly, stretching out your pretty pussy and rearranging your insides—ironically enough just like his alias name.

“let go for me,” and you moan once he releases his foot from behind you, cupping your chin with a bare hand. you’re a mess, drooling from the sides of your swollen pursed lips before whining. “trust me, sugar. let go.”

at his words—you end up ‘letting go’ which fet like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.

you’ve had orgasms but this felt like an entirely new world. you’re gushing out, sprinkling out a small clear stream on his cock before gasping.

your legs were on their last few hinges before collapsing and your eyes widened larger. “toji, toji s- shiiiit,” you ramble with furrowed brows and a dangling dropped jaw.

you’ve never felt more wet, and your entire body blissfully relaxes once your release comes.

toji’s still inside you before he sneers. your body gets limp and he squeezes your plump lips together. “woahhh,” he gruffs, pressing his chin onto your right shoulder. you shiver once you feel the clammy mess stick and soak between your thighs. “did you just squirt on me?”

“s- sorry, sorry,” you moan, feeling your left leg twitch. you’re still spurting out and it’s like a crashing wave that just keeps coming.

toji rubs a thumb against your lips, his hips coming to a sudden pause.

“ah. don’t apologize, silly girl,” toji coos against your neck, planting a kiss near your skin. he feels your body slumping but toji raises a brow once you make him pull out, lightly pushing him back on the bed. “oh? what’s this, sweetheart?” he lands on his chest before snickering. “atta girl. not scared ‘ta look me in the eye.”

“s.. shut up, toji.”

“hmph. how rude.”

toji ends up fucking you stupid, fucking the brain cells—whatever brain cells you had left in your brain by dumbing you down with fat inches of his cock.

round after round after round . .

you’re an entire drooling, babbling mess and despite your legs nearly giving out, you only wanted more..

he did countless positions with you, making you moan out his name constantly until it’s the only word that can slip past your glossed lips. until it’s the only word that can formulate in your brain.

you’re dumbfounded at his stamina - his speed.

you lost track of time and you were sure it was probably waaay past one am by now.

you were currently on top of toji, riding him with the loud creaks of your bed groaning in agony from both active bodies.

your hips were so sensual, rockin’ back and forth while he had a hand attached to your waist the entire time. that sly grin that painted across his lips never left. “yeahhh, girl. use those hip—ack,” and toji pauses mid-sentence once your hand wraps around his throat. “heh- the fuck?”

“you talk too much, toji.” you puff, watching his smug grin widen even more. he’s not even fazed?

oh- he’s turned on.

toji’s sat man-spread with his hand still gripping your hip. his cock’s puncturing inside of your cunt deeply, massaging thoroughly through your walls like its life depended on it.

the view of you swerving your body on his lap turned him on a lot more than he thought it would. it was just something about the way you moved your hips, going in circles and fuck- it drove him mad.

“funny comin’ from a pretty girl with a pussy who doesn’t know when to-”

you shut him up right away by placing your lips on his. toji grunts, leaning into your touch. you felt his hardened scar rub against the side of your lip before your hips quickened.

you’re slow - lustfully torturing toji with your hips. his cock’s pumping in and out of your cunt, feeling you freely writhe around him.

you taste sweet, and he tilts his head back as both crowns of teeth clash at full force. the constant stretch of his hooked cock never fails to leave you speechless as you whisper out soft moans against his thin lips.

“mmph-” toji gruffs, the bed’s creaking turning into mere wails.

you’re bouncing on him now, still having a hand wrapped around his throat before flicking your tongue against his. toji smacks your ass, then he does it again, and again.

hearing your shrilling whines makes him squeeze the fat of your flesh, eagle-spreading his legs even wider like the slut he was.

his body’s just overly glossed with sweat, it shines down his buff physique before you slowly pull away from him. slimy tangled strands of saliva tear away from each lip as toji stares at you.

it’s a mere pout on his lips before he huffs, tilting his head back. “ ‘m gonnaaa fuckin’ cummm,” he blurts in a thick tone, dragging out his elongated words due to your pussy making it hard for him to think straight. “hah- y’er hips are evil, sugar. fuck, gonna milk me.”

as he sucks in a honed sharp breath, feeling the weight of your hips swerve uncontrollably in hypnotizing arcs, toji slips out a whine.

it’s subtle, and you had to really listen to hear his husky tone pitch but you heard it. you watch as the veins in his neck pop, and as you’re still choking him, it turns him on even more.

his cock throbs fiercely inside of you, smacking against each gummy spot that’s located in your sloppy, spongy walls. you had a grip that he just couldn’t get enough of. it was cute how your hand could barely fit all the way around his thick neck anyway, but nonetheless—

toji ends up shooting blanks abruptly, a gruff groan leaving past his lips once he feels himself preparing to shoot inside of you. with your panties still glued to the sides of your thighs, you let off another bundle of exaggerated moans, slowing your pace down.

“f- fuck,” you inhale, feeling toji dig his nails into your left ass cheek. he’s clenching down his tense jaw tightly, emerald eyes flickering back for a moment as his mouth remains slightly agape.

once his milky knot’s pooling its way deep into the barrier of your womb, you let off a shuddering whine. “toji, fill me up, mhm- don’t stop.”

“ugh-” he groans, feeling the weight of his sack start to gradually shrivel up inside of you. the sight of you straddling him was enough to make him cum alone.

toji’s entire body felt hot - scorching, but compared to the dryness of his throat was an entirely different story..

he’s got so much, wads ‘n clods of creamy, gooey seed that plugs its way into your cunt.

you finally sit still, listening to the loud sloshes of all pounds of flesh grinding together. toji’s chest heaves in and out as he’s still got a hand glued to your ass, feeling his cock excessively droooool out such creamy lumps of cum.

“s- sugar,” and his sleazy smile returns on his lips again. toji’s fucked dumb just as much as you were, and you could tell because of how droopy and half-open his eyes were. “heh, got some nerve m- milkin’ me like that. some hah- nerve.”

“you don’t seem so cocky now, toji.” you hum, bringing a chaste kiss against his lips. a stocky arm wraps around your waist before his eyes close, locking lips with you for the final time, hungrily swallowing his low grunts whilst the two of you exchange saliva.

“girl whatever,” he grumbled with sass, and he was still cumming. you let off a soft moan, feeling a brief pudge from just how much he dumped into your pussy. you were leaking from the sides of your thighs, streams of frothy white tearing from each lip. toji licks against your lips before hearing your phone interrupt the two of you with a loud, screeching ‘beeeep!’ with a snarl, he huffs. “the fuck is that?”

you turn toward the side of the bed, reaching for your phone. “my phone, hold on-” and as he’s still plugged into you fully, keeping your walls tight ‘n snug with not only his shaft but his enormous sticky load, you squint. “huh..” and it’s a notification from the app ‘RENT-A-DILF!’

“what’s it say? hah- better be important,” toji mumbles, letting off a soft groan from the feeling of your hips shifting against him.

“ooh. it says . . i matched with a new character,” you reply, taking a moment to scroll your thumb down the brightly pink screen.

it displayed a new character that must’ve been added to the roster a few minutes ago.

as your eyes skim at the coral-pink description box, it mentions in bold how he’s not exactly a dilf like the other male leads….. buuuut the catch was that he was dashingly handsome.

and to be honest, the more you stared at the character with a lit cigarette sticking out of his lips and was draped in a jet-black tuxedo.. yeah, he was pretty hot.

“hm. says his name is shiu kong,” and you look back at toji who’s got a look of literal disgust. “what? do you know him?”

“………………….”

hehe.

[intromortal]

⭑ INCH BY INCH ⸻ park sunghoon

you have a boyfriend gifted with a pornstar cock, but he refuses to use it on you, too scared he'll end up hurting you. so your best shot is to devise a plan to get him to crumble, and even if things don't unfold quite as expected, what matters is the result anyway... right?

starring ⋆ f!reader x park sunghoon, besties!jaykewon

this work contains ⋆ smut ⋆ minors so not interact ⋆ barely any plot, way too much smut, sunghoon being diabolically hung, my extremely poor attempts at humor, established relationship, nasty nasty shit... brat tamer sunghoon, alcohol consumption, implied driving under the influence, jealousy, slut shaming (not from hoon), a tiny bit of violence, blood, size & bulge kink, fingering, dry humping, slight degradation, partially clothed sex, a freaky voice message, edging & overstim, oral (f!rec), mutual masturbation, lube, squirting, unprotected sex ⸻ rules m.list

length ⋆ one shot ⸻ 23.6k words

⭑ NIA ⸻ i'm in pain and my period is abt to start ANDD antibiotics fucked my stomach up so if you see typos no you don't. anyways. big fat cock. who agrees!! shoutout to my homies vivi and stella for putting up with my ass and deactivation threats anytime i write anything ever!!! and for having read this before anyone else

Having a dick so big multiple people suggest you make a career out of it isn't half as nice as it sounds, Sunghoon would know that better than anyone.

Even before getting any experience, he'd been aware of just how comically large his dick was. He'd known ever since he had to go out of his way to search for porn with ‘massive cock!’ in the title for it to look anything like his, and even then he often found himself thinking they had to be exaggerating a bit for the sake of clicks.

Turns out, the comparison with real life average sizes is even more ridiculous.

He knows it sounds silly, there are hordes of men out there that would pay good money to swap places with him—his dear friend Jake being the first in line.

Sunghoon still cringes when he remembers the first time he'd oh so innocently asked Jake for his opinion on the matter. Truthfully, all he wanted to hear from his bleached blonde friend was some reassurance, maybe how it was all in his head, or how at the end of the day the right person would love and appreciate every part of him no matter what, or whatever you tell people in situations like these. His first mistake was believing Jake out of all his friends would do the most tactful thing.

“That thing’s like—fucking huge!” Jake shrieked, grabbing Sunghoon’s phone out of his hands, every protest falling on deaf ears. “There’s no fucking way, man.”

“It’s not that b—” Sunghoon tries to speak, but Jake stops him before he even gets a sentence in, calling Jay’s name at the top of his lungs. 

“What are you—”

“WHAT,” Jay yells back from the kitchen, over the deafening sound of the food processor in use, annoyed by Jake’s continuous interruptions that day. Of which at least four were to show him some nasty looking recipe he found on tiktok.

“You gotta come take a look at this!”

At the time, Sunghoon was still vaguely uncomfortable around Jay. He was nice enough, and he was a great roommate, so there was that at least. It was a good trade off because the other option was staying at the way too crowded shitty dorms, and he liked the privacy that this deal got him. He wasn't always on board with it, Jake had to talk him into it when high school ended, but he swore him and Jay would be the bestest of friends if only he could let his reservations behind for a little, at least give him a chance.

Sunghoon moved away halfway through the second year of high school, and for a while it felt like Jay had swapped places with him and taken the life he was supposed to live for himself. First his best friend, Jake. Then the girl of his dreams, the one he never found the courage to confess to, you.

Thing is, while Sunghoon could recognize Jay had done absolutely nothing wrong to him per se, he still felt betrayed by him in a way. Truly it was just envy.

The food processor comes to an abrupt halt, and all that can be heard from the other room is a deep sigh, followed by the sound of dragged footsteps as their tall friend walks into the messy—in the way only college boys living spaces can be—living room with resignation. “Fine. But this better have nothing to do with Cheetos or tacos.” 

“Much better.” Jake winks at him, nudging Sunghoon’s hands away with his elbow, the younger hissing in pain. “Behold,” he turns the phone towards an unassuming Jay, aware of the fact he's about to change the older's view of Sunghoon forever.“Sunghoon’s monster of a cock.”

Jay’s hands stop on his apron, (the ridiculous one with a bodybuilder torso and cheetah boxers Jungwon got him for a secret Santa) and his mouth hangs open for a second too long, before he comes back to his senses and notices how Sunghoon slumps back on the couch, cheeks burning red. Jay swats the phone out of Jake’s hand. “What the fuck is your problem, dude.”

“What? I’m just saying it’s way larger than average!”

“He’s uncomfortable.” Jay says, going back to drying his hands on the apron. “Leave him be.”

This only makes Sunghoon’s cheeks redder, his ears a bright pink too. Jake scoffs, eyeing him suspiciously. “Sure. I’m sure having a porn star cock must be so mortifying. Who even complains about stuff like this?” he snickers before making his voice a pitch higher. “‘Poor me! My dick’s too heavy! What will I do!”

“Oh my god,” Sunghoon runs a hand through his hair, pulling the ends a bit. “It is not that big.” He looks at Jay for support, expecting him to disagree with Jake.

Jay’s gaze falters to his pants for a split second. His mouth twists but he remains silent.

“Not you too.” Sunghoon's hands now hold his face as he sinks into the cushions further, legs spreading. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I mean…” Jay gestures towards Sunghoon's crotch. “I suspected you were big but… that’s crazy, man.”

“It’s not that cra—”

“Yes it is! You’ve got a fucking gas storage tank in your pants and you wanna sit here and tell us it’s not crazy?” Jake says, exasperated by that point. “And stop playing dumb. It’s big. That’s good. I’m sure the ladies go crazy over it. Or the gentlemen. Or whoever it is you fuck.” He kisses his teeth, muttering under his breath. “Lucky bastard.”

“Jake’s right, Hoon. I don’t know why you're so… negative about it. It's a good thing."

“I wouldn’t know,” Sunghoon mutters under breath, more to himself than to the guys, but it’s still loud enough for them to catch it.

“Oh? Then whenever the time comes, you’ll see how much they’ll love it,” Jay says.

"I'm just worried." Sunghoon tries his best to avoid both sets of eyes staring intently at him. "What… what if I end up hurting someone?"

Jake coos, then moves closer to Sunghoon on the couch, his breath fanning over his ear as he whispers, “Always so concerned about other people. Aren't you such a cutie pie?”

The boys weren't exactly wrong, but with big dick come great responsibilities—as Jake said. Yup, roll your eyes at him, not Sunghoon. He's innocent—like having to finger and eat out your partners for what feels like an eternity before even trying to push the tip in, which is not exactly the best situation to be in as a virgin. Current Sunghoon thinks that's the best part, but it took a while to get here.

Sunghoon has always been a very patient man though, a gentle giant in every sense of the phrase. The last thing he would ever want to do is inflict pain accidentally on another human being.

When he got his first actual girlfriend, he'd been so nervous and honestly quite scared to have sex with her. So he got on Google whenever he had free time to study ways to make it as comfortable as possible, watching all kinds of video explanations or reading through feminine pleasure blogs written by women for women specifically, because that's where Jay told him the good stuff was at.

By the time he got to actually have sex with her, his mind was so overwhelmed by all this information that he essentially forgot how to even think. It was anything but romantic, so deeply embarrassing Sunghoon still cringes even after all this time when his mind betrays him and reminds him of it while trying to fall asleep at night.

And then, to add insult to injury, his girlfriend cheated on him and left him for this guy she'd only just met, because 'it might not be as big, but at least he knows how to use it'.

Heartbroken and with an hurt ego, Sunghoon did that thing all boys do when their first relationship doesn't work out: hit the gym and promise themselves they're never gonna fall in love ever again.

That second part ended up failing, because from the moment you showed up at his doorstep to visit (your now ex boyfriend, but a beloved friend nonetheless) Jay and Jake, five different bags around you, with eyes as big as saucers and staring at him like he had invaded his own apartment, all the feelings younger Sunghoon had for you hit him like a brick to his nape all over again.

You two dating came as a shock to everyone around you, mostly because while you were aware of Park Sunghoon's existence and vice versa, you'd never given it too much thought. You remembered him as the scrawny kid with the cute moles from math that you used to always catch staring. He was often around Jungwon because they were neighbors, but was way too shy to even say hi to you. That, and he was also always around Jake—who you were not exactly fond of, given his reputation—so you steered clear of him when you could manage to.

Then, when the third year of high school started, you stopped seeing him around, and Jungwon told you he had moved away to follow his dad's business. You wouldn't admit it at the time but the hallways seemed duller than usual for a few days, but that probably was also due to Jake not being as loud and energetic with his best friend gone.

Last year of high school, you went on a few dates with Jay from history class, and while he was the closest you have ever thought a man to be perfect, you both agreed you worked better as friends than anything more. Usually that means 'you're cool but I'm gonna try my best to not have to say hi to you if I see you around', but Jay is so wonderful, you actually kept in touch and became quite close, even if platonically.

By the time the year ended, you had a very tight group of friends consisting of yourself, Jungwon, Jay, and even Jake—who, for the record, isn't nearly as bad as all the crazy rumors make him out to be. It saddened you that it took so long to find your group, but you were grateful you had one nonetheless, a lot of people never get that luxury, so you weren't about to let a little graduation get in between you all. You spent a good five days consoling Jake that no, no one was going anywhere and yes, you will all be best friends for life.

But then college started, and it became difficult to stay in touch because Jay and Jake had to move. Jake reassured you that you and Jungwon would be more than welcome to visit and stay over at their apartment—which you found funny because that is technically not Jake's apartment at all, at least not until Hoon moved in too and the three of them started sharing the costs, but he has a way of making every place he steps foot in his, like he's meant to be there, so Jay let it slide.

So the first thing you did when you finally had some free time was getting on the cheapest flight available to go visit your friends. Heavy luggage in hand and stained sweatpants on, you were dumbfounded when the one who opened the door for you was none other than Park Sunghoon, and not Jay like you expected.

He was no longer the shy kid you remembered him to be, and he had grown nicely into his features, his hair now a jet back instead of the brown you were accustomed to see. Over those two weeks you realized that while you have know Sunghoon all your life, you had never really seen him, and it made you want to go back in time and hand a little paper note to the shy boy always staring at you during class.

Your head sinks further into your pillow with a whine, the case enveloping it sporting gray spots of wetness, where your tears and drool had accumulated over the last torturous half an hour Sunghoon spent fucking you open with his fingers. You don't know what he means, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that's how wet you are. If your pillowcase is such a mess, you don't even wanna think about what your bed sheets look like.

"I can– take you," you protest, breath hitching mid sentence at a particularly deep curl of his fingers inside you.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon quirks an eyebrow at you, moving his thumb to suddenly hover over your clit. It's not a full touch, nor does he really move it from there, but just the expectation of it has your walls involuntary flutter around his digits. A wicked grin overtakes his face, in a way you think it would clash with his prince-like features. But it looks right at home on him, the canines poking out only adding to his devilish charm.

"Then what's this? Gripping me even tighter," he says against your lips again, like he can't pick between kissing you or speaking, like anything he does he needs to do it with your taste on his mouth. He shakes his head, pouting at you before you get the chance to retort. "Squeeze me this tight when I'm inside you, and I'll believe you're trying to push me out, baby."

The press of his length against your thigh doesn't help, and when your eyes roll to the back of your head, half the reason is the new spot he's now reaching making you see stars, the other is your frustration with him. You know he's huge, and you know he cares about your comfort above all, but a little sting as he bottoms out inside you would be a hundred times better than the 'prep' he's subjecting you to. It took so long to even get here, and now he plans on making you wait even more? You have half the idea to push him off of you and get on top of him, take what's yours. If he's not gonna believe you can take him, you might as well just show him.

Of course, that wouldn't work, because Sunghoon is infinitely stronger than you are and the only thing you would accomplish is looking stupid thrashing under him as he keeps you pinned down. Probably with one arm only too, to really get his point across.

"Add another finger then." There's a certain bark in your tone that makes him chuckle. That's all it is: bark and no bite. You can do nothing but demand, and demand, and demand again, but if he's not willing to give it to you, there is close to nothing you can do about it. And it makes Sunghoon's cock twitch against the slick skin of your thighs. He loves knowing he has you at his mercy.

"Woah!" he gasps, and the fake surprise only irritates you further. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, because Sunghoon doesn't miss the way you clench around his fingers whenever he talks to you like this. "Missy, you're so bratty today… where are your manners?"

The retort is ready on your tongue, but the words mold into a surprised hiss when he actually prods your hole with a third digit, feeling around for a way to slowly ease it into you. You fear it won't be as easy as you hoped, but you also don't want to back down now that he's giving in.

"Just put it in." You angle your hips to give Sunghoon easier access.

"Easy there." He leans back on his knees, and you hate how you're so needy. Even when he's still so close, fingers pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace, you crave for every inch of your body to be touched by his, for your breaths to mingle for as long as possible. You wonder how it's possible to miss someone who's right in front of you, but your heart yearns to hear the rhythmic beat of his own against your chest all the same.

You don't get to dwell on it too long, because the sensation of something wet dribbling right where Sunghoon's fingers meet you rips you out of your thoughts.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize what's happening, but when it sinks in, your mouth slowly hangs open in a moan, eyes closed to relish the feeling.

"You like that?" Sunghoon asks, and for once you can't bring yourself to care about the cockiness in his tone. In fact, it's the last thing you could care about—not when his digits are working to spread his spit all over you, and his third finger is slowly making its way inside you right next to the others. It's a tight fit, and Sunghoon can't really move his fingers like he wishes to, but it'll do for now. He can always do it over and over again until you're ready, as long as you keep making those faces for him. "Look at you," he continues. "You were so demanding earlier, now you're falling apart and I'm barely just getting started."

You clench around him hard, body all tensed up as you accommodate the sudden change in thickness.

Sunghoon bends down again when he notices you're not easing up, trailing his way back up your body with pecks, giving you a few on your lips once he reaches your face. "Does it burn, baby?" he asks, the playful edge in his tone from earlier completely gone, smoothed down to the usual soft timbre you love so much. "Do you want me to take it out? I'll make you cum with two fingers, it's okay."

You shake your head. The stretch does burn, but you also want to prove to him that you can take him.

"You sure?" The murmur vibrates against your ear, the sound of his voice close enough to have you arching your back, pushing your stomach against his harder figure. If you had any sort of reservation about continuing, it's totally gone now. His insistence to make you comfortable always ignites pure want in you.

You nod, but your eyes are still screwed shut because of the burn, so it's not enough for Sunghoon to let go yet.

He slows down his movements, trying to help you out, but the whine you let out is enough to let him know you actually want what he's giving you and more. Still, he needs to hear it. "Use your big girl words, I know you can."

"Wanna keep going."

"Aaand?"

"Please, Hoon." You know you're far gone when you don't even care about how whiny you sound, you would get onto your knees and beg if he asked you to right then. You would want to forget about it right after, but still, you would do it in a heartbeat.

Thankfully, your boyfriend is very nice to you, so 'please and thank you's are enough to keep him satiated, at least for now.

"Good girl."

The praise goes straight to your cunt, further tightening the grip you have on his fingers. Sunghoon is flattered, but that's not what you need in that moment. So he reminds you.

"Take deep breaths, baby. It's only gonna hurt more if you don't ease up."

"Hoon, want more."

"I know baby, I know. But it'll feel better if you stop tensing up. Here, follow my breaths and let go." He kisses both of your shut eyelids. "Eyes on me, pretty. Okay?"

You obey him like it's second nature, but when you open your eyes and you're met with the downright angelic sight of your boyfriend, black strands of hair framing his face and his chain dangling slightly from his neck, you don't understand how you're supposed to calm down. He starts taking deep breaths, ones you try your best to mirror. And despite what you thought, the focus on your chest rising and falling and the warmth in Sunghoon's eyes does make the stretch a lot better. You were enjoying yourself before too, all things considered. Now it's different, you're struggling to keep your sounds in, and any other time you would be mortified by how much wetness is seeping out of your cunt, but Sunghoon's presence is relaxing in a way no one else's has ever been for you.

The more you explore each other's bodies, the more you start to think that maybe, just maybe, there is not a single thing you could do with Sunghoon that you would ever regret. The safety of a judgment free zone with someone who obviously cares deeply for you makes the experience so much better than you could have ever imagined. What other people did to you, no matter how pleasurable, just didn't measure up to what Sunghoon does with you. And you haven't even gone all the way in.

"Theeere we go, see how much better it feels when you're not being a brat?"

Sunghoon is careful with you, watching your every reaction and studying your expressions so he can learn exactly what makes crumble and what brings you closer to the edge, what makes you forget you have to breathe and when to pause so he can drag your pleasure out for as long as he wants, for as long as you can handle. His cock is rock hard, casually rutting against you from time to time. You have half a mind to reach into his boxers and help him out, but you're not sure you could do a good enough job at it, not when he's starting to bend the tips of his fingers to reach right where you need him.

You can feel yourself getting closer, so you grab his wrists—whether to stop him or push him further, you don't know yourself. What you do know, is that just fingers have never felt this good before, and if you had the choice to feel like this forever, you would take it.

The sudden grip doesn't deter Sunghoon, it encourages him instead. His movements are faster, deeper, but still just as precise. It's like he already knows the ins and outs of what brings you pleasure. "Gonna come all over my hand, baby? I know you're close."

You nod desperately, throat too raw and dry to produce sounds more complex than little whines—which Sunghoon finds adorable, he can't wait to find out what sounds you make when he's splitting you open on his cock. He coos, and that alone almost makes you cum. Almost, because what really does you in is his thumb moving to finally circle your clit, really touch it.

Your body tenses up again when your vision goes a searing white, but Sunghoon's other hand finds your thighs right away to prevent you from caging his hands between your legs. He worked hard to make you cum, so you're not gonna take the sight of your fluttering pussy away from him, not when he has rightfully earned it.

"You did so well," he says, his hand caressing the skin of your inner thigh as a reminder to relax your muscles, his thumb slowing down its movement on your clit as your walls flutter around his digits at longer intervals each time.

You eventually even out your breathing, your vision still a little fuzzy, but you feel lighter and content. Once Sunghoon is sure you're okay, he pulls you in for a sweet kiss, like he wasn't just rearranging your guts with his fingers alone moments ago.

"Perfect, you're so perfect," he whispers between kisses, landing a wet smack on your nose when you scrunch it in response. "You're always gorgeous but this—fuck, you're beautiful." He keeps kissing you, each kiss waking up a different butterfly in your stomach. You feel giddy like you haven't ever since you were a kid running through the meadow on a spring evening. You giggle when he reaches the valley of your breasts, and run your fingertips through his hair, his head resting on your chest.

"I love you," Sunghoon whispers, and for the first time in your life you know those words to be true, no hidden intention behind them, no cruel joke waiting for you at the end of the line. It feels right when they're coming out of Sunghoon's mouth.

"I know, I love you t—what are you doing." It's much more of an accusation rather than a question, because you see the little wicked glint in his eyes as he resumes kissing his way down your body—first down your navel, then between your thighs.

"Showing you how much I love you, duh." He spreads your legs as open as he can get them before you start protesting again. "Besides, I haven't gotten a taste yet."

You should stop him, because suddenly you're reminded of how he still hasn't come yet, and you would feel bad to neglect him. The look in his eyes though—needy, almost feral— keeps you pinned right in your spot. "What… about you?"

Sunghoon looks at you, genuinely confused. "What about me?"

"Yeah, I should be… helping you out." You glance down at him, and the wet patch on his boxers makes you clench around nothing. Had you not witnessed first hand how messy Sunghoon can get, you would assume he cummed already. Knowing that's only pre though, makes saliva flood into your mouth at the mere thought of your boyfriend's cock pumping load after load down your throat. Screw 'not hurting' you, you would be happy gagging and choking endlessly around him if it meant you got a tiny little taste.

"Oh baby, but you are helping me out. Just lay back and let me." Sunghoon pops two of his fingers in his mouth, tasting the residues of you high still lingering on his skin, rich and divine on his tongue. "So good, now let me get a real taste."

He trails his wet fingers up your body, relishing in the way you shiver under his touch when he brushes over your nipples. He grabs your face once he reaches it, and forces you to look at him. "Wanting to please me… aren’t you such a generous girl? So, so good for me. So eager to please, you’re so cute.” He doesn't miss how your lip twitches in response to his words, and how your hand slides between your thighs and how they close around it. “But, I'm still not done.”

“But—”

“Shhh,” he silences you right away. He parts your lips with his thumb, and your response to it is immediate, sucking on it without needing to be told what to do. You swirl your tongue around his finger eagerly, as if trying to show him what he is missing by not letting you take his cock out his pants. “See? So perfect for me. Such a pretty and obedient girl, am I right?” 

You nod subconsciously, like he has you under a spell, ready to comply with anything he asks out of you. Maybe he does.

“I know that’s right.” Sunghoon takes the thumb out of your mouth, coating your lips with your own spit as he caresses them with it. “Then do what you’re told and lay back. I can fuck you another time. Now spread those legs for me mkay? Yeah, just like that. So much we can do in the meantime."

"I just don't get why he won't stick it in me."

"You have such a way with words."

You throw a fry at your best friend, only to get more irritated when he catches it midair with his mouth. Jungwon chews it loudly with his mouth open—because he knows it annoys you to death—then washes it down with his coconut milkshake that he won't let you get a sip of because 'using the same straw as me counts as cheating now that you're dating Sunghoon'.

"Okay but why? You're a man. What's the thought process behind this? Tell me."

"Girl, it's your boyfriend. You tell me."

"What if he doesn't fine me att—" A fry hits you right on your forehead, and it's like the impact activates your brain cells, because of course Sunghoon finds you attractive, that is not the problem.

"Now, let's be honest with ourselves please. None of that shit."

Your back hits the bed with a soft thud, arms spread out as you stare at the very familiar ceiling of your room. A sight you've been taking in quite often recently, while trying to come up with a plan to get Sunghoon to dick you down good.

Jungwon shoves a fist of fries in his mouth, barely chewing before speaking again. "I don't get why it's such a big deal."

You roll onto your side, facing the blonde little gremlin occupying the space next to you. "It's a big deal because— why is your ass on my pillow. Jungwon get—"

He silences you by feeding you a handful of fries from the container on his lap. "You were saying?"

You gulp them down quickly before replying, because you're civilized enough to do so, unlike someone else. "We've done it all, and I know he's scared of hurting me, but I can also tell he's holding back. I'm ready– I've been ready. It's just… whenever I think it's gonna happen he pulls back so suddenly, like he's restraining himself."

"Mhh… you've talked to him about this, right?" Jungwon looks at you in a way that feels entirely too judgmental, like skipping the communication part is something you do often enough for it to be a pattern. Something he needs to check off of a list before he gives you more advice.

He's not completely wrong. As in, at one point in your life you had made an habit out of assuming people's thoughts and intentions, but that is in the past. And those people are not your Park Sunghoon.

The polaroids messily scattered on the wall above your desk, like someone had dropped them and they'd defied gravity to stay there, glimmer as the sun starts its golden descent into the horizon. Old, more ruined around the edges ones you took right after Jungwon got you a polaroid camera with his very first salary from working at an ice cream shop over the summer. Pictures of sunsets and dumb words carved into sandy beaches, of thumbs digging into teenager Jungwon's dimples. Newer, glossier ones that you took when Sunghoon gifted you a new camera, after the one Jungwon got you finally broke down after years. You'd cried so hard that day, because it had felt like growing up.

The charger is still hidden under all the mess of receipts in your comforter's drawer, you still hope one day the pink sticker covered camera will turn on if you charge it long enough.

But some things are meant to stay in the past, and better ones are always hiding behind the corner, ready to come your way.

You aren't the young girl with the pink polaroid camera anymore, just like you're not the girl that is scared to voice her thoughts and troubles any longer.

"Of course I have."

"And?"

"Won, he just tells me I need more prep. I've had plenty of that, trust me. Like, he's spent the last month using this toy on—"

"Okay, okay I get it. I trust you, spare me the details."

"—Point is, I'm more than ready. I know it's gonna be uncomfortable and a bit painful at first, he's like… so huge it's—"

"I get it."

"—but that's a given with how big he is. I think it's just… him being nervous, really."

"Have you… tried to, uhm. Take charge? Maybe you calling the shots would make it easier for him to let loose." Jungwon looks down on his lap as he plays with the rings adorning his fingers. You wouldn't say he has ever been particularly shy per se, not when it comes to discussing your sexual life, even in heavy detail. He was the boy your mother made you take a bath with after a whole day of rolling around in dirt as a kid, because his wasn't around a lot of the time. The same boy who has seen you toothless and with horrible haircuts, who has seen all your embarrassing phases. Talking to Jungwon was much more akin to talking to yourself rather than venting to a diary, because he stored secrets in his heart that you would never be comfortable writing down on paper. Except he also calls you a dumbass when he needs to.

It's been a little different ever since you started dating Sunghoon freshly out of college, but you imagine it can't be helped since Jungwon is also very close to him.

You take a deep breath, shoulders slumping with the motion. Yeah, like that would ever work. "He doesn't give up dominance ever, really. I have tried a few times but…" you trail off, thoughts suddenly plagued with images of Sunghoon putting you back in your place instantly whenever you tried to take charge. You have already given it some thought, a lot of thought, actually. What wouldn't you do to have Sunghoon under you and at your mercy, so responsive to every touch, perhaps even tied down. Yeah, you're gonna have to bring it up more seriously to him, maybe then he would let you—

"Are you seriously fantasizing about dominating your boyfriend right in front of my cheddar fries?"

But you're gonna continue that thought another time.

"Let's see then…" Jungwon continues, evidently determined to find a solution to your problem. "Maybe act out? Would that work? Mhhh… I don't know, you're already very annoying day to day and he puts up with that…so."

Jungwon genuinely looks like he is putting so much thought into it, somehow it makes it more offensive.

"Yeah. And who grew up next to him? You. Exactly. You trained his patience, if anything," you retort, but Jungwon doesn't even give you the satisfaction of acknowledging it, because you both know that you do love to be a nuisance to your boyfriend whenever you get the chance.

"Wait." Jungwon perks up after a seconds of deep thought, making the plushies on your bed fall on the floor, but the situation is so dire that you don't scold him. Instead, you cast a hopeful glance in his direction. Please let his brain cells work for once in his life.

"Isn't Hoon like, terribly jealous every time someone brings up that time you and Jay dated in high school?"

The cogs in your brain turn, and if someone was to walk into the room at that moment they would be able to smell the fumes coming out of your and Jungwon's head.

Jungwon continues, though he doesn't need to, because you have caught what he is hinting to already. "You need him to snap? What better reason to if not some good ol' jealousy. Am I right?"

But of course he is, that little gremlin genius.

"And, it just happens that a few high school acquaintances are organizing a get together soon. You know people will bring up you and Jay, just drag Hoon along. It's fate."

"Have I ever told you that you're my bestest friend ever and that I owe you my life, Won?"

Your plan is not working out as expected.

Getting everyone on board took you and Jungwon some time, but they all eventually agreed to come along. Sunghoon himself was the one with the most reservations, since he moved away halfway through high school and he missed a good chunk of it. Most importantly, he missed how you and the others became friends in the first place, so he's always been a little bitter about it.

Calling it a plan was an overstatement. You wore a skimpy little outfit, black miniskirt and sheer thighs, and bet on someone bringing up how you and Jay used to date in front of Sunghoon. You hoped that would make him jealous enough to grab you and drag you home, maybe teach you a lesson that you would inevitably learn nothing from.

Instead, you get sulky Sunghoon with a beer in his hand, looking at you like a kicked puppy as you and Jay make conversation with your old acquaintances. It doesn't help that Jungwon refuses to pick up his phone so you two can come up with something quick to stir the night towards your desired outcome.

The call goes into voicemail again, and you sigh for the hundredth time that night as you end it and open up his chat to type in another text.

"No answer yet?" Jay asks, smoothing his pink dress shirt. He's always the classier looking guy in the room, no matter where he goes, but the hue of pink he chose for the night makes him stand out further in the sea of swarming bodies.

You shake your head. You're in a quieter corner, away from the thumping speakers, but your throat is sore after all the screaming you did over the deafening music. You thought you would get used to the volume when a few of the people at the reunion suggested moving to a club across the street to end the night with a bang, just like the old times, but it somehow got progressively worse instead.

From your side, Jake puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles to catch someone's attention, and when it doesn't work, Jay laughs at him.

"Sunghoon looks bored, I think we should call it a night," Jay says.

"Bored? He looks like he's gonna murder the next poor soul that steps too close to Y\N," Jake takes a swing of the drink he's holding, something that looks like aged whiskey. Very much unlike anything Jake would order. He hisses after the liquid burns his throat, even when diluted by the melted ice. "Jay, my man, your taste is so ass."

You give the interaction a half hearted laugh. Despite your original plan, you hate seeing Sunghoon so uncomfortable, especially when you know he only came along to make you happy. He insists he doesn't belong surrounded by people who pretend to remember who he is and keep bringing up stuff that happened in the past expecting a glint of recognition from him. You tell him there are multiple people with a similar experience to his even when they attended all years, you tell him he belongs anywhere as long as you and the other guys are there. He tells you those are the people that don't get invited to these sort of events.

"It's getting late anyway, maybe we should just go," you say, checking your notification bar for any sign of life from Jungwon. Still nothing.

"I'll go get Won." Jake throws back the remaining drink, scrunching his eyes and hissing at the bitter taste he still isn't accustomed to.

You take a second to scan your surroundings, and the swaying mass of sweaty bodies makes you nauseous. You used to love getting rocked back and forth by the music, uncaring for a single thing in the world if not the overwhelming love you felt for everyone and everything around you when alcohol buzzed through your system. When you were younger, it felt like ibuprofen for your soul. Now, it only amplifies the hurt in your chest when you think about how heavy this night must have been for your boyfriend.

Before you can make your way to him, someone grabs your attention.

"Jay! And you over there, it's been a while."

You instinctively turn towards the loud voice, finding a vaguely familiar face cockily grinning in your direction.

"She has a name." Jay takes a deep breath and gives you a look, his jaw tense, and that alone is enough to let you know right away the guy in front of you is nothing but trouble.

The guy continues as if you weren't even there to listen to the conversation. A ghost. "Doesn't matter, being your girlfriend is all she was known for back then." He takes a swing of his beer, taste as bitter as his voice. He's very obviously drunk out of his mind, words slurring and step unsteady, but his words annoy you anyway.

"Excuse m—" you try to interject, but he speaks right over you.

"You two back together?"

Jay looks like he's seconds away from punching him, but you simply shake your head no. "Oh! No, and I'm not single actually. My boyfriend's here—" you turn around to look for Sunghoon where you last saw him, and beam when you find him right as he walks up to you. His shoulders relax just the tiniest bit when he notices how relieved you look when you meet his gaze, the way you reserve that look to him only, the way you light up as soon as you spot him. "There he is! Perfect timing, baby."

Sunghoon slides a hand around your waist possessively, placing a soft kiss to your temple to really get the point across. "I was looking for you."

Truth is, he wasn't. He had his eyes on you the entire time, but you were playing with your rings and kept readjusting your clothes as the conversation was unfolding, and Jay looked uneasy too, so he figured nothing good was being said.

"Yeah, sorry! Just catching up with friends from back in the day. Y'know, reminiscing and stuff. Have you seen Won around?" You want to diffuse the situation before the idiot in front of you says anything he might regret. You want Hoon to be a little jealous, not for him to get you all kicked out of a party because someone decided to run their mouth a little too much. Your hand finds his exposed biceps, and it looks like he made the right choice by stepping in, because now that he is all up in your space, you're visibly more comfortable.

Sunghoon shakes his head. Last time he caught a sight of Jungwon in the crowded space was when the night had barely started, and he wore a cowboy hat as he shoved his tongue down some girl's throat. Good for him. "He's probably… catching up with acquaintances too."

You look like you are about to say something, but the nameless guy interrupts you before you get a single word out. It gives Sunghoon all the more reason to dislike him, even before he listens to what he has to says. "And you are? I don't recall seeing you around."

"Oh! Hoon just moved to a different school halfway through high school, but we're all friends," Jay replies instead, familiar with his best friend's feelings about his high school years.

"Then why is he here?"

Sunghoon's jaw clenches. You squeeze his arm as if to remind him you are next to him, and he melts instantly into your touch.

"I'm here because my girl and my friends are. Now if you'd be so kind, we are trying to have a nice night, and you're interfering with that." Sunghoon turns around, holding you against his chest as he starts to make his way to the bar to grab another beer.

"Yeah? You know your friend and your girl used to fuck? Maybe they still do."

Sunghoon was raised to be a patient man. One that counts to ten before reacting, a man who wouldn't even hurt a fly. So it must be the alcohol fueling his actions, because before he realizes what he is doing, he grabs the guy by his shirt, knuckles white as a ghost making the material wrinkle in his hold. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Sunghoon knows he is being provoked, but not even Jay trying to step between them can do anything to calm his anger, not when the poor bastard spits on his shirt, then says something that he really shouldn't have.

"I mean look at her." The man laughs, and it's bitter, filled with something more sinister than mere disgust. It's envy. "Are you surprised? She's dressed like a whore."

Sunghoon moves before you have the time to grab him, right fist colliding with so much force against the man's face, his lip breaks on contact. He wobbles a bit, hit taking him by surprise, but he just gathers the blood dripping inside his mouth and spits it by Sunghoon's feet.

"Hey! Hey." Jay grabs the guy's arm, roughly yanking him back as a crowd of people starts to notice the commotion, heading to take a look at what's happening, a few bodyguards included.

"So tough," the man starts a laughs interrupted by winching when his broken lip curls too much. "Take that out on your so called friend—"

Your voice drowns out the rest of the sentence. "Baby, please."

Sunghoon looks at you, and for a second you doubt he sees you. There's so much anger in his eyes, like he wants nothing more than to rip the little bitch in front of him to pieces. They're almost unfamiliar in a way that send shivers down your spine. You hate the fact that you can't tell if it's fear or lust. But the storm behind his gaze clears out for a second when he sees the alarm on your pretty face, just the one you need. "I wanna go home."

No matter the anger coursing through Sunghoon's bloodstream like venom, thick black poison inciting him to turn back and finish the job, his conscience always prioritizes your well being and what you want. So when you take his hand a make a beeline for the exit, he follows without a single complaint.

The car ride back home is uncomfortably silent.

Sunghoon doesn't hum the random tune playing on the radio like he usually does, he doesn't hold your thigh nor does he even spare you a glance, and you start worrying he might be mad at you.

The words said about you earlier sting, but they don't hold a candle next to Sunghoon's silence. You want to speak up, fill the void that is so uncharacteristically awkward, but the words die in your throat the second you try to push them out.

A ding! followed by your phone screen lighting up signals a new notification, and you swipe through your phone to find out if Jungwon has finally made his existence known.

It's a text from Jay. You notice how Sunghoon's eyes dart to your phone for a split second before going back to focusing on the road ahead, his jaw twitching under the street lights.

00:27 AM. Jongie <3: You guys made it home yet?

00:28 AM. you: not yet, you? did you find the others?

Last thing you heard as you dragged Sunghoon out of the club was Jay arguing with both the still nameless guy and two bodyguards who had been notified of commotion next to the bar. Your main goal was to get your boyfriend the hell out of there before he broke someone's face in, but now that you're away from the mess and the dizziness from the alcohol has started to die down, leaving your muscles and bones tired, you worry for your friends too.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Heading back now, Jake texted me he found Won.

00:29 AM. Jongie <3: Wasted, ofc. But apparently Jake's taking care of him now.

00:31 AM. you: don't know if i like the sound of that. will they ever let us back in there?

00:33 AM. Jongie <3: Yeah no chance, Won won't be happy when he finds out.

00:35 AM. you: how did him and jake even get home?

You lock your phone for good after Jay confirms Jake mumbled something about a really nice girl with a great rack driving them home, deciding you'll deal with their bullshit another day, when you're completely sober and not worried about what your unusually silent boyfriend might be thinking.

Just in time for Sunghoon to pull into his driveway. He doesn't remind you to take your bag with you as he always does, he doesn't wait for you to be out of the car before heading straight towards his front door. Truth be told, you're more shocked he didn't just drop you off at your own apartment because now you're really sure he must be upset with you.

It's dumb, really. What that guy said is anything but your fault. But your panicked mind makes up scenarios in which Sunghoon knows you wanted to make him jealous, wanted to get a reaction out of him for something as silly as getting him to properly fuck you. It convinces you he has every right to be upset.

His hand twitches in pain for a second while unlocking the door, dried blood—both his and not—staining his pristine knuckles, and it only aids in making you feel worse. You follow him through the entrance, and he waits for you to walk inside before locking the door for the night. It's now or never.

It takes all the courage you can find within yourself to speak, and still your voice comes out uneven, shaky, things your voice has never been when talking to Park Sunghoon. "I'm really, really sorry."

He turns back to you like you just said the most shocking sentence he's ever heard in his life, and he quickly grabs you by your hips when he notices just how scared you look. He quickly realizes you must've mistaken his silent attempt at calming down his anger at the situation for coldness towards you for some reason, and his heart breaks a little at the thought of having made you doubt yourself. When he answers, it's the softest you've ever heard him. "What for, pretty girl?"

Tears well in your eyes when you fail to find the words. You're sorry for so many things, you don't even know where to start. You're sorry for dragging him somewhere he didn't even wanna be in the first place, sorry for taking advantage of his kindness for your own benefit, you're sorry his knuckles are raw and bloodied just because he had to defend you. Above all, you're sorry for being so damn selfish.

Sunghoon carefully caresses your face with his clean hand, so none of that bastard's blood goes anywhere near your pretty features. His thumb swipes across your bottom lip like it's second nature, silently waiting for you to say what's on your mind. He searches your gaze, but you're too busy trying to not burst into tears right there in front of him, so he lowers his hand to your jaw and gently angles your head upwards.

His eyes are kind and warm, no hint of the searing coldness they held mere minutes ago. "None of what happened today is your fault," he speaks slowly, sincerely. He makes sure every single word leaving his lips is loud and clear, no room for misunderstanding or doubt. Sunghoon is smart, he knows you like no one ever has put in the effort to. "I'm sorry if I made you doubt yourself back there, I should've said something. I'm sorry." He sounds secure and confident in what he's saying, but the little unsteady breath and the sharp swallow that come right after betray him. His hand slightly trembles on your skin, and it makes your heart sink even more.

Something else to add to the list. You're also sorry for making Sunghoon feel guilty over your emotions when he never did anything wrong to begin with.

You still struggle to speak, especially when Sunghoon is looking into your eyes as one would towards the light shining through the water surface after holding their breath in far too long, like it means being able to breathe again. There's a devotion in him you've never seen, something actors on a stage cannot replicate, something you don't think words to describe it have been spoken out yet. Something purely unique to you and him.

When your words fail you, you show him your own devotion in a different way.

There's a medication kit Sunghoon got forever ago solely to patch up Jake and Won whenever their Jake and Won antics get them hurt (very often, comically often). Never in your life would you have imagined Sunghoon to be on the receiving end of the care, but here you are.

Sunghoon follows you wordlessly to the couch, giving no protest when you point to sit down while you take your spot next to him.

The saline stings as you carefully clean the wound, but Sunghoon makes no show of it. You finally have a reason to look at somethings else other than his eyes as you gather your thoughts, but he doesn't lose sight of the frown deepening on your face.

Sunghoon watches you intently through his now messy bangs as you hold his bigger hand in yours as if it were made out of the most precious, frail glass. His fingers are way thicker than yours are, but you brush against his knuckles with the cotton just as softly as he kisses your forehead seconds before you let yourself be taken by slumber in his arms every night. He sees all the expressions fluttering on your face, he gives you the time he knows you need. He knows there's something you need to get off your chest.

When the blood stains the cotton instead of his skin, you speak up, "Does it hurt?"

Sunghoon hums in disagreement, the sound dry in his throat. You press into the raw skin a little harder, earning a low hiss from him. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other."

"We don't, but you're hiding something from me." He stops before continuing, his voice a mere whisper, "what's wrong?"

"You got hurt because of me."

"That's not—"

"Yes you did." And once the river of words tumbling out of your mouth starts, it can't be stopped any longer. "I know how you feel about high school and—"

"It's not that—"

"But it is. I don't care if it was five years ago or ten or fifteen, I know you feel a certain way about it and don't lie to me to spare my feelings because it makes me only feel worse. You feel a way about it and I still went out of my way to take advantage of it for such a stupid reason and now I feel like a fucking idiot. And it also got you hurt."

"Baby," Sunghoon says after a moment of quiet, only filled by your heavy breathing. "Hey."

You busy yourself by grabbing the gauze in the little med kit next to you, but you make the mistake of glancing at him for a second, and the little smile dancing on his lips keeps your eyes glued to the sight.

"It's only a few scratches. What's all this really about?"

"I just… fuck, I'm never living this down." You stretch the white bandage over Sunghoon's wound, wrapping it a few times to fully secure it. You take a deep breath, buying yourself more time by inspecting your boyfriend's fingers like they're the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life. He playfully taps his index against your palm. It makes you smile despite your best efforts not to. "I just wanted to make you jealous."

You say it so quietly even Sunghoon, barely inches away from you, almost misses it. Almost, because you hear the teasing in his tone loud and clear. "Jealous?"

Cat's out of the bag anyway, so you might as well explain yourself. "Before you say anything, Won gave me the idea."

"Of course."

"I just, y'know. Best friend stuff," you say, as if it's the answer to everything.

"Best friend stuff… as in?" Sunghoon keeps prodding, and the faint smile you hear as he speaks without having to take a look at him simultaneously makes you want to grin and roll your eyes at him. You bite your inner cheek instead.

"As in… complaining about my boyfriend…"

"Oh, you must have so much to complain about."

"Well, for starters, my boyfriend doesn't want to fuck me—"

Sunghoon erupts in a fits of boyish giggles when he finally figures out what's going on, delighted to see how embarrassed you are by this whole ordeal. He grabs you by your hips and sits you right on top of his lap so suddenly you let out a little shriek of surprise. "Trust me, your boyfriend would love nothing more than to fuck you through the mattress."

Your hands rest on his shoulders, and you lower your chest against his, noses brushing each other. "Then what's stopping him?"

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles your lips when he whispers, "Maybe he thinks your pretty little pussy can't take it yet."

A warm feeling travels through your body, settling into your lower abdomen, and just when you think he's gonna kiss you, he pulls back and rests his back on the cushion behind him, sinking further into the soft couch and pulling you down with him.

"Hoon—"

"Mh-mh. You haven't told me what Won's idea was yet."

"You know it." You raise your hand to playfully hit his chest, but he's faster than you are and catches your wrist midway with his injured hand.

"I don't know a damn thing," Sunghoon says as he brings his lips to the back of your hand, letting them brush gently against your soft skin before placing a small peck. "Go on, enlighten me."

You pout, but Sunghoon's set on making you talk, and even though you're stubborn and embarrassed, you know he won't let it go until he's satisfied with your response.

And, the slowly growing hardness under your exposed panties, combined with the residuals of alcohol still buzzing through your system are making it hard for you to stand your ground. Not when Sunghoon looks as good as he does with his bangs messily covering his eyes, and fitted short sleeve highlighting his hard chest underneath the cotton. Unfortunately for you.

You move on his lap, adjusting your position so you can feel more of him through the thin material covering you. You crave the harsh coarseness of his jeans on you, for the heat seeping out of him to envelope you fully. You're on top of him, thighs straddling his, yet you feel the invisible push to be even closer. As close as you physically can be.

Sunghoon sees the hunger in your eyes, he has all this time. He too is barely hanging on by a thread, and the self restraint he's miraculously managed to keep until now is dwindling by the second. All the times you've begged for him, all the times he's fucked your pretty pussy open with different toys, bigger and thicker each time. All the times he's had to take cold showers after seeing the raw need for him to claim you fully reflected in your eyes, even after coaxing orgasm after of orgasm out of you. You're so insatiable, but he might be even worse. Once he gives in, he doesn't think he'll be able to let you go ever.

Sunghoon knows you've felt ready for a long time, and even if he thinks you could use more getting used to bigger sizes before he allows himself to finally sink into you, the temptation gnaws at him all the same.

He just needs a little confirmation.

"Tell me, what was this master plan of yours?" he speaks with his mouth pressed to your palm, softly running his nose down to your wrist, allowing himself to bask in the warmness of the scent you chose for the night.

"Won's, not mine."

"That you willingly agreed to."

"I just… wanted to make you jealous." You finally admit, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze at all costs.

"How so? Wearing this tiny little dress?" His voice is lower, more dangerous. He slides his free hand to grab a handful of your barely covered ass, the skirt having ridden up to your waist almost completely. "You know I like it when the attention's on you. They can look all they want, you're mine." The movement causes you to jerk up against his crotch, earning a low grunt from the man beneath you.

"Tell me, baby," Sunghoon rocks you slowly against his hard bulge, caging his bottom lip between his teeth as he takes in your needy and embarrassed form. "How did you plan to make me jealous? Why?"

Your hand slides down his chest and dips under the thin shirt before caressing just over the waistband of his underwear peeking out of the dark jeans. "I thought it would be a smart idea to drag you along to the get together, and I guess I hoped someone would bring me and Jay up. I know how you feel about it and I wanted to use it to my advantage, but I also didn't consider how you'd feel surrounded by strangers reminding you of all the time you and the guys lost. All the time we lost. You came to make me happy and I was being selfish the entire time. You even got hurt because of me—"

"Not because of you. He should be thankful you were there to stop me or I would've broken his ugly face in."

"Still. I'm so sorry. It was childish."

A beat passes without either of you saying anything, and you twitch uncomfortably in his lap.

"Why?"

Your lip trembles, and your heart sinks at the thought of having angered your angel of a boyfriend. Tears well up in your eyes before you even attempt to explain yourself, but Sunghoon gently angles your chin toward him until you're met with his gaze. It's intense, darker than you've ever seen in all your time knowing him. He searches your face for something, and you realize it's not anger casting shadows behind his eyes. It's pure, unfiltered lust.

"Why did you want me jealous?" His voice is raw, like it pains him to produce a single sound, like whatever you answer him with is the honey that will soothe it.

You twitch again, and this time you're not scared, but your insides twist all the same. He rest heavy and hot under you, and you don't know how you'll handle another rejection if that's what this is leading to.

"I wanted you to fuck me, really fuck me. I hoped it would be enough to push you to the breaking point, Sunghoon.“ You swallow hard, and the saliva in your mouth feels thicker than usual. Maybe it is, maybe you're just more aware of all the sensations within your body. "I need you to break."

It's all Sunghoon needs to hear.

He lurches forward to capture your lips with his, harsh and messy, like an animal that has finally broken out of the restraint keeping it chained. His hands roam all over your body, eager to explore every single inch as if it's the first time he ever does.

You reciprocate him with just as much hunger behind every movement, hands slipping from his body to his hair to pull his head back. You grind your hips against his, moves deliberately slow compared to the feverish kiss. "I need you. I don't wanna wait anymore."

Sunghoon moans into your mouth when you release his hair, and he doubles his efforts, sliding his fingers through the wide gaps of the fishnets covering your thighs, big palms fully working you on top of his bulge.

"You want it so bad, baby?" He says between open mouthed kisses, full lips raw and red from the fight with yours. "I'm gonna give it all to you."

Uncaring for the mess of knocked over stuff you two leave in your wake, from Sunghoon's keys loudly hitting the ground to your heels abandoned somewhere on the carpet, you make your way to his room without ever letting go of each other. All around you is just background noise and things you'll think of later, the only thing that seems to matter is to get in bed and get rid of all the pent up frustration clouding your minds.

The door shuts closed and soon your back hits the bed with a soft thud, Sunghoon's hands heavy on your hips and mouth hot on your neck as he carves a wet path on your sensitive skin, caging you between his hard chest and the mattress. He wraps your leg around his middle, and when your cores touch again, you both sigh in relief.

You've spent all this time on the cusp of finally getting something more, waiting—albeit not so patiently on your part—for the right moment, and now that you both know you're just moments away from it, seconds seem to stretch out into hours and even the slightest teasing feels unbearable.

That's what you think, at least. Because Sunghoon is nothing but a tease at heart, and he has very different plans in store for you.

You take advantage of the little moment of pause to undress yourself, but Sunghoon stops you as soon as he notices what you're trying to do.

"Keep it on," he murmurs along your neck, feeling your pulse quicken right under his full lips. He kisses along your collarbones, to your shoulder, exactly where the strap of your dress rests. His teeth graze the material, and he draws back slightly before letting it snap back into place, the slight sting making you jump just the tiniest bit in his hold. "You wanted to make me jealous in this? Then I'll fuck you in it." He mouths his way back up, until he reaches your ear, teeth gently biting right where he knows it makes shivers spread all over your body. "Next time you wear it, my cock is all you'll be able to think about."

You can't hide the way your body reacts to his words, thighs pressing together from the sheer excitement.

Sunghoon toys with the strings of your fishnets, and for a moment you think you should take them off, but he just rips a hole through them, allowing his hand to finally slide underneath them and grab your ass as harshly as he wants. "These were getting on my nerves."

"I can take them—"

Sunghoon silences you with a kiss, slower than the previous one, calculated and meticulous but every bit as passionate. His teeth sink into your bottom lip until you gasp against his mouth, his tongue gently licking away at your lip to soothe the sting. He pulls your core closer to his, unabashedly moaning into your mouth as he ruts his hips into yours.

The tights start to frustrate you the more he works himself against your panties. You want to be closer, you need to feel him push against you completely, and they're in the way. So once again, you try to rid yourself of them.

Sunghoon keeps you still. "These stay on until I tell you to take them off." His tone is commanding, but not abrasive, muffled by your skin. "Understood?"

You barely nod when suddenly he's bending you at his will like you're his to drag around as he pleases, and while usually you would've fought back just for the sake of it, you play nice this time, doing anything to not have him changes his mind and leave you hanging once again.

He sets you on your knees, facing the headboard of his king sized bed, a sturdy and thick thing, wood carved with elegant loops and twirls all around the edges. They gleam and cast shadows alike when Sunghoon reaches over you to turn on the bedside lamp.

The same hand steadies your hip as he lowers himself onto you, pressing his chest to your back and littering kisses from your temple to your neck. "Aren't you such a cute little thing?" he whispers into your ear, chucking when he feels you shudder under his weight. "So needy and desperate, making up plans just to have my cock in your tight pussy." He's so big, so warm. So strong. It makes your knees weak, and you would crumble on the soft mattress if not for his large hand keeping you still. "Should've just come to me right away, should've begged for my cock like the good girl I know you can be." His other hand starts to travel down your body, and your thighs instinctively spread open to accommodate him.

Pride blooms in Sunghoon's heart. You're so pliant for him, sweetly allowing him to touch you all over, your body responding so well to his slightest touch, to his softest word. The trust you have in him makes his cock harder in his pants, but he's always been a patient man. A man that enjoys taking his time playing with his meal before sinking his teeth into it.

That, and you still have a lesson to learn. "But you've been bad, so bad." He bites your earlobe as his fingers hook onto one of the little holes in your tights, right over your throbbing core, so needy and ready to be claimed by him. You hear a loud rip before you realize what's going on.

His fingers immediately find your panties, slick and stuck to your drooling lips, and he starts touching you over them like all the teasing he's subjected you to until then isn't enough to satisfy him. "You'll make it up to me, yeah? You'll make me proud and happy." He licks along the shell of your ear, and your thighs shake, spreading open once more to coax him into touching you better. "I'll only fuck you when I'm satisfied with how sorry you are."

"Hoon—"

"Don't worry, baby." His fingers dip under the fabric, finally really touching you for the first time that night. He slides two fingers between your lips to coat them in your juices as he keeps talking to you in a tone that almost seems belittling, the pout in his voice too heavy and pronounced for it to be honest. "I'll make it worth it. All the time we waited will be worth it. I just have to get you nice and ready, dripping for me."

You have half a mind to turn around and fight him, because you don't understand how you could physically get wetter even if you wanted to be patient and take it. "I'm already wet," you say, and it comes out a little harsher than you intend for it to.

"Look at you," Sunghoon mocks you, the bite in your response only making him chuckle lowly in your ear, the vibrations from the sound make wetness pool on his digits, much to his amusement. "Can't keep the brattiness in check even when you should feel sorry. How can I take your apologies seriously?"

You open your mouth to answer, but his fingers pinch your clit before you get a single word out, replaced by a shriek that sounds something right in between pleasure and pain.

"Less talking." Sunghoon doesn't stop or lessen his touch on your poor sensitive bundle of nerves. Instead, he rolls it between his fingers, coaxing loud moans out of you with every single movement. "More of this."

The bed creaks under Sunghoon's knees as he detaches from your already quivering form and gets up to grab something. You complain with a little whine at the sudden loss, but just a quick glance in his direction tells you to stay still and be patient.

"Where's your phone?" Sunghoon asks. It sounds a lot more like an order.

"My… huh? My phone?"

"Your phone. Where is it?"

You gawk at him for a second, still in the same position despite the dull ache in your knees slowly but surely setting in, your mouth agape as you try to rack your brain for an explanation as to why the fuck Sunghoon needs your phone since he doesn't seem to be planning on offering you one. "In my bag. On the couch, I think."

It's only a few seconds before your boyfriend returns with your phone in his hand, and throws it carelessly on the bed next to you. He returns to his previous position, the warmth radiating from his body soothing you even when you don't know what to expect next.

You'd be lying if you said you don't enjoy this stricter version of your ever so loving and doting boyfriend, thighs clenching at the thought of the danger lurking behind his sweet demeanor.

"Unlock your phone and open Jay's chat." Sunghoon's calm facade is completely gone, replaced by pure fire.

"What?"

"You heard me." His grip on your thighs tightens, possessive and angry. "You're gonna open Jay's chat and record while I fuck your pussy with my fingers, and you'll have him hear how good I make you feel."

You're breathless, adrenaline pumping through your system and ears ringing at the thought of doing something so obscene, with one of your best friends on the other end of it no less. "Hoon, Jay didn't have anything to do with this… we shouldn't—"

"I don't care." Sunghoon bites your neck, sharp canines poking you just enough to elicit a gasp out of you. "You'll do as I say and tell him you won't ever go back."

He sounds so possessive, so unlike any version of him you have experienced, and just this little taste has you obsessed. You love the soft spoken, big sweetheart he always is, and you love the sleeping beast hidden just beneath the surface too. You love the anticipation of what's to come, not knowing which side of Sunghoon you're gonna get.

Your hand trembles as you reach for the phone, his is sure and steady as it makes its descent down to your wet pussy again. Sunghoon takes his time, letting his fingers ghost on your thighs for a little before sliding the panties off of you. You hear him moan behind you, and you're glad you don't get to see what you suspect is him licking off the wetness off the fabric he just rid you of. That would be way too much for you in the moment, you think.

The Jongie <3 contact in your favorites section seems so silly now that you're mere seconds away from letting him hear how your boyfriend fucks you, so you take a few deep breaths in preparation. As if sensing your hesitation, Sunghoon quickly places a gentle kiss to your temple, and just like that, he's back to his caring self. "You said you're sorry, baby. You should show me, but you don't have to."

You press the voice message recording button moments later, heart thrumming loudly in your ears as you slide your finger up so it keeps recording hands free.

"Such a brave girl. So, so good for me." Sunghoon praises you, and it soothes some of the anxiety you feel, his tone thick and sweet as honey, you barely recognize it as the same one that was giving you harsh commands earlier.

The downright filthy sound of Sunghoon's digits spreading your pussy lips open has you cowering in embarrassment, but your boyfriend doesn't care. He needs Jay to hear how absolutely soaked you are. He wastes no time, pushing in three fingers inside you.

Your mouth is hung open in a silent moan, eyebrows knit together and eyes closed, taking a moment to adjust to the sudden sensation. It stings, even when you're so wet it's dripping down your thighs by now, but his fingers are so long and thick the initial stretch is always uncomfortable, despite all the training.

Sunghoon doesn't like that, so he gives you no time, no warning, and just starts pumping in and out of you, curling the tips just like he does when you're about to cum and need the tiniest push. He's unfair, so unfair, because how are you supposed to keep your sounds down like you planned to when he's finger fucking you like it's his life mission to have you come undone in record time?

You don't know if it's an ego thing, or he just wants to make your punishment that much harder. It must be both, because within seconds you're moaning and gasping out in pleasure for him and Jay so beautifully, really putting on a show for the both of them. But it's so hard to focus and remember what you're supposed to say, and the longer the voice message is, the more mortified you'll be in the morning.

For now, satisfying Sunghoon's thirst for punishment and placating the jealousy you yourself caused is your top priority. You'll think about the consequences another time.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Where are your manners?" Sunghoon's mouth drops to your ear, the movement of his fingers inside of your cunt relentless and not giving you a single second to breathe properly. It doesn't matter to him, how much harder he's making for you to accomplish your task. He basks in it, even. He's proud of how just his fingers are enough to turn you dumb with pleasure.

"I—mh," you try your best to muffle the moans cascading from your lips, to no avail. Even if you managed to do so, the incredibly loud squelching noises in the background would betray you.

"Need a hand?" he laughs dryly, and you feel the faint presence of a fourth finger next to the other three, waiting to slide in and stretch you open further.

"Hoon!" you gasp in surprise.

"That's right, baby. That's who you belong to. Tell Jay."

"I—I belong to—Hoon! I can't!"

His fourth digit keeps prodding around to find a possible entrance, but you're already so full you think any more would actually break you. "How do you plan to let me fuck you, then?"

He's teasing you. You both know you can and you will. It's just a matter of taking it slowly. His finger is suddenly not trying to inch inside you anymore, despite how lost you both are in the moment, your comfort comes first always. It just means Sunghoon will find another way.

He speaks lowly against your ear, but it's enough for your phone to pick it up clearly, "Once I'll split you open on my cock like you've been begging for, nothing else will ever satisfy you. No one else will. Once I claim your little hole, it's mine. Jay's seen how big I am. He knows it too. Tell him whose pussy I'm about to split open."

"Mine." You gasp at a particularly harsh thrust.

"No. Mine." The sheer command in his voice makes you clench even more around his fingers, as if the fit isn't already tight enough. "Try again."

"Yours! It's yours."

"Good fucking girl." He moans against you, his hot breath rising goose bumps all over your skin. "Tell him you'll never go back to him," he adds after a moment, quieter.

The pace he is fingering you at slows down just enough so you can actually get a coherent sentence out, and you're silently grateful for this little show of mercifulness on Sunghoon's part. If not for this, the voice mail would probably end up being an hour long.

"I'll never—mh. Go back to you."

"Good. So good. Now tell him how happy you are with me, happier than you ever were with him. Tell him you love me," he rasps, high on the reassurance you're providing him. High on how obedient you are for him.

"Love Hoon so much, I love him. I love him so so much. Hoon, please." You're a mess, dripping down onto the bedsheets and clamping around his fingers so hard any more would probably cut Sunghoon's blood flow. The more you grip him, the wider you spread your thighs to accommodate him, like you're silently begging for him to be harsher. He has half a mind to fulfill your body's wordless plea.

"Look at you, spreading your pretty legs for me. You like it when I talk to you like this? Does it make your little pussy wetter?"

You're so tight, so wet, and Sunghoon is so impossibly hard. He could cum right there just thinking about how good you'll feel wrapped around him, walls convulsing and milking him for all he's worth with every orgasm he gives you. For every orgasm you bless him with.

A sight for sore eyes, one Jay will never see nor hear. Because as soon as he can sense you climbing up your high, getting so close, your walls fluttering against his curled up digits in preparation and juices plentifully seeping out of you, he grabs your phone and ends the recording himself.

Sunghoon moves, and suddenly you miss the weight of his chest pressing into your back, but the pace of his fingers inside you slows down again. You wail as you feel the climax you were so close to dissipate, and suddenly you feel like invisible ropes are keeping your front tied to the bed. Your back gives in under the pressure, arching in ways that should be uncomfortable but it's the only outlet other than the plentiful sounds being pushed out of you your body has to ground itself in the midst of all the pleasure.

The loneliness your heart feels whenever he deprives you of his body heat for as much as a few seconds has tiny broken sobs and whines lurch out of your throat, but like every single time, Sunghoon is there to soothe you. "I know, baby, I know. Just let me help you feel good. Yeah?"

Even when you're supposedly being punished, he can't help but go a little easy on you, his gorgeous angel. His spoiled baby. But it's okay, because you did such a good job, listened and obeyed to his every command.

Sunghoon's warm breath tickles the skin of your bottom, and his nose brushes up from your mid thigh to your ass, giving you a playful yet gentle bite on the plushy skin. Air gets stuck in your throat in anticipation, but like every single thing he does, he takes his time in savoring all the moments leading up to finally get your sweet taste to coat his tongue like he's craved for this entire time.

You're twitchy and so responsive in his hold, and Sunghoon is enamored with the sight of your fluttering walls trying their best to suck his thick digits in even more. Greedy little cunt for a spoiled little girl. A perfect match.

He watches intently how you react to every single thrust of his fingers inside you, how your knees shake and body flops forward when he bends the tips in just the right direction when you least expect it. He pushes in deeper, and deeper, until you're gushing on his palm, your essence dripping down his wrist and a few droplets down to his elbow too. He registers your every moan, every beg for more, imprints all your sounds in his memory like they're the dearest ones he's ever made.

Sunghoon remembers all your reactions from times you'd consider unimportant, from the little moan when you first bite into anything he's cooked—whether you really like it not—to the way your leg bounces when following the rhythm of a song you said you despised because they played it on the radio too often, to the way your eyebrow twitches when he mentions a name you haven't heard before.

When you catch him with that sweet look in his eyes, staring at you with a toothy grin and canines peeking out, it's because he's watching you and storing everything in his mind, no matter how mundane, no matter how dumb, no matter how silly. It's a no brainer he'd do this in times like these too, even when he's witnessed you come undone under his gaze plenty of times, he doesn't want to miss a single one.

It's not really about learning what brings you pleasure faster and what prolongs it, he's familiar with all of that already, Sunghoon just happens to really enjoy watching you, even if you think it's the most embarrassing thing in the world.

So he does exactly that, inspects you carefully as he keeps fucking you open with his fingers, taking guesses about how hard or deep he should make his pumps, pride blooming in his chest—and cock throbbing in his pants—when you react exactly like he expects. While usually he watches you with a lovesick smile, the grin on his face and fiery glint behind his eyes are different now, hungrier and needier, but every bit as obsessed.

Because that's exactly what Sunghoon is, deeply and unashamedly obsessed with you.

He builds your orgasm up again, brick by brick, flick of his wrist by flick of his wrist, until you're quivering and shaking and begging him to not take it away this time.

"Please," you moan, hand clenching onto the bedsheets beside you so hard you'll be shocked if by the end there won't be a hole ripped in them. "I'm so close."

Sunghoon notices how you hold onto your orgasm, waiting for his approval. It makes his hips twitch forward involuntary, eager to please and eager to give you anything you want. "I got you baby, let go. Let me hear the pretty sounds you make when you cum for me."

It's all it takes for the coil in your stomach to completely snap, and the second your warm walls flutter around Sunghoon's fingers for the first time, you feel a sense of emptiness that lasts only a moment, before you're full again. It's not as thick, shorter but so much wetter, and through the thick fog clouding your mind as your body is overtaken by uncontrollable shivers spreading from your core to every extremity of your body, you realize he just replaced his fingers with his tongue.

Another lightning strike shoots right through you, head to feet, as Sunghoon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. You're still fluttering around it and releasing all of your juices right into his awaiting mouth when the ringing in your ears slowly fades, replaced by the downright obscene sounds of Sunghoon slurping up all he can get out of you. It's messy and nasty, the lower half of his face completely coated in your essence but he doesn't care. He wants more.

He moans into your pussy like he's the one being pleasured, and once that single second of bliss between fully coming down from an orgasm and overstimulation setting in goes by, he pulls you in closer when you start moving too much. You're still too sensitive, but if Sunghoon thinks you're greedy, you have to realize he's even worse. Feeling the dull throbbing of your walls as you come around his tongue one time just isn't enough. If it were up to him, he'd have you wet his mouth again and again until you physically can't withstand any more. Until you're barely coherent and slipping into a peaceful sleep, completely tired out.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your ass with his still dripping hand as he licks a stripe down from your hole into your lips, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit, throbbing and raw from your previous orgasm. He rolls it between his lips, toys with it with his tongue, uncaring for the way your body pushes away from his mouth. After all the begging you did, you have no business running from it, if you ask him.

"Stay still," he growls into you, both of his hands tied together on your lower back as he fully pushes you down on the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He nuzzles his face into you, enveloping all he can get with his warm mouth, sighing and groaning contently with every bit of wetness you gush right on his tongue.

He explores every inch of you, every nook and cranny he can get into, cleaning you up with each lick and wetting you even more with every other. "So fucking good," he moans into you, dragging you back against him when you think you can't physically be closer, when the tip of his nose pushes into your hole and when the only way he has to breathe is through his mouth which is full of you. He pants and gasps against your cunt so much you fear he might suffocate himself just to not come up for air a single time.

Your own face is pushed against the bed, mouth biting down on the cotton fabric beneath you to ground yourself in the immense cloud of pleasure Sunghoon is giving you. He's so lost in your taste he doesn't even remind you to not muffle your sounds, the only thing in his mind is to have you come undone on his mouth once more.

Sunghoon knows he's close to his goal when your little pained whines start turning into longer, more drawn out moans, when you stop running away from his tongue and instead start thrusting yourself back into his hold, back into his mouth. All your senses are ablaze, nerve endings lit and confused but so pleased at the same time. You yourself don't know when the it stopped hurting and became that dull, impending feeling of almost there to something more that both maddens you and keeps you hooked, but you roll your hips anyway in search of just the little nudge in the right direction your body violently craves.

Like always, Sunghoon knows exactly what you need.

"Go on, baby. Touch your little clit for me." His voice is full and rich of that low gravel you barely get to hear, but that has tingles run down your body when you do. "Help me make you cum." Sunghoon lets his tongue run back up from your clit to your slit again, inching closer to your throbbing hole as you let a hand sneak under your body to your pussy, immediately finding your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You're so drenched by now you don't need to wet your hand before drawing circles all over it, dragging it in all the directions you know have your toes curl. Sunghoon likes it messy though, so he gathers a glob of spit and loudly releases it on your cunt, the position making it dribble down right where your hand is working to bring you closer to your peak.

The onslaught of wetness pooling down only adds to the already embarrassingly loud noises coming from your cunt, and you're so wet, your own fingers slip a few times. It doesn't help that your arm shakes under you even when pinned down by your entire body weight when Sunghoon shoves his entire tongue down your hole again, using both of his hands on your lower back to move you so you're fucking his muscle as if it were a toy. His nose drags on your perineum with every movement of your bottom half against his face, and under any other circumstance you'd be mortified, but Sunghoon has a way of soothing you in the most embarrassing situations without really having to do anything but be there with you, like nothing matters in the grand scheme of things when his body is heating yours.

You speed your movements up to match the pace he sets, and with every thrust of his tongue combined with every flick of your wrist, you feel the band in your lower tummy stretch and warm up, until your sight turns searing white and warmth envelops your body from your core to all your limbs in rhythmic waves, first every other second, and then gradually slowing down.

You release on Sunghoon's tongue, and he wastes no time, gulping down all he can manage to, moaning into your heat like he's tasting the most divine nectar. You can't see it as you're busy catching your breath and slowing down your heartbeat as the rush of pleasure dissipates into a calmer buzzing felt all over your body, but Sunghoon's eyebrows crease in the middle, his eyes closed as he commits the taste of your cum to his memory, right beside all the indecent bits of you he treasures in his mind.

Sunghoon pulls his tongue out of you, already missing the way you flutter against it when you come undone, and leaves a trail of pecks all over your bottom, first on the plush of your ass still kept up by his strong hold despite you having completely given up on keeping yourself upright long ago, then all over your thighs, switching from one to the other as he runs a reassuring hand all over your skin, wordlessly soothing you. His palms are big and thick on your thighs as he moves to wrap his hands to the front, steadying you one last time to capture your clit in a gentle suckle, just enough to have your body convulse in overstimulation, but too tired and spent to fight back.

He pulls off of you with a pop after hollowing his cheeks around it one last time. "Did so good for me, baby. You're so perfect."

Without Sunghoon's hands keeping you up, you slump on the bed, completely this time, groaning when the burn in your lower body fully sets in now that you can move it again. It's dull and persistent, and especially fiery right where Sunghoon's hands stayed locked for most of it.

"You okay, pretty? Was I too rough?" He sounds concerned when you take longer than usual to regain your strength, his hands immediately roaming all over your body to massage any sore spot. His touch is light like a breeze but welcome like the sun on a spring day, warming up all the knots in your muscles. The dangerous edge seems to have completely evaporated, only leaving your sweet boyfriend behind. In the moment, it's exactly what you need.

You give him a vague sound of approval in response, but you know it's not enough for him when he gently maneuvers your body around to face him, holding you so carefully one would think him scared of damaging you.

The warm light shining from the night stand casts shadows on his face, but the slight concern etched on his features is bright as day. It's an intimate moment, and you'd giggle because of the sheer difference in his behavior if you had the energy to do so. Instead, you reach for his hand. The same hand that held a bruising grip on you just moments before, the same hand that hit the man who disrespected you.

Sunghoon returns you touch right away, locking your fingers with his as if second nature. You place a featherlight kiss on them, allowing your lips to linger on his salty skin as you speak. "I'm great. Perfect even." It comes out a little raspy, like you haven't fully caught your breath yet, but it's a start.

"Yeah. You are."

"And you? You doing okay?"

Sunghoon gifts you one of his cannot-possibly-contain-it smiles, the ones where he looks down for a split second as his eyes crinkle and somehow smile wider than his lips do. Your favorite kind of Sunghoon Smiles you'd say in the moment, though if you were to compile a list they would all be in the number one spot.

"Perfect, even."

"Hey, that's my line—" you start, but Sunghoon finishes your sentence for you.

"—Don't steal it."

You hum, the taste of skin still on your lips as you bask in the moment for a little, neither of you daring to break the peaceful quiet that wraps like a fuzzy blanket around you. Sunghoon flinches just the tiniest bit when your fingers graze the bandaged scratches, making you ease up your hold on his hand. He immediately squeezes yours to tell you it's okay.

"You know," you say after you let the silence linger for a few more seconds, only your heartbeats and shallow breaths filling the air in the dimly lit room. "You look really hot when you're mad."

Fits of giggles pour in the almost nonexistent space between you—first Sunghoon's, yours following suit.

"I must look super hot when I'm jealous then," he says with that teasing edge in his tone you're all too familiar with. He dips down to catch your lips in a slow kiss, suckling on your bottom lip gently, the corners of his mouth still raised. He hasn't stopped smiling once.

"Absolutely," you say before Sunghoon pecks you again, and then keeps doing it as you try to continue. "And when you're happy—" another peck. "And when you're bored." Another peck. "And when you're—sorry if I say this but you look like a cute kicked puppy—sad.

"So you're gonna keep finding ways to make me jealous, I assume."

It's not meant to be a jab, you know he's being playful. But it stings you just in the right way, and suddenly you're in the passenger seat of Sunghoon's black Bentley again, worrying about having hurt his feelings past redemption.

Like all things you, Sunghoon catches it right away.

"Hey there, it's okay. I'm not upset, baby." Sunghoon's hands are secure around your hips, his thumb running soothing circles on your skin while your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer because it's simply never enough.

"You should be. You're too nice."

Sunghoon presses his lips on your fluttering lashes. "You being a little brat is nothing new. I think I know how to handle you pretty well, don't I?" His breath, minty but also vaguely bitter from the beer still, warms your cheekbone. Sunghoon's proximity to you is intoxicating in ways no amount of alcohol could ever be, and you hate beer, but god, what wouldn't you do to taste it off of his lips for the rest of your life.

Whoever is up there must be gracious because your prayers are answered the very next second, with Sunghoon ghosting his lips on yours, looking at you with tenfold the intensity and fire from earlier, like someone drenched the space behind his eyes with gasoline and lit it up without you noticing it. The switch is so sudden, and by now you should be used to this, but you don't think you ever will. Not when your boyfriend is looking at you like he might devour you whole any moment, and you'd let him. You'd love to let him.

"Act out all you want," Sunghoon says, voice dripping in possessiveness, right against your awaiting mouth. You want to swallow every last bit of it. "Go out there in short little skirts barely covering your ass. Make up all the silly plans you want, even ones where Jay's involved. Let everyone get a good look at you because that's all they'll ever fucking get." His hand reaches for your inner thigh, then folds it to give himself better access. His bulge is heavy and hard against your bare core, the weight of it enough to have you shiver and mewl, but when Sunghoon starts grinding his hips into yours, the noises spill out of you like you have no control over them. "At the end of the night, after you've had your fun, you'll always come back to me. In my bed, soaking my pants with your little pussy because you only get wet like this for me."

It's embarrassing how fast you feel like you could come again, but Sunghoon's hard thickness slides so perfectly over your folds even through the fabric, and the harshness of his jeans catches your clit every so often in such a delicious way. His pants are soaked through in your essence, both of you moaning and panting in each other's mouths so messily you don't even know if it could be classifies as a kiss or a mere exchange of spit.

"You're mine," Sunghoon rasps, like his life depends on it. He fumbles with his pants, depriving you of the mouth watering friction. You make a few noises of complaints, but his teeth are quick to sink into your bottom lip to silence them. "A spoiled little brat. But mine."

The heaviness of him finds your dripping core again, this time so much warmer, only his underwear separating your most sensitive parts from touching. It's the closest you've ever been to feeling his cock on you, and it's overwhelming. Electricity shocks run through your body when he starts moving his pelvis against you, completely coating the already damp material with the mix of your arousal and release. He's not unaffected—his own precum shows up right where the little slit in his tip is, the fabric of the boxers a darker shade of gray there.

"Mine to love, mine to discipline, mine to train. Mine." You don't know wether the hoarseness coming from his throat is due to the anything but proper activity you two are partaking in or simply the raw need for you to really let his words sink in, but the effect it has on you is clear. The proof is right where your cores meet.

You tentatively roll your hips into his, movements emboldening when you earn a few low grunts from him.

"This pussy is gonna be mine too now. Mine to worship and please. Mine to fuck open like she never has been before. I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else. You want that, right?"

You nod frantically, your hips running after Sunghoon's in a relentless chase, like they have a mind of their own.

"Say it. Say you want me to ruin your little hole."

"Ruin it—Hoon, please."

His hips falter when he hears just how desperate you sound, his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle and you can tell he's biting down on his tongue to ground himself. It only encourages you.

You reach for his boxers, wrapping your hand around the outline of his bulge and trying to contain your facial expressions at the reminder of just how ridiculously large he is. You squeeze it with your palm, his eyelids fluttering closed and his chest heaving from your touch alone. You try not to think too much about how outrageously wet the fabric is, all thanks to you. "Please, I need to feel you inside," you beg, arms pushing your tits—now basically spilling out of your dress—together and looking up at him with the most innocent doe eyed expression you can muster up.

Sunghoon's jaw leaps, and you feel like under a microscope as he watches you. "Little minx you are." He reaches for the first drawer of his night stand, rummaging though it quickly before pulling a tiny bottle out of it. It's lube.

"I don't need—"

Sunghoon silences you by spitting right on your pussy, your complaint turning into a whimper at the contact. "You do, baby. You need all the help you can get." Complaining more will get you nowhere but tucked into bed, still needy, horny and with a wet pussy, so you decide to play your cards cleverly and let him do his thing.

You paw at his boxers, fingers dipping into the waistband and trying to tug them down to get to the prize hidden behind. You spread your legs open even more as Sunghoon rips a larger hole into your tights, the veins running down his arms slightly bulging from the effort.

The sudden coldness of the lube dripping down on your puffy folds surprises you enough to rip a little yelp out of you, and Sunghoon's wide palms find their rightful place on your thighs, pushing them against your hips and lower stomach. He takes a good look at your cunt, spreading you open to his liking and leaving no inch of your skin hidden from his sight. "Such a pretty pussy." Your joints still ache and burn from all the exertion they already endured, but Sunghoon's words are like a soothing balm for your body and mind. "Prettiest cunt in the whole fucking world, all wet and ready for me to fuck."

You finally manage to free his cock fully, despite his filthy words sending waves of weakness through your body, and immediately wrap your palm around the middle, mouth watering when your thumb doesn't reach your other fingers. Not only is it way longer than average, it's also thick beyond comprehension, perfectly curved to hit all the right spots in you and so fucking veiny you can feel more slick pour out of you in anticipation. You quite literally cannot stop gawking at it, trying to move your hand up to his tip, just as thick if not thicker than the base, and you gulp as you watch beads of semi transparent liquid pour out of it.

"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon asks, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he tries to not buck his hips into your hand. "We can stop if you want."

"No!" Your grip around him tightens, earning a gasp and a shallow thrust from him. Your thumb swipes over the head to spread his need all over, making it easier for you to slowly jerk him off. "Please," you add, quieter, afraid he might take the opportunity away from you.

The sight of you laying down so prettily with your much smaller hand enveloping his length, has all the blood in Sunghoon's body rush straight to his groin. He could cum at any moment, just from having you right in front of him like this, but he's set on making it worth the wait.

"You're so fucking hot like this." His hand finds your cunt again, fingers spreading your folds open so he can take a good look at the sensitive bud he loves so much, finding it so swollen he wishes to just bend down and suck on it again.

Once the lube fully coats his digits, he brings them down to your hole again, prodding it just enough to make sure it's slick with the cold essence. He squirts more of it right onto his cock while you keep fisting him as best as you can, spreading the lube all over it until all that can be heard in the room is the loud squelching noises and both of your heavy pants and low groans. His fingers keep rubbing your folds, coaxing more of your own arousal out of you, the feeling so distracting the pace you set on his cock falters a bit. To compensate, you add your other hand too, milking him with both at the same time.

"Fuck yeah, just like that," Sunghoon moans, and he looks divine above you with his lip caught between his teeth, gaze flickering from where his hips have started fucking into your fists, to where his fingers are playing with your pussy, like he cannot decide which view is best.

His cock throbs in your hands every time your hold tightens or your movements get faster, and you're stuck watching every reaction. His chest heaves, sometimes he looks like he forgets to breathe and then he has to make up for it. His cheeks are flushed, and when you notice how his bangs are sticking to his forehead because of the sweat accumulating on his hairline, you suspect he might be close.

"Gonna come?" you ask, battling your lashes at him, hoping he'll do just that from your hands alone. That's enough to wake him from his daze, and you almost regret asking when he breaks free from your hold and stops playing with your pussy.

The disappointment is short lived, because without wasting any time, Sunghoon brings your legs close together around his cock and sets both of your feet on one of his shoulders. He fucks your thighs just like that, with slow thrusts, making sure to slide his cock between your folds and let you feel every single vein running down his length. "You'd love that wouldn't you? Me coming all over your pussy. You're so fucking messy."

The shirt still covering his torso leaves close to nothing to the imagination now, clinging to every ridge of his abs and chest because of the sweat, and you're basically drooling at the sight. The feeling of Sunghoon's cock between your thighs and on your cunt is too much for you already, clit throbbing with need every time his tip catches on it, balls pushing against your hole every now and then, but you make the mistake of looking down when his thrusts get faster, and the view you're met with has you absolutely obsessed.

The head of Sunghoon's cock peeks out from your thighs every time his hips move forward, red and leaking so fucking much on your lower tummy it looks like he's cumming all over you already. But then it just keeps going, reaching close to your belly button, and when his head rests right on it, your mouth goes slack. It's one thing to see how big he is normally, but to have it compared directly against you, it makes the room spin in circles and your body feel even weaker. You need him inside you now.

"You like the view, baby? That's how deep I'm gonna be inside you, how deep I'll be fucking you," Sunghoon laughs, a little manically, and you hate how much it turns you on, like you need to be any more than you already are. "You'll feel me riiight here." He stops his thrusts to tap his cock on your stomach, the sounds of the tiny slaps reverberating through the room. "All up in your guts."

You gasp out his name when his hips go back to working his cock between your thighs, in an attempt to get his attention, but he already knows what you want.

"I know, baby. I know. Just a little more I promise." His gaze flicks up to meet yours, watching you intently for any sign of discomfort, any indication that you might want to stop. He knows it's unlikely—Hell, he's sure you were about to beg him to fuck you for the nth time that night just now—but he needs you to be absolutely sure. The weight on his chest, the slightest hint of uneasiness looming over him despite all the excitement fades in the background when all he finds on your face is pure lust, unfiltered need for him.

The pace slows down a little, and Sunghoon keeps eye contact with you as he speaks with his full lips brushing the skin of your ankle, giving you a few kisses there to ease up any anxiety you might feel. "Are you sure, pretty? We can wait a bit more. We don't have to—"

"Hoon. For the love of God just put it in or i might actually die within the next two minutes."

An amused wheeze tickles your skin, followed by a gentle nibble right where his lips kissed you. He rests your legs back down while he still kneels on the bed "Alright, alright."

He's spent all this time preparing you, telling you to take it slow for your own well being, but as you watch the way his eyes hesitantly shift focus around your body, you think maybe he's not the one ready yet. "Hoon?" you catch his attention, voice meek but it's like music to his ears, always.

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgement, but he looks deep in thought. His thumb follows the ridge of your jaw to your chin, then swipes over it a few times as if to encourage you to continue.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Had a change of heart? Weren't you just about to die a few seconds ago?"

"I'm asking you."

He exhales, then bends down to place a soft kiss right on your parted lips. "Of course I'm sure. I'm just…" He trails off, but you already know what he's thinking.

"You won't hurt me," you say, keeping eye contact to really get the point across. "Besides, even if you did. I'd enjoy it a bit."

The corner of his lips lift up, and you know you've finally cracked through him. "I suppose you would."

His elbow rests by your head, while his other hand grabs his cock and gives it a few pumps in preparation—not that he needs it, Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever been this goddamn hard in his entire life. "Give me a few taps anywhere if you want me to stop, if it helps you can bite me when it hurts." He positions himself, hand still guiding his tip to your leaking entrance, but doesn't push in just yet. "Where should I cum?"

You're about to lose your mind, hips slowly rolling against his tip to try to coax it inside of you and he's still talking instead of doing something about it. "Huh?"

"Where do you want my cum baby? You won't be able to talk when I'm fucking you."

The sheer seriousness in his tone has shivers run down your spine, but you don't dwell on it too long. "Inside. Anywhere you want just please—Oh my god."

The sting of his tip slowly pushing in stops you from finishing your sentence. It's a mild discomfort for now, but the feeling of it stretching you open is better than any of the toys you and Sunghoon experimented with could've ever provided. He's just getting started, but your mouth is already ajar, and more wetness seeps out of you when your boyfriend rewards you with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard.

"God, it's like she's begging me to slam all the way in." His thumb swipes over your clit in circular motions to help you ease up so the first few inches aren't too harsh on your poor drooling pussy, and even though the tip isn't even the entire way in, the sight of his cock slowly disappearing inside your heat quickly shoots up to his favorite spot. "Deep breaths baby, remember what I taught you—No, don't tense up, it's okay. You've got this."

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head, pleasure and discomfort blending into one slowly as he waits for you to adjust. How are you supposed to not clench around him when he's encouraging you like this? It's beyond you.

Your hand shoots to grab Sunghoon's muscular biceps when he starts moving again, and he stills right away, waiting with bated breath for the taps to come.

They don't.

"Is it all in yet?" you ask, because truly, you feel so fucking full already, fuller than you have ever been. But the amused look on Sunghoon's face tells you exactly what you need to know.

"I mean." He moves a little more, and the burning—even if eased up a bit by all the juices and lube coating both of you—resumes. "A little more than the tip is."

"The tip?"

"The tip." Sunghoon thrusts out gently before pushing in again, both of you moaning at the same time. "I can fuck you with just that, it's enough to make you come harder than you ever have." He doesn't wait for you to tell him what to do, opting to give you shallow thrusts to test the waters, his thumb never parting from your clit.

The way you shudder and the little sweet sounds you make because of his tip alone has his stomach knot in all kinds of ways and his cock leap and throb so much it fucking hurts. Sunghoon would want nothing more than to shove it in and claim you fully, mold your pussy around his girth so perfectly no one else would ever be able to give you a cock half as good as his—like he would let that happen in the first place.

You're writhing under him, legs kicking a little when he feels the slide in and out slowly get more comfortable and slippier. That doesn't mean you're not clenching around him so hard he could cum at any given moment, but for your own pleasure—and his, really. He wants to shoot his load as deep as he possibly can—he tries to hold off to the best of his capabilities.

But fuck if it's not the hardest thing he's ever tried to do.

He almost breaks when your own hand reaches down for the one working on your pussy, smaller palm attempting to cover the back of his and to coax it into moving faster. There's a bit of drool on the corner of your lips, and you look so wrecked already, Sunghoon hates how a shiver runs down his spine at the mere thought of how you'll look like when he's balls deep inside you. "Hoon—fuck. I want more."

He coos at you, pretending he's not a wreck himself, pretending the thread thin sliver of sanity he has left isn't the only thing preventing him to fold your legs all the way up to your chest and fuck you into oblivion, but the arm next to your head shakes with restraint, and the knuckles on his fist are ghostly white by now, even if you're too blissed out to pay attention. His voice is shaky, uneven, but his words are careful and patient, even when you'd rather them not be. "We gotta get your pretty parts used to it first baby, come like this just once, it's only the last stretch."

Your whines turn into moans when his movements on your clit fasten and his tip nudges inside you a little deeper, just enough to momentarily satisfy your craving for more.

"Aren't you a greedy little thing," Sunghoon rasps, holding back his own impending orgasm with all his strength, beads of sweat now rolling down his neck deliciously, and you kinda wish you could bend forward and lick them off of him. "Asking for more, and more, and more after the stunt you pulled today. My pretty baby," his thumb pushes more forcefully on your bud, making it hurt so good for a second as you adjust to the pressure, then giving you harsher drags, meant to have you come undone and quivering under him in no time. "So desperate for cock you just had to go ahead and try to make me jealous. You like it when I'm jealous?"

You gasp, nodding frantically as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten more and more, an embarrassing amount of slick pouring out of you and running downwards.

"You're so fucking lucky this is the first time we do this," his voice is rough, an octave lower than usual. "Or I would've bent you over and fucked you so silly the second we got home without stretching your pretty pussy open. But I'm so kind. Thank me for it."

You clench hard around him at his words, toes bending because you don't know what else to do with all the pleasure coursing through you, and he gives a gorgeous deep groan in response. "I'm gonna—"

"Then thank me for it."

You come around him hard, harder than you ever have, thank you's pouring out of your lips like a broken prayer, entire body shaking head to toe from the intense orgasm. The buzz in your ears persists for a while as you try to come down from it, and you can see but it feels like you can't, like your brain isn't registering any of the images your eyes capture. Bright, static, dark spots, so many things at once. It feels like you blacked out for a second even if you didn't, all your senses dulled to make space for all the other sensations your climax provides.

When you slowly start to regain power over them, you're met with the sight of Sunghoon panting like a dog, eyes closed and fist wrapped around his cock, the head poking out and redder than you've ever seen it, looking like he just ran a fucking marathon. Somehow, he managed not to cum. He was so close though, so close he had to pull out the second your walls started to involuntary flutter around him or he would've been done for.

The tight black shirt is still clinging to him like a second skin, and the first coherent thought of yours after the fog around brain clears is to get him out of it as soon as you can. You tug at the hem, still panting and blood buzzing from the release. "Off."

Sunghoon doesn't answer you with words, but he rips the shirt off his torso, throwing it somewhere on the floor behind him. His hands are shaky as they travel from your waist to your hips, then reaching your thighs, spreading you open further in front of him and allowing him to take a look at the big mess you—both of you, really—made. Sunghoon's cock is rock hard, tip oozing enough precum to make all the prep you've endured so far pointless. (Not really, you know better than that.)

Sunghoon goes back to nudging his tip on your hole, just holding it there without pushing in quite yet, casting a last questioning glance your way because he needs the reassurance that you're okay with this one last time before he fully commits.

When you nod, he slowly eases himself back into you with a low moan accompanying the motion, this time his gaze holding yours. The face you make as his tip stretches you open makes it a hundred times harder for him to keep his chill, wanting nothing more than to say fuck it and pound you stupid like you've been begging him to do ever since things first got handsy between you two.

The burn isn't nearly as bad as it was the first time, leaving space for so much more pleasure to course right through you, and you can't help the relieved sigh that leaves you when his tip is fully back inside you again, like it's a need for you to be filled by it. And Sunghoon sees that. He sees the fire in your eyes, the greediness slowly pooling behind those pupils he loves so much, how your hips look for his even if taking any more in hurts.

His hips jerk forward more than he intends them to, but he can't help it, not when you're looking at him like he's the prey. More of your wetness coats him, and both of you loudly moan into the night.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," Sunghoon whines, actual tears filling his waterline because he can't believe how much you're gripping him, pussy fluttering around his girth with every little bit he pushes forward, welcoming him like no one has ever done. "Tightest little pussy ever."

The hold on your thighs is bruising, but it helps you stay at least a little grounded so you wouldn't have it any other way. Whenever you think you're too full and cannot possibly take anymore, you feel a little more of Sunghoon's cock slide in you, so you get on your elbows with what little strength you have left and take a look for yourself. He's barely halfway in, and the burning sensation is starting to set in again. It hurts, but it hurts so good, you need more and you need less at the same time.

"Yeah, that's right, angel. Watch how your greedy needy cunt swallows me." Sunghoon's eyebrows are creased, sweat now not only dripping from his scalp, but little droplets constellating his broad chest, following the paths preset by his sculpted physique, all the way down to his vline. A mouthwatering sight.

"So full," you sigh, eyes never leaving from where you're connected, clit throbbing the more he fucks his cock into you, begging for a lick of attention.

"You'll be so much fuller. Can you behave and handle that for me, mhh?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding along to his words and sneaking down your hand to play with your clit when you come to the conclusion that Sunghoon's hands are way too busy gripping your plushy skin like his sanity depends on it.

"Smart girl," he praises.

The wetter you become, the easier and more pleasurable the slide is. Sunghoon watches you for any sign of unbearable discomfort, slowing down when you bite your tongue or picking his speed back up when you bless him with those precious needy whines of yours. "You're doing so well, my gorgeous girl. So fucking amazing, making me feel so good already, God, you're perfect."

His words of encouragement play a big part in easing the pain for you, soothing you enough to make it easier for you to not tense up when his cock nudges a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. Your hand flies to your lower belly and you swear you feel him right there, so much deeper than you've ever had anyone—or anything—be.

"There we go," Sunghoon puffs out like he's been holding himself back from breathing this entire time, his pelvis grinding against your folds deliberately. And you finally realize he's all the way in for the first time ever. "Squeezin' me so tight, are you scared I'll run away?" He pulls back a bit before fully thrusting inside again, the curve of his cock aiding in making him hit all the right spots you could've never reached yourself. "No fucking chance. Not after I've got a taste of this. Gonna fuck your pretty pussy open every fucking night, until I've trained her to take me in without any complaints."

He sets a slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm you just yet, then adds, in a softer tone, "Does it hurt too bad, baby?"

If he keeps the back and forth up for much longer, you're gonna end up getting whiplash. But between groans and higher pitches sounds, you manage to answer him. "Any more and you would've popped me like a balloon."

Sunghoon giggles as he bends down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, hands finally loosening his grip on your legs and traveling all over your body. "You begged, and begged and—"

"I'm not complaining, am I?" you ask, breaking the kiss and resting your forehead on his, the saliva string connecting you two shining under the warm light of the lamp. "Harder."

Sunghoon complies instantly, speeding up his movements and giving you actual thrusts instead of the messy mix of grinding and nudges he'd taken a liking to. His hot, wet mouth finds your neck, too greedy and selfish, in desperate need of hearing the beautiful sounds you make instead of swallowing them down. His tongue skates over your pulse point, a shiver traveling down your entire body when he gives you the lightest nibble right there before licking it up again in apology.

"I can still taste you in my mouth." His breath tickles the wet skin of your neck, your front arching into his when goosebumps appear all over your exposed arms. "Always want to—mh, taste it. You'll let me eat your pretty pussy again after you gush on my cock?"

Even if you want to reply, you really can't, not when the pace he's drilling into you at is knocking the air out of your lungs, and the bolder his movements get, the more you understand why he asked where he should cum before even staring. You want to look at him, take in every expression on his beautiful face, but the pleasure is too much to handle and the only thing that seems to help is closing your eyes and letting them roll back into your skull.

Your lips are raw from all the biting, and you're so incredibly thankful when Sunghoon's hand swats yours away from your clit to replace it, allowing you to sink your fingers into his broad shoulders, clawing at them with every languid thrust he gives you. He feels so perfect, filling you up to the brim and then some more, stretching you out so fucking good you suspect you won't ever be able to scratch the itch if not with his cock.

"I'm in love with this fucking pussy, baby," he moans, loud and unapologetic, making his way with open mouthed kisses down your neck, then following the line of your clavicle, only to dip down between the valley of your breasts. Your tits have spilled out of the tiny little dress due to bouncing around with every precise thrust Sunghoon gave you, and your nipples are perky and hard, begging for his attention right in his face.

"And your tits, fuck. So pretty, I'm gonna eat you right up." He licks a stripe on one of your hardened buds before enveloping it fully between his lips and sucking on it lightly, sighing contently into it when you push your tits on his face further, loud whines spilling out of you.

The very familiar band in your tummy starts to tighten again the more he works on your nipples and clit at the same time, thrusts never once faltering. All of your senses are heightened to such a degree you don't even know what to do with yourself anymore if not lay under Sunghoon and let him absolutely ravage you, not a single thought but 'feels so good' crossing your mind. But it's fast, too fast, and you want it to last for longer, want Sunghoon to keep fucking you for hours until the only word you remember is his name.

You try to push his hand away from your clit, only earning a reprimanding yet gentle bite on your nipple, a warning. "I c-can't."

"Can't what, pretty girl?" He rolls your nipple between his lips, lapping away the tingling sensation the nibble left on it that has you jolt in his hold. "Use your words."

You throw your head back in frustration, feeling the impending climax approach you once again, the nth that night. "Don't want it to end," you gasp, using up all the strength left in you form a coherent sentence.

Sunghoon coos at you. Fucking coos at you only to deepen the strokes of his cock inside you, angling his hips to reach even deeper. "Cum for me baby, I'll just keep fucking you."

Your thighs shake as they wrap around his waist to pull him closer, his hips switching to grinding his cock into you instead of thrusting it, the fat tip poking the most delicious sensitive parts of your heat. You gasp and wheeze, claw and scratch and draw blood from his skin but it never hinders or stops his strokes. You clench around him time and time again, wrapping around his cock so nicely Sunghoon can feel his own orgasm build up in the pit of his stomach.

You come around him with a silent scream, every single part of your body twitching under him as he keeps fucking into you, now chasing his own high. He still takes a moment to watch you and how beautiful you look at the highest of your peak, eyes glazed over and mouth hung open, sweaty skin glistening so beautifully he wishes to be a painter and capture it forever. It's a sight he's never gonna grow accustomed to, and it has his stomach twist in knots. "That's it baby, so fucking gorgeous, keep cumming for me like that, milking my cock so well."

Even in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body looks for his, hips rolling into his as if to silently ask for him to cum inside you, now that your voice has completely failed you.

"Just a bit more. We're almost there, my perfect little baby, so good for me," Sunghoon is babbling too by now, so damn enamored with the sight of you trying to keep your twitching under control even though you're still cumming around him and teetering on overstimulation so he can fully savor his own high. "The most perfect angel girl ever. I love you so fucking much."

Your head is light and Sunghoon's words reach you as if in slow motion, muffled by your own blood buzzing in your ears. You're completely drenched, and the bedding underneath you is too, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care. The slide is not painful anymore, and everything feels so warm and slippery, you never want it to end.

The image of Sunghoon still grinding and fucking his cock into you, his pace now reduced to a desperate mess and nowhere near as precise as it was, clears up slowly as your ears stop ringing, but your pleasure never does. You don't know if you're still cumming or if Sunghoon fucking you just feels this good you can't tell the difference, but you feel like you're on cloud nine and lighter than you've ever been.

Sunghoon's torso is completely glistening, and you feel some of that slick coat your skin too when he bends your legs into you, folding you against the bed and hitting even deeper inside you.

You're a moaning mess as he pistons his dick inside your heat, dragging perfectly against your gummy walls. You look down and see a bulge poke your lower tummy with each deep stroke of his. The sight alone is enough to have you on the edge again, but it feels different this time, like you cannot possibly contain what's about to happen.

"Hoon—"

"Shh," he silences you, hair a sweaty mess and dripping all over your figure. The squelching sounds of his skin slapping against yours, connected by white strips of slick on both of your thighs get even louder when his pace gets faster, the hand that played with your clit suddenly pushing down on the bulging of your stomach. "Give it all to me, soak my fucking dick—fuck, I'm gonna cum baby, gonna cum so deep inside you."

You cannot stop the dam from breaking, juices shooting out of you so suddenly you're taken aback too, coating his entire lower abdomen in it. Your cunt throbs around him so hard, almost like it's trying to push his cock out of you. You can't think of anything, cannot fathom anything that's not Sunghoon, and his perfect cock, and how good you feel, going completely limp on the bed.

He moans louder than you at the sight of your wetness drenching the bed and his cock. "Fuck, take it all baby. I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm—"

His hips stutter one final time against you, burying his cock deep inside you and shooting his seed in multiple thick spurts as deep as he possibly can, filling you up perfectly. He dips down to catch your mouth in a messy kiss, panting into your mouth even as you two are still both trying to catch your breath from your orgasms, but your lips on his are all the oxygen he needs.

"I love you," you whisper into the kiss, your words finally having found the way out of your throat again.

Sunghoon hums, his body weakened and tired but still hovering above you instead of slumping on you. "I love you more." He gives you a sweet peck like he wasn't just putting you through the matters moments ago. "You were perfect, baby. Did so amazing." He lets his body go beside you on the bed, dragging you between his arms and grimacing when the wet mess you made on the covers touches the back of his body. "A rag won't be enough."

You smile, weak but content. "And who's fault is that?"

Sunghoon pretends to think about it, but from the look on his face you can tell the answer is ready on his tongue. "I think it might be yours for being too hot I couldn't help myself."

You swat your hand on his chest, but there's no force behind the gesture.

"Aaand for making me jealous."

A groan leaves your lips, your arms coming up to cover your face. "How am i gonna ever face Jay again after this."

Sunghoon's chest vibrates against your skin. "You'll think about that after I clean you up."

You make a low noise of complaint, rolling over to push yourself on top of your boyfriend's body, hands resting on his toned chest as you reach for his huge cock and slowly sink yourself onto it, head thrown back in pleasure even if it's not fully hard anymore. Sunghoon's breath catches in his throat as he watches you lower yourself against him again, your head finding refuge on his shoulder. "Later."

You stay like that for a while, breaths slowly synchronizing in the peaceful quiet, Sunghoon's cock comfortably nested in your heat while his fingers lazily ghost over the entire expanse of your back. You could fall asleep at any moment, but you raise your head one more time to look at your boyfriend, his half lidded eyes meeting yours instantly. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to edge himself that much."

"Just go to sleep."

BONUS

You roll over to tentatively search Sunghoon's bedside table, ignoring the sound of the lube bottle hitting the floor, until the cold screen of your phone meets your spread hand.

Sunghoon is snoring lightly behind you, his nose nuzzled against your nape, and you hope to not wake him up as you unlock your phone. You recoil when the light that feels like a million suns momentarily blinds you, but even that is not enough to discourage you from completing the life-or-death task ahead of you.

You open up messages—promptly ignoring Jay's "never do this shit again. you two are nasty."— and click on Jungwon's chat, not wasting time to watch the several unloaded video files sitting in it (you can easily recognize the blonde silhouette of Jake's hair in half of them, so you're free to assume it's nothing of particular importance anyway) to type a quick text.

05:34 AM. You: mission accomplished ;p (cancel the hiking thing we planned for next week unless you carry me yourself. your girl can't walk)

Shockingly enough, he replies within the minute.

05:35 AM. twin: you shameless being (a whole week is crazy)

05:37 AM. twin: whatever, but I'm dragging you out for brunch so you figure out your means of transportation yourself. we need to catch up

05:38 AM. You: crazy night for both of us i assume

05:38 AM. twin: oh you have no idea

[livecrow]

Imagine you want to try waxing your pussy, but it turns out to be quite the challenge to actually see what the hell you're doing.

Naturally you ask your boyfriend for help.

Simon won't hear any of it, growls that he's fond of your scruff. "Like 'er jus' the way she is." Her being your snatch.

You pout and try to coax him.

No dice.

You don't give up that easily, obviously. Besides, if you have to, you'll just do it yourself even if it ends up a smidge patchy.

So there you are, full winnie the poohing it on the living room couch, trying to contort yourself this way and that, armed with the waxing strips and a hand mirror. Just trying to get the right angle. The whole spectacle right in front of an unamused Simon.

You spread your knees wide, as wide as you can, to prop up your pussy. Mash your tummy and thighs out of the way, spread your lips out, grunting and whining all the way with exertion while you fumble with the wrapper. You're almost ready to just say "fuck it" and go in completely blind—

You should have been more suspicious when Simon gives in, when he marches over and grunts a short "fine". When manhandles you into an even more uncomfortable and exposed position he finds more suitable.

After the first couple of strips your ready to throw up your white flag and forget about the whole thing. When you tell him as much and try to wriggle out from under him—

Simon just laughs meanly.

"You wanted it, now we're gonna see it through, aren't we?"

Simon'd enjoy your squeals and teary eyes. Every jolt of your body trying to escape the pain your subjecting it to.

"Serves you right for tryin' to deface my sweet'eart."

For how much it hurts, you don't have the awareness to realize he'd actually doing it all somewhat carefully. Each strip layed in the right direction, smoothed down with enough pressure, ripped off in one quick motion. Hell, he even rubs the skin to soothe the sting while he peels the next strip.

...Rubs your pussy. Soothing circles into your heated, plump mons and outer lips that you could almost read as apologetic. He wasn't feeling hardly any sympathy for you, though. No, it was for her.

On the next strip your startled when his thumb actually grazes your clit, while the rest of his palm pulls the skin taught.

You wondered if it was just a slip, but alas. Nothing Simon does is ever an accident.

The traitor peeked out from the hood in interest. Every other strip after that has him stroking your pearl mercilessly, like his own worry stone.

The hot ripping pain melds with pleasure, it isn't long at all before your keening and dripping under his ministrations. It was inevitable.

Simon sounded so put out. Sighing, tisking that you're, "Sloppy fuckin' wet. Strip isn't gonna stick now, is it?" as if you're an idiot, trying to be difficult purpose.

As he chastises you, he crams two thick fingers in your hole, like he's trying to stem a bleeding wound. It punches the air out of your lungs. He tells you you're gonna ruin it, that they'll have to start all over if you keep this up.

He's about as done as he's gonna be, considering your drippy cunt. "Look at 'er. Poor thing's cryin', isn't she?" He coos to your crotch.

Simon turns back to you but his tone isn't sweet, he barks at you to stop squirmin', unless you want him to you fuck you while your still oll raw and stingin'. Since that's clearly what you want now.

He's always givin' you want you want, huh? You're spoiled rotten.

[cumironi]

MIRROR, MIRROR, ON THE WHORE

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma, choso

summary. what’s the point of having an expensive vanity your older boyfriend (sugar daddy) bought for you? to see you making yourself pretty for him? nahhhh... to make you watch yourself getting rāwdog from him? 100% fat yessss!

trigger/warnings. non-sorcerer au, rich men w/ mean streaks, mirror $ex, bent over expensive furniture (vanity), hardcore daddy-kink, rough $ex, dumbification kink, pu$$y drunk behavior (they’re obsessed), soft brat taming, submissive reader, praise kink, degradation (verbal, consensual), power imbalance (older man / younger woman), age gap dynamics, possession/ownership themes, unprotected vaginal $ex, internal ejaculation, creampie kink, mirror voyeurism, emotional overstimulation, affectionate aftercare, swearing / explicit language, oral fixation (biting, drooling), overstimulation, folded positions, forced eye contact via mirror, breeding kink references (implied), lingerie obsession, class/power fantasy dynamic, furniture fucking, controlling behavior framed as devotion.

GOJO SATORU

the vanity he bought you was from some ridiculous french brand neither of you could pronounce right, all lacquered ivory and gold trim, real marble top and mirror framed in brass. it sat too big for your little apartment, arrogant and gleaming like it knew what it cost, what it was for. “spoiled brat needed a place to sit her fat ass and pout,” gojo had said when it arrived, all smiles, shirt undone, tie dangling, while you squealed and climbed his lap in nothing but socks.

now you were bent over it, ass red and jiggling under his palm, his cock buried so deep inside you your reflection looked vacant, drooling, empty. you couldn’t stop staring. you tried to drop your gaze, but he caught your chin with his fingers and tilted it up, forcing you to look yourself in the eye while your insides spasmed around him with every thrust.

“what’s wrong, bunny?” his voice dripped syrupy sweet. “too hard? too deep? or is it that this mirror’s showing you what i see every fuckin’ night? dumb, needy baby who begs for it and then cries when she gets it.”

you whined. not even a real word—just some helpless sound stuck in your throat, the air punched from your lungs every time his hips slammed against your ass, every time the base of his cock dragged hard through your soaked, swollen folds. the whole vanity shook with it, perfume bottles rattling, your makeup scattered from earlier when you’d been trying to look cute for him, fresh gloss and curled lashes. he’d smudged it all off.

“look at that tongue,” he sneered, eyes gleaming cruel through the mirror. “can’t even keep your fuckin’ mouth shut. s’just hangin’ out like a bitch in heat. you droolin’ for me or you too dumb to remember how to swallow, sweetheart?”

“d-daddy—” it slipped out hoarse and helpless, and his whole body stilled for a beat, cock twitching inside you.

“oh, baby,” he said, and it came out thick, rough, almost fond, before his grip bruised tighter on your hips and he pulled out only to slam back in full force, making your stomach knock into the vanity edge, your cry turning into a breathless wail.

“there she is. my dumb little bunny,” he purred. “can’t speak. can’t think. just bend over and take it like i taught you. like the pretty little thing you are.” he gave your ass a stinging slap, then kneaded it like it was his. “fucked you so stupid you forgot how mirrors work. they’re for watchin’. c’mon—eyes up. wanna see you fall apart.”

you sobbed, eyes flicking to your reflection. you were wrecked. cheeks streaked with tears and drool, mouth swollen, lipstick long gone. your tits bounced with every thrust, pushed up against the vanity edge. your cunt was visibly puffy, stretched wide around him, glistening in the soft warm light he insisted on putting over the mirror because “his baby needed the perfect glow.”

“see that?” he leaned down, chest flush against your back now, voice whispering right at your ear, filthy and slow. “see how your pussy’s suckin’ me in? i don’t even gotta try. she loves me. she’s fuckin’ obsessed. just like you.” his lips brushed your temple, mock-sweet, and then he bit down, making you yelp and jolt under him.

“that’s right. you love this. love gettin’ fucked like some little thing i bought along with the vanity. all pretty and dumb and made to sit still and take cock.”

“ah—h-hhngh—”

“can’t even make words anymore,” he cooed, and grabbed your throat, pulled your head back till your mouth hung open uselessly. “just noises. my perfect, brainless little toy.”

you nodded, or tried to. your knees were barely holding. slick coated your thighs, dripped onto the parquet floor, smeared against the pristine edge of the vanity he bought, the expensive one you weren’t allowed to touch unless he said so. now you were bent over it like you belonged there, like you were part of the furniture.

he pulled out just to slap the head of his cock against your folds, watching how you flinched and whined at the loss, how your hole clenched on nothing.

“that’s pathetic,” he said softly. “can’t even take a second without it. look how empty you are. how desperate.”

“please—” you sobbed. “wan’ it—please, daddy, please—”

“fuck,” he muttered, and the sound of it was nearly reverent before he pushed back in, slow and deep and mean, making sure you felt every inch, grinding into you so deep your breath hitched into a broken cry.

“that’s it. good girl. my perfect little cumdump. you want daddy to fill you up, huh? fuck this dumb cunt full so you leak all night?”

“yes—yes, yes please—wan’ it, need it—”

he chuckled, and the sound was cruel and soft at once. “you’ll get it. of course you will. you think i bought this vanity for makeup? nah. this is where i ruin you. again and again. every time you act up, every time you get clingy—right here. fuck you stupid till you forget your name and remember who you belong to.”

your legs gave. he caught you, held you bent, weightless against the slab of marble, one hand bruising your hip and the other tangled in your hair, jerking your head back to make sure you never looked away from the mirror.

“that’s it,” he grunted. “take it. like a good fuckin’ girl.”

and you did, you took it, took every snap of his hips, every mean word, every breathless praise he slipped in when he thought you couldn’t hear. his pace turned brutal, unforgiving, slamming into you again and again until the only sound in the room was your wrecked moans and the filthy slap of skin on skin. your nails scraped down the mirror but you didn’t fall. not with him holding you. not with him still talking, still owning you—

“you’re mine. mine, baby. every inch of this dumb little body. you get that? you understand who fuckin’ owns you?”

you nodded hard, blubbering through the sobs and drool. “y-you, you do—daddy—”

“good girl,” he hissed, and came deep inside you with a growl, jerking forward and grinding as his cum spilled hot and thick into your twitching cunt. he didn’t pull out. just stayed there, pressed to the hilt, panting against your spine, hands still gripping you like he couldn’t let go.

“fuck. love you so much, baby,” he murmured, soft again, and kissed the back of your neck like he hadn’t just destroyed you. “gonna clean you up, ‘kay? then we’ll do it again. want you nice and full for bed.”

GETO SUGURU

your legs were already trembling before he bent you over the vanity, before his fingers pushed down between your shoulder blades and forced your back into a perfect arch—like you were presenting, like you knew what he’d spent on this thing and were eager to show gratitude with every inch of your body. he didn’t say a word at first. he just stared. ran one hand down your spine slow, possessive, and hummed like you were some sculpture he was debating whether to ruin or worship.

“you’re such a fuckin’ brat,” geto muttered, finally, voice thick with that contemptuous affection that made your stomach flutter and your cunt clench. “this what you wanted? new mirror, new vanity, so you can watch yourself get used like the dumb baby you are?”

you nodded, flushed and already whining, grinding back against his cock through your panties because you knew better than to beg outright—he liked you messy but obedient, whimpering but pliant. still, he didn’t move. just kept his hand heavy between your shoulders, making you hold the pose, making you see yourself in the mirror: spread, panting, wide-eyed, lips parted and glossy from how you'd been sucking on them trying not to cry.

“so spoiled,” he sneered. “you think i spend ten grand on this bullshit furniture so you can play princess? nah. i bought it so i can bend you over it and fuck the brat outta you. so i can remind you what you are.”

his hand slipped between your legs then, two fingers pushing aside your panties to find your pussy dripping, hot and sticky and already clenching around nothing. he clicked his tongue.

“pathetic,” he muttered, and shoved the soaked fabric aside completely. “you’re soaked and i haven’t even touched you right. what is it, baby? you that needy?”

you nodded again, gasping when he slapped your cunt, just hard enough to make the ache spike and your knees buckle. his palm caught your hip, steadying you.

“so needy you’ll cream on my fingers just from talkin’ mean?” he slid two thick fingers in without warning and you moaned, high and wrecked, face pressing against the cool marble top of the vanity. your hips twitched, tried to chase the thrusts, tried to roll back onto him like your body had a mind of its own.

he grinned, leaned down until his lips brushed your ear, his voice a dark, amused rasp. “you hear that? that squelch?” he pumped them in deep again, slow and rough. “that’s what you are, princess. wet little hole. dumb and greedy and easy.”

“nnnhh—g-geto—”

“try again.”

“d-daddy—”

“there she is,” he chuckled, kissing your temple like you were sweet and innocent while his fingers curled and dragged through your soaking cunt. “my dumb little doll. you ready now?”

“please,” you sobbed, face hot and eyes glassy.

he pulled his fingers out, dragged them up between your cheeks to smear your own slick along your ass, then grabbed your hips with both hands and lined up his cock, fat and heavy, and pushed in slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

you cried out, body jolting with the stretch, but he just held you there, cock halfway in and grinding slow so the pressure didn’t ease for a second. “c’mon, baby. you wanted this. don’t act shy now.”

he shoved the rest of the way in with one deep thrust and you screamed, your hands scrabbling uselessly at the vanity’s edge, knuckles going white.

“look at that,” he said, staring at your reflection. “look at my good little cumrag. taking every inch like she was made for it.” he started moving then, slow but punishing, each thrust rocking you against the marble, your tits bouncing, your mouth open and drooling against the cool surface.

“you’re gorgeous like this,” he growled. “all fucked out. all mine.” he slapped your ass, made the meat jiggle, and grinned when you yelped. “this vanity’s not even paid off and you’ve already made it yours. every time i see it now, i’m gonna remember this sloppy little hole creaming all over my cock.”

you whimpered. you were sobbing. the sound of your cunt clenching and sucking around him filled the room along with the sharp smack of his hips and your choked moans.

“fuckin’ drooling,” he muttered. “look at you. mouth open. tongue out. brainless. you get this cock in you and there’s nothin’ left up there, is there?” he reached under, found your clit, and started rubbing hard, fast, mean.

“nnhhnn—daddy—i—it’s—”

“say it. you’re gonna come? gonna cream all over daddy’s cock like a good little fucktoy?”

you nodded so fast your hair whipped into your face, and he groaned, hand tightening on your hip. “then fuckin’ come,” he growled, and slammed into you harder, deeper, rougher.

you broke.

your legs gave, your pussy clenched tight and wet and milking him, your whole body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. you sobbed, loud and broken, a string of daddy’s and yes’s and thank you’s pouring from your mouth like prayer.

and he didn’t stop. didn’t slow. just kept fucking you through it, watching your face in the mirror with open pride.

“that’s it,” he muttered, voice dark and hoarse. “that’s my girl. my stupid, beautiful, perfect fuckdoll. gonna fill you up. pump this pussy full and watch it leak down your thighs.”

you whined, still twitching, still clenching like your body refused to let go of him.

he fucked you three more strokes and came with a grunt, cock buried deep, hot and thick inside you. you felt it fill you, felt it spill as he pulled out, as he watched it leak and drip down your thighs with a satisfied hum.

he kissed your shoulder, soft and lingering. “that’s what the vanity’s for,” he murmured, gentle now. “now sit pretty for daddy. let me see that mess.”

NANAMI KENTO

the vanity was quiet luxury, old-world curves and champagne lacquer with dark bronze handles, the kind of understated wealth nanami preferred—custom-built, heavy as sin, carved legs and solid marble top. he’d ordered it for you because you'd spent weeks sitting on the floor doing your makeup like some poor little thing, and that had annoyed him more than he’d admitted. now it was exactly where he wanted it: under you, behind you, holding you steady while he dragged his cock deeper inside you with every ruthless stroke, not once letting you look away from your own reflection.

“you look ridiculous,” he said, low and steady, like it was a fact. “drooling on the marble. face all pink. eyes gone glassy.”

your cheek stuck to the cool stone surface, mouth open, tongue just visible. your lashes fluttered, tears threatening to slip out. you moaned—high and thin and broken—and he didn’t ease up. didn’t pause. nanami never rushed, never got sloppy, even when you were sobbing underneath him. his hand pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you down, forcing your back to arch deeper, the angle leaving you open and trembling.

“no,” he said when your eyes flicked down. “up. you look at what you are when i fuck you like this. every time you act bratty, every time you whine, i want you to remember what you look like bent over the furniture i bought, crying for cock.”

you hiccuped, sobbing as he fucked into you again, slow and so deep you felt it drag against every soft, oversensitive inch. “d-daddy—”

he grunted, fingers bruising into your hips. “again.”

“daddy,” you gasped, shuddering. “please—too—”

“it’s not too anything. this is what you begged for, isn’t it? got all dolled up, sprayed perfume on your thighs, posted some idiotic pouty selfie, and then waited for me to come home and handle you.”

he thrust in deep, sharp, made you squeal. “you’re lucky i have patience. lucky i love you enough to keep you.” his voice dipped then, rougher now, more breath than word. “you act like a needy little whore, and still, i take care of you.”

you nodded frantically. couldn’t even speak, couldn’t form a thought around the way his cock filled you, thick and perfect, dragging slick out of you with every stroke. the room smelled like sex and perfume and something richer, deeper. your thighs were shaking, sweat running down the backs of your knees, your fingers slipping against the vanity edge, trying to find purchase. he didn’t help you balance. didn’t let you fall, either. just kept you right there, back arched, ass high, cunt stretched and wet and fluttering around every inch he gave you.

“you think anyone else would do this?” he muttered, voice a rasp against the nape of your neck. “spoil you, break you in, fuck you dumb just to keep you calm?”

you whimpered, unable to speak.

“you know better. say it.”

“y-you, only you—”

he groaned low, satisfied, and let his hand slide up from your back to your throat, fingers pressing there, not choking—never choking—but reminding. reminding you who kept you, who taught your body to respond like this, who owned every cry, every drip of slick. he didn’t even need to squeeze; your breath hitched the moment he touched you.

“this vanity,” he said, thrusting in slow and cruel. “is not for makeup. not for pouting. it’s where you learn what you’re for. what you belong to.”

his other hand slipped between your legs, found your clit swollen and soaked. he rubbed it in steady, mean circles, the kind that made you tremble and squeal and jerk against him. “you’re leaking,” he muttered. “your cunt’s drooling. look at the mess you’re making.”

you cried out, shaking all over.

“you wanted this,” he said, faster now, breath ragged. “you dress up, you beg, you cling like a brat all day, and now you get to see what it means.”

you couldn’t answer, not with the orgasm cresting through your legs, crashing up your spine like lightning, white-hot and humiliating, your body going stiff then limp all at once. your mouth opened on a silent scream and your walls clenched down around his cock, slick gushing down your thighs. he didn’t stop.

“that’s right,” he gritted out. “make a mess. ruin the marble. i’ll replace it. i’ll fuck you over a new one tomorrow.”

he slammed into you, hard, once, twice, then again, groaning when he spilled deep inside, cock twitching, body curling over yours. the moment dragged—hot, pulsing, soaked in breath and sweat and the thick stretch of him staying inside while your cunt tried to milk every drop.

then, softer, as his hand slid to cup your cheek: “there’s my girl. beautiful. messy. mine.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the mirror was a wide pane of clean glass rimmed in sleek matte black, fixed above the vanity you couldn’t even pretend you’d paid for—dark-stained oak, thick marble slab, drawers deeper than necessary, every detail something toji had picked out with a sharp look and a hand around your waist while you trailed behind him all doe-eyed and breathless in some overpriced showroom.

now it groaned faintly beneath you with every slam of his hips.

“goddamn,” he muttered, voice low and amused behind you, one big palm spread across your lower back, pinning you down flat while the other squeezed your ass hard enough to leave imprints. “all that whining, all that fuckin’ baby talk, and now you’re silent?”

you weren’t silent. not really. you were gasping, sobbing, drooling, lips parted against the marble while your reflection stared back at you—wrecked, flushed, hair clinging to sweat-slick skin. your tits squished against the stone, one leg twitching helplessly as his cock pounded deep into your cunt, obscene and wet and endless.

“what happened, huh?” he huffed a dry laugh, voice going darker as he leaned forward, weight settling heavy over your back, cock pushing deeper with the change in angle until your fingers scrambled for purchase against the slab. “thought you wanted it. you were fuckin’ beggin’—daddy, please—”

“ahhh—!”

“yeah, that.” he ground in, cock thick and hot, dragging against your insides so slow and so mean it made you twitch. “that noise. like you’re surprised. like your pussy didn’t soak through your fuckin’ panties the second i looked at you.”

you sobbed, words catching behind your teeth. you’d been teasing him earlier, fresh lipstick and the tiniest skirt you could find, sitting on his lap like you weren’t going to make it a problem. he’d let you play—watched with that usual smirk, calloused hands gripping your thighs while he told you to go wait at the vanity like a good girl.

and now you were bent over it, shaking, empty-brained, moaning for him like it was your job.

“y’know what’s sad?” he grunted, giving your ass another slap, loud and hard enough to echo. “this thing—” he tapped the marble with his knuckles. “cost more than your car. and you’re gettin’ it dirty. all that slick drippin’ down your thighs, leaking on it like you forgot what furniture is for.”

you cried, hiccupped, tried to squirm, but his hand landed hard between your shoulders again.

“nah. stay.” his voice was a growl, low and lazy. “you wanted the mirror, right? wanted to see yourself get ruined. take a fuckin’ look.”

you didn’t want to—but you did. your head turned on instinct, eyes dragging up to the reflection, where your cheeks were red and wet and your thighs were spread wide, toji’s cock slamming into your messy, twitching cunt from behind.

you whimpered again.

“that’s it,” he muttered, lips brushing your ear now. “watch. watch daddy use you like you’re nothin’ but a hole. that’s all you are when you’re like this, yeah?”

you nodded, and he chuckled low, the sound all smug satisfaction.

“knew you’d agree. you love this shit. love getting folded over pretty things and fucked dumb. you’d let me fuck you on the kitchen counter, the couch, hell—on the fuckin’ hood of my car if i told you to.”

“y-yes,” you sobbed, eyes blurring again.

“mmhm,” he grunted, picking up speed now, hips snapping into you with that hard, brutal rhythm that left your knees buckling, your body melting under him. “look at that. this pretty little cunt clenching around me like she owns me. like she doesn’t know i’m just lettin’ her have it.”

he wasn’t. you both knew it. you were only ever like this for him—so wet it dripped down your legs, so cockdrunk your eyes glazed over, so empty your thoughts curled up and disappeared the second he laid his hand on your back.

“say it,” he ordered. “say what you are.”

“d-dumb,” you gasped. “dumb baby—daddy’s baby—need it—need your cock—”

“fuck yeah you do,” he growled, and slammed in harder, groaning as your walls fluttered around him. “so fuckin’ needy all the time. gotta ruin you every night or you get bitchy. can’t even function without it.”

you nodded again, tongue sliding out, breath catching on a broken cry. the sounds between your thighs were filthy, every thrust pushing slick out around the base of his cock, the marble catching the worst of it.

“gonna come,” he rasped, voice all grit and heat, hand sliding from your back to your throat, just enough pressure to hold your head up, force your eyes to stay on the mirror. “gonna fill this fuckin’ pussy. make it drip. you want that, baby? want me to breed this cunt?”

you couldn’t even speak. you wailed.

he took that as a yes.

“good girl,” he grunted, and came deep, hips jerking against your ass, cock pulsing hot inside your cunt as he spilled into you, groaning low and deep through clenched teeth.

you collapsed against the vanity, still twitching.

he stayed buried in you for a minute, breathing hard, hand soft now on your hip.

then, voice softer—low, warm, filthy and fond: “mirror’s not goin’ anywhere, baby. next time i wanna see you touchin’ yourself in it. moanin’ for me.”

he kissed your shoulder like you were the only thing that mattered. like he hadn’t just fucked you raw over five grand of designer furniture.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

the vanity was blood-red lacquer with gold inlay, too decadent for the room it sat in, carved with sharp angles and claw-foot legs, decadent and obscene just like the man who’d ordered it delivered without asking—without giving you a choice. “looked like you,” sukuna had said with that lazy, cruel smirk, one hand fisted in your hair while the other scrolled through his phone. “shiny. dramatic. too much.”

and now you were bent over it, wrists pinned at the small of your back in one massive hand, thighs spread, cheek mashed to the polished surface that was fogged from your panting. your reflection stared back at you, ruined and wide-eyed, spit slick on your chin, tears catching in your lashes, breasts flattened against the cold marble, while sukuna rammed his cock into your cunt with vicious, steady precision.

“there we fuckin’ go,” he drawled, voice thick and amused, the other hand resting heavy on your spine to keep you down, holding you where he wanted you. “now this is what it’s for. not your fuckin’ makeup. not your jewelry. this whole thing? it’s a fuckin’ altar for my cock.”

you sobbed, high and ragged, trying to move, to meet his thrusts or escape them, you didn’t even know—but he held you still, ground in deep with every snap of his hips until your moans turned into broken, wet little cries.

“too much?” he mocked, voice dropping darker, crueler. “you were beggin’ for it. climbed into my lap all pretty, rubbed your thighs together like you couldn’t breathe without me.” he dragged his cock out slow, teasing, just the tip still stretching your hole, making you mewl from the emptiness. “you looked so fucking pathetic, baby. what, thought i’d be gentle just ‘cause you’re cute?”

“d-daddy—!”

he laughed, loud and mean, slammed back in hard enough to shove your whole body up the vanity, the impact shaking the mirror.

“don’t ‘daddy’ me when you’re drippin’ like this,” he growled, cock buried to the hilt, not moving. “you’re clenching so tight it’s like your pussy’s scared i’ll leave.” he leaned down then, mouth right at your ear, hot breath spilling over your skin. “like you don’t love gettin’ ruined.”

you whimpered, tears spilling over.

“aw, poor baby. crying already?” he kissed your jaw, then nipped your earlobe hard enough to make you jerk. “you wanted the whole thing. wanted daddy’s cock till your brain melted. wanted to see yourself cry. so here—” he forced your chin up with two fingers until your eyes met your reflection. “look at what you are.”

you stared. you couldn’t look away. your mouth was open, face blotchy, your body trembling as he started to fuck into you again, deeper now, slower and crueler, like he wanted you to feel every thick inch slide through your swollen cunt.

“this what you get for bein’ needy,” he murmured, watching your face in the mirror while he kept pounding into you. “get fucked stupid and sob on the vanity like a little toy. you even know what you’re sayin’ anymore?”

you didn’t. you couldn’t. the words were gone. you were drooling, sniffling, eyes half-rolled, your thighs twitching as he hit that spot inside you that made the whole world go white.

“nnhhn—fuck—d-daddy, please—”

“please what?” he snapped, hips snapping forward. “you want it harder? want me to break this pretty little cunt open so you can brag to your fuckin’ mirror tomorrow?”

you squealed, legs trembling, slick pouring down to your knees. he chuckled again, low and delighted, and gripped your throat from behind, tilting your head back.

“say it,” he said, breathless and filthy. “say what you are.”

“d-dumb—dumb baby—daddy’s—”

“fuck yes you are.” he fucked you harder then, every thrust brutal, relentless, dragging another helpless moan from your throat. “stupid, wet little thing. made to take cock. made to cry and come and beg.” his free hand slid around to your clit, rough fingers rubbing tight, fast circles that made your legs give out entirely. he held you up with brute strength alone, slammed into you with a growl, cock thick and hot, filling every part of you like it was his.

and it was.

“gonna come in this cunt,” he rasped, panting against your ear. “gonna stuff you so full it leaks for hours. want you waddling to the bathroom with my cum dripping out. want you smelling like me. lookin’ like this.”

you moaned, high and thin and lost.

“yeah. yeah, there it is. come for me,” he ordered, and your body obeyed. you shattered around him, cunt spasming and milking, moans choking into sobs as he fucked you through it, kept pounding until you went limp.

he came with a sharp grunt, cock twitching deep inside you, hips jerking as he emptied himself in hot, deep pulses. you could feel it, dripping already.

he stayed pressed against you, breathing rough, one hand rubbing circles into your back now, like he hadn’t just reduced you to nothing.

“that’s my baby,” he said, and kissed your shoulder like a brand. “mirror’s gonna remember this more than you do.”

SHIU KONG

the light hit you hard in the mirror, that golden kind of glow he liked to leave on even when it was past midnight, when you were already trembling and pliant and flushed all over, bent over the matte black vanity with your mouth open, tongue wet against your lip. it was sleek, heavy, modern—the kind of piece shiu never explained the price tag on, just had delivered. “aesthetic purposes,” he’d muttered with a shrug, but you knew the real reason the second he pushed your knees apart in front of it the first time.

and now you were back there again, legs shaking, elbows slipping against the polished surface, and him behind you—shirt rolled up to his elbows, tie discarded, belt still looped through his slacks and jingling softly every time his hips snapped forward into your soaked cunt.

“you look like a fuckin’ mess,” he said flat, calm, cruel. “and you love it.”

you whined, soft and high-pitched, and the sound made his hand snap up to grip your hair, yanking your head back until your reflection snapped into view again—glassy eyes, face smeared with tears and spit, lips parted around some gasping broken plea you hadn’t meant to make.

“there she is,” he sneered. “daddy’s baby. already drooling. already dumb. and we’re not even halfway done.”

you moaned, your knees dipping, and he slapped your ass, firm and quick and perfectly placed to make your back arch again, your pussy fluttering around the thick stretch of him. you could feel how deep he was, every stroke rubbing through the sore, swollen heat he’d been teasing for an hour before this—fingers, tongue, everything slow and cruel while he made you cry about how badly you wanted it. he’d made you lay out your makeup before that, made you get ready like it was a photoshoot.

“you think i bought this for you to look at yourself?” he grunted, grabbing your hips and slamming in again, sharp, brutal. “this is my mirror. my view. my dumb little girl getting wrecked on furniture she didn’t pay for.”

“nnh—f-fuck—shiu—”

“wrong,” he barked. “say it right.”

“d-daddy—!”

his groan was rough, aroused, fingers digging in harder, rhythm picking up until your thighs were quivering, the wet slap of your cunt against his hips loud and constant.

“you don’t even know what to do without me, do you?” he spat, fucking into you mean, relentless. “spend all day texting me about how bored you are, sittin’ around like a spoiled brat, waitin’ for me to come home and use you.”

you sobbed out something like yes, eyes rolling in the mirror.

“yeah, that’s what i thought. dumb bunny. too fuckin’ soft to handle real life, but this?” he slammed deep. “this you can do. get stuffed full and cry on my cock. it’s the only thing you’re good at.”

your cunt squeezed around him and he laughed, breathless. “fuckin’ knew it. you love when i talk to you like this. love when i make you watch yourself fall apart.”

your hands scrabbled on the vanity, nails slipping over glass and lacquer, your forehead pressed to the mirror now as your moans got higher, pitchier, slurred through drool and sobs. your legs were shaking, knees trying to collapse, and he didn’t let you—not once. just grabbed you tighter, moved rougher, until you were babbling, until the only word you could get out was daddy and even that sounded wrecked.

“tell me what you are,” he snapped, breath against your ear. “say it.”

“your—your little baby—so dumb—just need cock—need yours—”

he grunted, deep and primal, and slammed in harder. “fuck. knew you were a mess but this? this is another level. i oughta record this shit. frame it right next to the mirror.”

you squealed, and your orgasm hit you like a train, pussy spasming around him, gush soaking his thighs, your body jerking and curling over the vanity in a wave of heat and overstimulated sobbing.

he didn’t stop. he never stopped when you came. just used it, fucked you harder through it, held your hips still while you twitched and wailed, the marble cold under your tits, your reflection glazed and mindless in front of you.

“gonna fill you up,” he growled, nearly there. “make you feel it all night. let it drip down those thighs you’re always showin’ off like a fuckin’ tease.”

you nodded, shaking, wrecked.

he groaned, deep and low, and came hard, cock buried to the hilt, warmth flooding you and spilling down immediately, his hand rubbing your ass while he caught his breath.

then, like it wasn’t filthy, like it wasn’t obscene, his voice went soft: “you did good, baby. perfect even when you’re dumb.” he kissed your shoulder, slow. “next time you sit here to do your makeup, i want you to remember this. remember how you look when you’re mine.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he always started with your hair—fingers threading slow through the strands at first, tender, careful, like the gentleman you clung to so pathetically. but tonight, it had turned into a fist, tight at your scalp, dragging your head back so your breath hitched against the marble-top vanity he'd bought you months ago. “for your mornings,” he’d said, voice smooth and polished, a rare smile touching his lips as he watched you gasp at the gift. you hadn’t known then he meant every morning.

“open your eyes,” higuruma muttered now, voice rougher, darker, tight with restraint as his hips pressed flush against your ass, cock buried so deep in your cunt it throbbed. “i said—open.”

you did. barely. they fluttered at first, hazy with tears and arousal, then lifted heavy to stare at your reflection—your cheek smushed to the cool marble, makeup smeared from the first time he’d made you cry tonight, mouth parted, drool slipping from your lips in a wet string down the gleaming surface. your thighs trembled where he held you spread wide, and your eyes, god, your eyes looked so empty.

he smiled at that. not cruel—just pleased. content, in that terrifyingly calm way only higuruma could pull off. “look at you,” he murmured, dragging out slow. you moaned, eyes rolling up for a moment before snapping back when he tugged your hair harder. “messy already. how long’s it been? three minutes?”

“p-please—”

he grunted, cutting off your breath with another sharp thrust, hips meeting your ass with a clap that echoed off the bathroom tile. “i don’t think you understand the position you’re in, sweetheart.” he leaned down then, breath warm against your ear, hand sliding from your hair to your neck, holding—not choking, just enough to pin, to own. “this vanity? my money. that necklace you’ve got on? my taste. the cock in you? mine. so if you’re gonna beg, you better sound a hell of a lot more grateful.”

you sobbed, and it only made him hum, pleased.

“you love being like this, don’t you? fucked stupid on marble, mouth open, brain turned off.”

you nodded frantically.

“of course you do.” he kissed the back of your shoulder then, slow and affectionate, almost sweet—and shoved in deep again, making your legs twitch. “because this is the only time you shut up. when i’ve got your cunt stretched around me and your face dripping on furniture that cost more than your tuition.”

your hands scrambled for something to hold onto, slipping over gloss compacts and brush handles and one of the little velvet boxes he'd filled with jewelry. he knocked one aside when it got in his way, sent gold spilling over the marble, and didn’t even look down.

he only watched you in the mirror. watched your thighs shake. watched your body fold perfectly beneath him, his cock pumping into you slow and punishing while your cunt clenched and fluttered helplessly around the stretch.

“i ought to make you watch a playback,” he murmured. “this pathetic little face you make every time i call you dumb. how your mouth falls open like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.”

“nnhh—”

“shh. you’ll speak when you’ve earned it.” his hand slid lower then, thumb brushing between your folds, slick and pulsing. “not when you’re crying like a brat.”

you came hard. no warning—just a sudden high-pitched sob, a tremble so sharp your whole body jerked forward against the marble as you clenched around him, spasming, leaking. your orgasm splashed down your thighs in hot, messy pulses, and he hissed, low and dangerous.

“goddamn,” he muttered. “listen to that. like a faucet.”

your legs gave. he caught you, steadied you again without so much as a grunt, and didn’t pull out.

“you done?” he asked softly. his voice, unlike everything else, stayed calm. polite. full of terrifying patience.

you whimpered. shook your head.

“good girl.”

his thrusts picked up—faster now, meaner. the slap of skin echoed louder than your cries, his grip unforgiving as he fucked you harder against the edge, chasing something deeper than just his own release. your moans were high, breathless, vowels stripped of language. drool spilled freely. your body bounced helplessly between the vanity and the hard muscle behind you, your reflection going hazier with every wet smack of his hips.

“this is how it should be,” he muttered, not to you, but to himself. “you, like this. pliant. silent. wrecked.”

“d-daddy—”

“mm. finally.” he slapped your ass, let the sound linger. “you always remember eventually. sweet little thing.”

he came deep, silent, jaw clenched as he emptied inside you with slow, grinding thrusts, holding your hips tight to feel every spasm of your cunt around him. his cum spilled hot and heavy down your thighs as he pulled out, letting it drip, watching you slump against the vanity in a whimpering heap.

then, quiet again: “clean yourself up. use the mirror. i want you to see exactly what you look like when you’re being good.”

CHOSO KAMO

you couldn’t even remember how he got you bent over like this—one moment you’d been perched on the velvet stool, brushing your lip gloss on slow, thighs squeezed tight in your little sleep shorts, and the next you were splayed across the vanity he’d bought you just last month. a gift “because you’re always sitting on the floor like some stray,” he’d grumbled, red-faced, as he set the delivery down himself with those big, calloused hands that now held your hips like you were something breakable only he was allowed to bruise.

“you’re always actin’ like you need somethin’,” choso muttered behind you, voice gone low and lazy with heat. “touchin’ my arm, whinin’ about attention. then i give it to you, and you forget how to fuckin’ act.”

you were trying to answer, really—but your jaw just worked open on a breathless moan, drool smearing against the cool marble as your cunt clenched hard around the thick stretch of him inside you. he was all heat and weight, cock pulsing as he bottomed out again, the thick curve dragging against every nerve inside you until your thighs shook.

his grip on your waist tightened. “you hear me?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering up to your reflection like you’d been trained—like you knew he’d check. the mirror didn’t lie: your face was already ruined, lips red and swollen, lashes stuck together from tears. you looked like you’d been crying for hours, but it had been barely ten minutes since he’d shoved your shorts down and bent you over the pristine marble.

“look at that,” he said, breath catching in his throat as his hips rolled, thick cock grinding deep into your soaked, fluttering pussy. “already got you dumb. haven’t even done nothin’ yet.”

you whimpered. drooled a little more.

“such a needy baby,” he muttered, sliding his hand up your back, then curling into your hair to yank your head back, slow and careful, just enough to keep your eyes locked on the reflection. “you wait for me all day just to get fucked like this, don’t you?”

“y-yes—” you gasped.

“'course you do. little thing like you can’t help it. always runnin’ around in those stupid little outfits, askin’ for it.” he snapped his hips into you then, sharp and sudden, and your voice broke on a cry. “always starin’ at me with that look. all glassy-eyed and stupid, like you want me to bend you over any surface i pass.”

you nodded frantically. the wet slap of his thrusts echoed through the apartment, each one forcing you tighter against the vanity, tits squished to the marble, breath fogging the glass. the room smelled like sweat and sex and that sugar lotion he always teased you for. his cock filled you to the brim, heavy and so fucking deep, dragging out slow just to shove back in and leave you sobbing.

“you know what this mirror’s for?” he whispered then, breath brushing your cheek. “it’s not for gettin’ ready. it’s so you can see what you look like when i’m inside you.”

your whole body shuddered. your eyes locked on the reflection again, dazed and ruined.

“you wanna see it, baby?” he murmured, voice quieter now, filthier. “watch this pussy take it like it was made for me?”

you whined, your hands scrabbling at the marble edge, nails scraping grooves into the surface.

“good girl,” he said, like you’d answered. “fuckin’ perfect. you always are when you’re like this.”

he reached down, fingers brushing over your clit, and you choked on your breath, hips jerking as your cunt spasmed around him.

“tight fuckin’ grip,” he hissed. “like she doesn’t wanna let go. like she knows she’s mine.”

you couldn’t stop it—you came hard, all at once, cunt fluttering around him, your knees giving, body twitching helplessly as a wet gush spilled down your thighs. your reflection went hazy through the tears and fogged breath, mouth hanging open like you couldn’t even remember how to close it.

choso groaned, deep and rough, slamming in once, twice more before he held you flush, cock throbbing as he came inside you, hot and slow and heavy.

“fuck,” he breathed. “look at that. made for me. made to be filled.”

he didn’t pull out—not yet. just stayed there, pressed against you, hands gentle now as he brushed your hair back from your face and pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “you did good,” he murmured. “gonna keep this mirror clean, though. want you to see every time i break you.”

[softvalentines]

pairing: clark kent x reader cw: smut, implied afab reader, detailed cock description, size kink (girth, curve, heavy leaking), overstimulation (both reader + clark), possessiveness, breeding implications (clark cumming inside reader), messy cum play / excessive cum, mild cock worship, oral fixation (mentions), soft dom clark tendencies (whining, needy, desperate), praise kink (clark praising reader, reader overwhelmed by him), slight somnophilic undertones if interpreted (from exhaustion overstimulation context), implied emotional dependency (clark clinging, not wanting to stop)

you're thinking about clark’s dick again.

because how could you not? it’s almost a problem — the kind of thing that stays in the back of your mind during the day, lurking like a half-forgotten dream, like the heat off sun-baked asphalt or the feel of his calloused palm on your throat.

its slightly paler than the rest of him, with the faintest gradient of color that darkens where it matters most. the kind of cock you can tell stays heavy even soft, obscenely thick — thick enough that when you first dropped to your knees and wrapped your fingers around it, you couldn’t get your hand to fully meet around the base. one of those things you both half-laughed at the first time, though clark’s laugh was tight and frayed at the edges, like it physically hurt him to joke about something that made his stomach twist up so tight.

and it’s heavy, too — warm and weighty against your palm, a pretty flush already gathering at the tip before you even do anything, fat droplets of pre-beading and threatening to spill over at the barest touch. he leaks like it’s a biological malfunction, an embarrassing, syrupy need that never seems to stop, stringing from his tip to your wrist while he hisses through his teeth, murmuring soft, ruined apologies against the shell of your ear like he can’t help it.

there’s a curve to it, one you don’t always catch with your eyes — it isn’t obvious, isn’t obscene. but you feel it. god, you feel it. when he’s got you split open underneath him, when you’re writhing against the mattress and clenching around him so hard it makes him stutter his hips, you feel that gentle bend pressing into the most sensitive part of you, scraping maddeningly slow along your walls until yourwhole body’s tensing like a live wire. mind-numbing is a generous word for it. it’s more like being torn in half and reassembled around him.

and the thing about clark is, he overstimulates himself as bad as he does you. you’ll be beneath him, pinned under the impossible press of his weight, those big hands splayed possessively on your hips or tangled tight in your hair, and he’s whining through every thrust. panting ragged against your skin, muttering broken things like 'so good, so tight, can’t—fuck, can’t stop', because even when his cock’s visibly twitching, so sensitive it’s driving him stupid, he won’t pull out. won’t slow down. he wants to fill you, wants to stuff you so full of his thick, heavy release that it’s leaking out around him while he keeps going. and it’s so much. an actual, shameful amount.

by the time he cums, it’s never one neat pulse — it’s messy, viscous, endless. you swear you can feel it flooding you deeper, warmer than it should be, spilling out before he’s even finished. and clark’s never quiet about it, either. no, he’s desperate. one hand cradling the back of your head while he whimpers against your throat, hips jerking in tiny, needy thrusts as if he can’t bear the emptiness the second you’re not milking every drop from him.

and omfg, his happy trail. keeps it trimmed, neat, because even though he could let it go wild, he’s always a little shy about looking too unkempt, the boy from smallville still somewhere under the god-tier frame. but it’s there, that soft dusting of dark hair starting just under his navel, trailing down to where it thickens at the base of his cock, and you swear every time you catch sight of it, you get a little lightheaded. and yet here he is, flushed and wrecked, reduced to a whining mess in your hands, drenching your insides and clinging to you like you’re the only tether he’s got left on this earth.

and every time, you promise yourself it’ll just be a memory. that you won’t think about it next time you’re out together, next time he wraps an arm around your waist too casually or calls you ‘darlin’ in that low, honeyed voice. and yet here you are, thinking about clark’s dick. again.

[fushitoru]

seperation anxiety! a (clan head) gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ clan head!gojo x wife!reader

summary ⸺ satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought. inspired by this art by @/baobei-bu!

warnings ⸺ SMUT, gojo is a warning by himself, VERY public sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, no penetration, fingering, fondling, making out, panty-ripping, exhibitionism, kinda cucking but the only ppl humiliated and humbled are the higher ups, porn no plot, but plot if you squint, reader is a strong independent woman (until gojo charms her, bc who wouldn't turn into a cockslut for gojo?), this took me at least five hours to write for no good reason?, not edited (like always....)

a/n pls enjoy and thank u to the queen for making such delicious art (p.s. go to their twitter for nsfw ver i squirted)

general masterlist

“Pleaseeeee,” Satoru has his face buried in your chest, nuzzling in further while complaining. It’s almost comical how he—head of the biggest clan in Jujutsu—is leaning down to match your height. You, meanwhile, stand firm, arms crossed, regarding him with a mix of exasperation and reluctant affection as he leans down to meet your gaze. “Will you come with me?”

The question comes as the dreaded meeting with the higher-ups looms, a gathering he's been dodging all day. It technically began ten minutes ago, and you barely managed to wrangle him into his formal kimono just twenty minutes earlier. You sigh, fingers brushing his hair. “Satoru, you know what they think of me. I'm not exactly their favorite person.” You’re both standing in the middle of your shared bedroom, you imploring him to be on time for his meeting to avoid getting even further shit from the higher-ups.

Mind you, you’re the more rational one between you and Satoru—in fact, most of the people who know you would agree that you’re a very mature, wise person in general (with the exception of some circumstances, of course). And despite the respect your skill commands, the higher-ups have never warmed to you, not since you refused to play a pawn in their games. Marrying Satoru, the one jujutsu sorcerer they could never control, only amplified their discontent. They see you both as threats—powerful sorcerers bonded in defiance.

At the mention of "higher-ups," Satoru's pout deepens, and his pleading voice grows more insistent. “Pleeeease,” he drags out, practically whining. “I have separation anxiety.”

You feel a pang of sympathy. These meetings are miserable for him—hours trapped in a room with men twice his age, trying to dictate his every move. “I don’t know, Satoru…” you murmur, hesitating.

But Satoru takes advantage of your softening resolve, hugging you tighter, his face pressing into you again. “Don’t make me go in there alone!” he says, his voice muffled. “You have no idea how much you silence them. One word from you, and they all think twice. I’m already one step away from wanting to kill them all.”

A sigh escapes you as you realize he’s not letting up. And while you’re reluctant, you know that your presence, your opinion—one of the few he truly values—might actually give him a sense of calm in that harsh room. “Alright, alright,” you concede finally, hand smoothing the fabric of his sleeve. "But no making a scene." 

His answering smirk is smug, giving you a fat, sloppy kiss on your cheek that you’re not afraid to show your partial-disgust about. You all but have to wrestle him off of you white he’s smothering you in kisses, getting out something about how much loves you, oh so thankful to have such a wise wifey like you as you get ready in a kimono similar to his and head to the limo waiting outside of the manor you and Gojo reside in. 

As soon as you get in, Gojo turns sharply to Ijichi, who’s shifting the gear. “Put the divider up.”

“O-Okay, Gojo-san.” A little intimidated by the commanding tone in your husband’s voice, he quickly presses the button to activate the screen, and Gojo pounces on you, grabbing you and hoisting you up by your sides to put you on his lap.

“Satoru!” you exclaim, surprised as he captures his lips with yours. His hands roam your body as he moans, almost obnoxiously, because he knows you’re always paranoid whenever he initiates anything in public. Your crotch aligns with his thigh, big and stuffed with muscle as he drives your hips to grind on him, and despite yourself and your circumstances, you find yourself leaning into his touch.

“My pretty wife,” he purrs, now trailing kisses down your jaw and into your neck. “So pretty, so supportive.”

Despite his dizzying movements, you try to get a hold of yourself. “Satoru, we shouldn’t be doing this here. We need to discuss what to sa—”

“Fuck that,” he sighs, so breathless that you want to cave in.

“No, but—”

His eyes darken, and his hands start creeping up your legs, going slowly and slowly closer to your pussy. “Baby, you know I value what you have to say,” and his fingers graze your folds, making you leak even more with his teasing, “but I wanna listen to something else.”

He drags his index finger up and down your slit, making you whimper. His fingers then prod into your hole, putting pressure there but not quite delving in. “Satoru,” you whine out, clutching his upper arms as he has his way while toying with you.

“Yea, that’s what I wanna hear,” he groans, giving you a kiss. It is then that he rewards you with inserting his digit in, curling to hit your spot as he fingers you. HIs other arm is around you, holding your panties’ crotch to the side to allow him to touch you. “My good girl.”

As he’s touching you, the squelching sounds fills the enclosure you’re in and you’re desperately praying to God Ijichi can’t hear the lewd things the both of you are doing in the back. You’re just reduced to whimpering, unable to reject Satoru’s dizzying touches, his free hand leaving your panties to grope at your inner thighs, ass, and breasts. It’s like he’s devouring you with his kisses, urgent, as he continues curling his fingers. 

Between kisses, you try to get out a “Satoru—mmph,” smooch, “we shouldn’t be—mm” smooch, “shouldn’t be doing this here!” 

“What,” he drawls, and with the glint in his eyes you know the fucker’s trying to toy with you, knows what he’s doing is mischievous. “I can’t touch my wife?”

Before you could utter a response, however, the limo suddenly slows, and the sensation of using the brakes to stop the car makes you sober up. “We’re here, Satoru we need to go—-” As you’re trying to rip yourself off his lap, he pulls out the finger that was inside you and uses his hand instead to entangle it with the crotch of your panties, pulling and pulling until the cloth is nothing but shreds, falling off your body.

Oh my god, you were not paid enough for this shit.

With his oh-so-irritating eyes—the same ones that you spent despising in your early school years—he looks at you through his pretty white lashes as he makes a show of sniffing the now tattered shreds that were your panties and putting them in his pocket. Under your kimono, you can feel your slick escaping your panties as the cool air wafts through it, landing on your pussy. You look at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

He giggles, giving you a kiss on the cheek while helping you off his lap, putting a hand on your head to make sure you didn’t bump your head against the car’s ceiling. “Let’s go and deal with those hags, my love.”

To be honest, you don’t really understand why Satoru is so handsy today. He’s on some sort of man-ovulation, you think, as you stride into the room. Even ripping off your panties was a bit excessive, if not out of pocket (no pun intended). Breaking out of your thoughts, you grounded yourself in the present, noticing hostile eyes turned towards your husband, and then you. You match their barely-subtle glares with a stink eye of your own, holding your chin up as you walk past them dismissively. Just as you’re about to take a seat next to Gojo—being mindful of your kimono so you don’t flash any of these old bastards—one of them speaks up. 

“Gojo-sama, why is this woman here?”

You continue to take your seat, noticing Satoru’s jaw clenched. But right as he’s about to say something, you cut in for him. “This woman,” and you smile, deceptively sweet, “is the lady of the clan. It would do you well to remember the hierarchy of the Gojo clan.” You don’t need to turn to look at your husband to know he has a proud smile on his face, making no effort to hide his smugness. What shocks you instead is that he swings an arm around you, effectively dragging you closer to him until you’re basically sitting on his lap, and his hands go to roam your sides.

Now, some old grandpa starts talking, commencing the meeting, on their usual bullshit of the need for extermination of Sukuna’s vessel, but Satoru pays them no mind. Instead, what they receive in response is non-committal hums as his hands drag themselves up your stomach and down where your legs are crossed to the hem of your kimono, and then under. 

Any semblance of paying attention to the meeting and responding to their infuriating beliefs leaves your mind as you blank out, panicking that Satoru is trying to commit public indecency with you. As an argument erupts between the higher ups about something, you turn to Gojo to furiously whisper, “What is wrong with you today?! Cut it out.”

In your life, you’ve fought many curses, first grade and even special grade included as you climbed up the ranks of Jujutsu sorcery despite having a non-sorcerer upbringing. What you will never be able to defeat, however, is your husband’s charm. Satoru knows what he’s doing as he lets out a deep moan in your ear, making you squeak and become even more flustered, as he continues to make lewd noises, puffs of his breath fanning across your neck. 

a/n gojo the type to start moaning randomly to make you fold #sorrynotsorry 

The indecency of all of it—-Gojo basically whimpering in your ear sweet nothings like good girl, that’s my wife, gonna let me finger you in front of all these ugly hags, right?—-being loud in your ear but also just quiet enough that you’d only hear made you so wet, heat throbbing between your thighs as Satoru’s hands start rubbing your fold. It’s a teasing touch, one not enough to satisfy you but to stimulate you nonetheless. 

It’s just when his index finger starts slowly circling around your clit that you buck your hips slightly, making him look at you teasingly, peering down at you from above your shoulder. “Oh you liked that, didn’t you?”

“I hate you,” you puff out, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck as Satoru’s circles on your clit get more tangibly, simulating you oh so deliciously. To make sure you hold yourself up, you set your elbows down on the table, Satoru’s arms engulfing you as you’re forced to take whatever touches he’s giving you under the table. 

“She’s so loud,” he whispers, pointing out the noises your pussy was making as his digits roved over your folds. The squelches were tangibly there, audible to anyone who would strain their ears. You could tell your lack of response to the meeting was catching attention, because there were several eyes towards you, waiting for something; it was then you realized that they had posed a question but were simply too fucked out to respond. 

A voice comes out to reprimand your husband sharply. “Gojo-sama, this is hardly appropriate.”

Satoru chuckles, not stopping his ministrations as he picks up a cup filled with water, his smug gaze still turned towards you while observing and appreciating your every hiccup and reaction. “Can’t my spouse attend this meeting? I value her opinion above everyone else’s in this room, after all,” he drawls, lodging his chin in the curve of your neck. “Besides,” and he flashes a dangerous grin to the man who spoke out, “weren’t you the ones who were oh so worried about me not having an heir?” 

At this point, you’ve filtered out all noises, focusing and honing in on the sensation of your orgasm coming. His digits are playful, curling up to hit your g-spot repeatedly, his palm tickling your clit. Each time he hits your spongy spot a bout of electricity runs up your body, pulling you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

“But guess what,” and he gives you a kiss on the cheek, despite the aversion the rest of the higher ups have to any displays of affection, “we can solve that problem right here, right now.” He punctuates it with a harsh sink of his fingers into your plush cunt, and, with that, you finally cream his fingers, a result of Satoru teasing you all day now. You try to temper the shakes wracking your body by slamming your fist against the table, trying not to moan out.

It seems that no one’s seen you riding out your orgasm out so visible, because there are gasps around the room at how obscene Gojo’s suggestion was. “It is shameful of you to be saying such things, Gojo-sama!” one of them sputters out, red with anger and outrage. 

Your husband not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Then don’t bring it up all the time, old man.” Satoru knows how touchy and vulnerable you are right after you cum, so he’s running his hands softly up and down your thighs to quell your quivers affectionately. “Actually, what about this? You all haven’t witnessed us consummate our marriage, correct?” He smirks. “What about witnessing the heir-making next time?”

general masterlist

a/n pls see the vision like i want gojo to claim me and rail me into next tuesday while the higher ups just watch uncomfortably like maybe i am a freak like that. like gojo would be so obsessed with how he's claiming you in front of the fuckers that piss him off so much...might do a part two if pookiesa like this :P

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3

[spikedfearn]

As if It’s Heaven’s Gate

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: You take a job as a live-in nurse for the town’s most infamous recluse—Remmick, the strange, soft-spoken man hidden away in a rotting Victorian farmhouse no one dares approach. Locals warn you not to touch him. Not to linger after dark. But when you meet him, he’s all big eyes and broken manners, trembling hands and gold chain glinting at his throat. Touch-starved, tender, and ruinously ancient. He flinches when you reach for him—and sobs when you don’t. You drop to your knees, and he forgets the taste of blood. He’s already yours before you ever put your mouth on him.

wc: 8.5k

a/n: holy 2k followers batman!! I wanna thank everyone for the outpouring of love and support my work has gotten over the last month, truly insane, still processing, gonna release something soon as a massive thank you <333 based off this post, I'm sure I'm not the first but I haven't come across any fic of reader going down on Remmick yet and I have a great need to suck that man's dick until his stomach caves in like a Capri-sun (someone revoke my internet access) so here we are. Thank you to @ddlydevotion for finding my photo refs. Dedicated to Sam @matrixfangs for not only beta reading this but also requesting I incorporate Jack's cross tattoo into one of my fics!! title from the song too sweet by hozier.

warnings: vampirism, oral sex (m!receiving), d/s dynamic, begging, spit kink, hair pulling, praise kink, humiliation kink (soft), drool, overstimulation, ruined man behavior, touch starvation, religious imagery, cross kink?, control kink, sub!remmick, somniloquy, emotional degradation (tender), slight dacryphilia, mildly unhinged reader, dark romance, southern gothic atmosphere, implied violence, implied murder (offscreen)

I am doing away with my tag list because it's getting a little long so I recommend turning on notifications if you don't wanna miss when I post c:

likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated, enjoy!!

The bus wheezed like it was exhaling its last breath, sputtering to a stop in the middle of nowhere. Dust kicked up around its wheels as the brakes hissed and the door creaked open with a reluctant sigh.

You stepped off into the heat—that heavy, wet Southern heat that sticks to your skin like tacky glue, curling into your clothes and dragging its teeth across the back of your neck.

The sun hung fat and merciless in a sky bleached bone-white, cicadas crying loud enough to shake the treetops. Sweat bloomed across your collarbone before your boots even hit the dirt.

It wasn’t real pavement, not out here. Just cracked-red earth, dry and crumbling, veined with weeds and the roots of things too stubborn to die. The main road—if you could call it that—was lined with rusted fence posts, bowed under the weight of creeping kudzu and wire that hadn’t held anything in years.

The town itself looked like it had been forgotten in a drawer: sun-wilted storefronts with paint peeling off in strips, glass windows clouded with grime, and a gas station that hadn’t changed its prices since Prohibition.

A man with no teeth watched you from a bench outside a bait shop. A girl gnawed a peach in the shade of a feed store awning, juice dripping down her wrist as she stared without blinking.

No one smiled. No one welcomed you. Just silence and the shrill, electric whine of summer bugs, loud as a curse.

You adjusted your grip on the suitcase handle—leather, secondhand, the clasp a little loose—and stepped forward, your boots crunching on gravel as the bus hissed again and pulled away behind you. The sudden stillness in its absence made your ears ring. Somewhere down the road, a dog barked once, then went quiet.

The driver who’d agreed to take you the last few miles was late. Or not coming. You checked the watch on your wrist—scratched crystal, the hour hand a little jittery—and waited. The skin on your shoulders prickled. Not from the heat. From the eyes.

They were still staring.

A woman in a gingham dress crossed herself. Didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look at you twice.

Then a voice—cracked with age and smoke, coming from just over your shoulder—broke the thick, humid quiet: “That house got ghosts in it.”

You turned. It was the man from the bench, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes milky with cataracts. He spat to the side, aimed like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“He don’t come to town. Don’t let him touch you, honey.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant, the groan of old suspension and rattling chains cut through the air.

A pickup truck, wheezing like the bus, pulled up in a cloud of red dust. Faded forest green with rust eating away the sides and a crooked license plate hanging on by one bolt. The man driving it looked as old as the truck—tan leather skin, yellowed shirt, a straw hat pulled low.

He didn’t say your name. Just nodded once. Like he already knew.

You climbed in beside him, the vinyl seat burning hot through your skirt. Neither of you spoke. The ride out of town was long and winding, lined with cypress trees and fields that had gone to seed. Every now and then, the man would spit out the window. You watched the land unravel into nothing—just swaying grass, rusted scarecrows, and buzzards perched on telephone wires.

Then, after what felt like forever, the truck crested a hill.

And there it was.

The house.

Aging Victorian farmhouse, two stories tall, white paint weathered to the color of bone. Porch bowed in the middle like a snapped spine. Shutters hanging off their hinges. The front door was so dark it looked like a hole punched through the front of the house. Vines crept up the sides like veins, crawling toward the chimneys and windows like they wanted to choke it. Or hold it down.

The iron gates at the front were rusted and tall, still latched shut. You could make out glass-paned windows that looked hollow, staring out at the road like eyes that hadn’t blinked in years.

The man parked, killed the engine, and didn’t move. You stepped out. Shut the door behind you. He didn’t offer to help with the suitcase. Just lit a cigarette, slow and deliberate.

“He sleeps durin’ the day. House is yours ‘til sundown. Don’t linger on the porch.”

You waited for more.

He didn’t offer it.

He put the truck in gear and reversed down the dirt road without another word, vanishing behind the veil of oak and kudzu until there was nothing but eerie birdsong and your own breath.

The wind kicked up. Dry. Hot. Mean. The house creaked—just once. Like it had been holding its breath too.

And then…the front door groaned open.

The open door breathed out a draft of air—cool and heavy, smelling of cedarwood, old paper, and something vaguely sweet, like dried flowers pressed between book pages. It curled around your ankles like mist.

You stepped forward. The porch groaned beneath your feet, boards soft with age, and for one heart-pounding moment you thought the whole thing might give. But it held. Just barely. The screen door had been ripped clean off its hinges long ago. The wooden door itself was open wide now, dark as pitch inside.

You crossed the threshold. The world behind you dropped away like a curtain falling shut.

The house swallowed sound. Swallowed light. It was dim and old in the way caves are old—cooler than it had any right to be, shadows pooling like ink in the corners. Lace curtains yellowed with age hung limp at the windows. The wallpaper had peeled back in strips, revealing ribs of rotting wood beneath. A hallway stretched long ahead of you, lined with crooked picture frames and closed doors.

Your hand skimmed the wall, trying to find your balance. The place felt like it was holding its breath.

Then you saw him.

He stepped out of the parlor like he wasn’t used to being seen, like he expected to vanish the moment your eyes landed on him.

Remmick.

And he was…nothing like you expected.

Not some grizzled recluse with wild hair and yellow teeth, not a hissing, skeletal shut-in like the townsfolk seemed to imagine. No. He was—

Broad.

His shoulders were built like a man who used to work with his hands, chest thick under the open collar of a blue-and-white pinstriped button-up, the sleeves messily rolled to his elbows. Beneath it, a threadbare white wife-beater clung to his torso like second skin. His jeans were dark, faded, worn at the knees, and he was barefoot—toes pale, dust smudged across the tops of his feet, like he hadn’t stepped outside in years.

His hair was short and messy, soft-looking, brown with uneven bangs that fell just above his brows in a way that felt almost boyish, almost accidental. Not styled. Just…unbothered. Untamed. Like he’d dragged his fingers through it and given up halfway.

And then his eyes.

Blue. Too blue. Not sky-blue. Not ocean-blue. The blue of cracked porcelain. The kind of blue that shouldn’t exist in nature. They looked almost glassy, as if someone had painted them on too carefully.

You didn’t know that they were artificial, not yet, like a predator blending in with its surroundings to fool the naive prey. That the real eyes were red as flame and waiting underneath.

But even so, you felt it.

Something inhuman. Something primordial.

You didn’t know what you were seeing. But you knew it wasn’t just a man and yet—you weren’t scared.

He froze when he saw you. Like he’d walked into a memory.

His mouth parted slightly. His hands hung at his sides, rough-knuckled, long-fingered. One of them twitched, just once, like he meant to lift it—and then stopped. Like the very thought of touching was…too much.

His voice came slow, thick. Raspy from disuse. “Evenin’.”

You blinked. “Hi.”

That same hand moved to scratch the back of his neck—awkward, almost boyish. He ducked his head slightly, eyes flitting away from yours. His lips pressed together like he wasn’t sure whether or not to smile, and then decided against it.

“I, uh…I didn’t expect you so soon.”

There was a tremble in his voice, barely there beneath the deep drawl. But it was there. Not nervous. Not quite. Just…unused. He sounded like someone who didn’t speak unless he had to. Someone who had been silent for too long.

You stepped forward, instinctive. He flinched.

It was subtle—just a twitch of his shoulder, the stiffening of his posture, a faint shift backward—but your body caught it. Your eyes caught it. His eyes never left you.

“I’m your nurse,” you said softly, giving your name, your voice feather-light.

He nodded. Still didn’t move closer.

There was a thin gold chain around his neck, peeking out from beneath his collar. It caught the faint light from the window and glinted, just for a second, brushing against the pale hollow of his throat when he leaned forward slightly. Like it had weight. Like it mattered.

You took a breath, trying to read him. He was watching you the way a starving man watches a feast. Not greedy. Not desperate.

Haunted.

Like he was talking to someone who no longer walked this mortal coil.

“Where should I…?” you asked, fingers curling slightly around the strap of your bag.

He startled. “Oh. Right. Room’s upstairs. I, uh—” he hesitated, scratched at his forearm where the button-up had slipped back just far enough to reveal the edge of a vein that looked darker than it should—“I ain’t had company in a while.”

“How long?” you asked.

He blinked at you. Like the question hadn’t occurred to him before.

Then, just as softly, with a note of old sorrow so quiet you nearly missed it, he answered:

“Too long.”

He turned, shoulders shifting beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and motioned for you to follow. He didn’t offer to carry your bag. Not out of rudeness—it was something else. A hesitation that clung to him like sweat in the air.

The hallway creaked under your steps, your boots heavy against the worn floorboards. His bare feet moved near-silent, just the soft pad of skin on old wood. Dust stirred where he passed, curling like smoke in his wake. You watched the muscles move beneath his shirt—the way the thin material clung to his back, the curve of his shoulders, the faint outline of his spine shifting when he turned a corner. You could almost imagine him once being a laborer, maybe a carpenter, with those thick forearms and that sunken posture—like he hadn’t stood tall in years.

He didn’t look back at you until he reached the stairs.

“They’re steep,” he warned, voice low, accent thickening just a touch like the words were sticking to his tongue. “House wasn’t built for comfort. Not anymore.”

You followed him anyway.

The staircase was narrow and curved, wood darkened by age and use. The banister wobbled when you touched it. His hand hovered near the wall as he climbed, but he didn’t steady himself on anything—as if he was afraid to touch the house too long.

The landing opened into a hallway lit only by a single cracked window. Dust motes danced in the beam of sunlight, and Remmick avoided it completely, skirting the edge like a shadow. You didn’t think much of it. Just heat, maybe. Or habit.

He stopped in front of a door at the far end. It was plain—faded green paint, iron handle gone dull with rust. He opened it for you but didn’t step inside.

“Room’s clean,” he said, still not meeting your eyes. “Did it myself this mornin’.”

You peered in.

Small, but tidy. The bed was old but made, white sheets tucked tight. There was a vanity with a tarnished mirror, a small closet door that hung slightly crooked, and a bedside table with a worn oil lamp and what looked like a book left behind years ago. A hand towel had been folded and left on the pillow.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

“I did,” he said simply. Then, quieter: “Didn’t want you thinkin’ I’d leave it…unfit.”

He stood there, barefoot and awkward, hands half-curled at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His bangs had fallen deeper over his eyes, hiding them. But you saw the shape of them behind the strands—wide, almost deer-like.

He looked like he didn’t know whether to apologize for being alive or thank you for showing up.

You stepped inside. Set your bag down. When you turned to speak again, he was already halfway down the hall.

He hadn’t made a sound.

Later, after you’d unpacked and washed your face in the cracked porcelain basin, you made your way down to the kitchen, following the faint clatter of dishware. You paused at the doorway.

He stood at the sink, back to you, sleeves rolled higher now—his forearms dusted in pale hair, thick with muscle, the veins just barely raised under the skin. The gold chain shifted at his throat as he rinsed out an old tin mug. He didn’t seem to notice you.

The light from the window cut across the floor, a bright bar of late-afternoon sun. It stopped just inches from where he stood, and he didn’t cross it. His toes curled against the edge like it was a line he couldn’t breach.

You finally spoke. “Do you want any help?”

He jumped.

Not violently—just a twitch. His shoulders drew in, spine straightening, as if your voice had reached into him and plucked something loose.

Then he slowly turned. His eyes—still too blue—met yours, and for a second you thought he looked guilty. Like he’d been caught doing something shameful.

“No,” he said, swallowing. “But…thank you.”

You stepped forward anyway.

He froze. Again.

“I’m just getting a glass,” you said, brushing past him, your fingers grazing the inside of his forearm by accident—just a whisper of skin against skin.

He flinched. Actually flinched. Not hard. Not violently. But enough to feel like a blow. You pulled back, brows furrowing.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, voice hushed and low and cracking like dry wood underfoot. “You ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

You turned your head, studied him.

“Do you not like to be touched?”

A pause.

He looked down at the floor. His hands opened and closed once.

“I just…ain’t used to it, is all.”

Not used to it. Not anymore. Not in a long, long time.

You felt something tighten in your chest then, strange and aching. A tether drawing taut. You didn’t know what had happened to him. Why the town feared him. Why the sunlight seemed to singe the air around him. Why his voice trembled when you spoke too softly.

But you did know this:

He was alone.

And he had been alone for a very, very long time.

The glass was cloudy. Not dirty—just old, like everything else in this house. When you turned the tap, the pipes groaned in protest before surrendering a stream of lukewarm water. You sipped, then leaned against the counter, your eyes sliding back to him.

Remmick hadn’t moved.

Still by the sink, shoulder just shy of that stripe of sunlight, arms stiff at his sides like he didn’t know how to stand. The water dripped from the mug he held. A single droplet clung to the edge of his knuckle and then slid down, curling over his wrist.

He stared at the floor. At your boots. At anything except you.

“You live here alone?” you asked.

His head tilted slightly, as though the question had startled him. He nodded.

“For how long?”

A beat.

“…Long.”

He didn’t elaborate. Just that one syllable, spoken like a stone dropped into a well. No echo. No follow-up.

You took another sip. “Locals said you don’t like company.”

His lip twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. It was more like…a ghost of a smirk, something he might’ve worn naturally once, long ago, before it fell out of practice.

“I reckon they said worse’n that.”

“They said not to let you touch me.”

That made him flinch for real.

A sharp intake of breath, his spine straightening, knuckles whitening around the tin cup. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. But the shame bled off him like heat, pouring into the space between you until the air turned too thick to breathe.

You waited.

And when he still didn’t say anything, you set your glass down with a quiet clink and asked gently:

“Why would they say that?”

He looked at you then.

Really looked.

Eyes wide. Blue. Too blue. Glassy in the way that porcelain is glassy—shiny and fragile and false. A color that didn’t feel real, not on a living thing. His brow was furrowed like the question pained him.

“…They scared,” he said softly. “Always been. But fear makes folks say things that ain’t...whole.”

“Is it not true?”

His throat bobbed. That thin gold chain moved with the motion, catching what little light the room offered. His jaw tensed, a tick pulsing just beneath the skin. When he finally spoke, it was so quiet you almost missed it.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

He said it like it was a rule, not a defense. Something sacred. Something self-imposed and unshakable.

“I didn’t think you did,” you murmured.

That made him pause. Head tilted again. Studying you like you were a puzzle with too many pieces.

“Then why’d you come?”

You gave a small shrug. “They said you needed help.”

“And you believed ‘em?”

“I believe you now.”

That silenced him.

He set the tin mug down gently, almost reverently. The sound was soft. Barely there. Like he’d learned to be careful with his strength. Or maybe he was just scared of breaking things.

“I ain’t had a nurse before,” he said. “Didn’t think I needed one.”

“Well,” you said, tone light, “I’m here now.”

Another pause.

He nodded, still not smiling. Just…accepting. Resigned. Like he’d already decided you were temporary.

A flicker of something passed behind his eyes then. Regret. Fear. Hunger. You couldn’t tell. But it made you step closer. And again—he moved back. Just a step. Not far. Not fast. But enough.

Like your nearness singed. You didn’t take it personally. You were starting to understand: it wasn’t you he didn’t trust. It was himself.

“Can I ask your name?” you said, after a beat.

He blinked. Then, slowly, he answered:

“…Remmick.”

You repeated it once, soft. Let it settle. His breath hitched. And just for a second—less than a breath, less than a blink—his eyes flashed red.

Bright. Brief. Burning.

Gone just as fast.

You didn’t say anything. You weren’t even sure you’d seen it. But he turned away like he had something to hide.

“I’ll, uh…be out on the porch. If you need me.” His voice cracked again. “Dinner’s in the oven.”

“Remmick.”

He stilled.

“Thank you.”

His hand touched the doorframe. Just the tips of his fingers. Then he left without looking back, the gold chain glinting once over the curve of his collarbone as he slipped into the shadows again.

You didn’t know what you’d just seen. But you knew you weren’t afraid. Not of him. And not of whatever was buried beneath those woeful eyes.

The dining room was crooked.

The long table—mahogany once, now dulled and water-stained—sat slightly uneven, legs warped from heat and time. One chair at the end had been worn smooth with use. The others were still draped in white sheets, untouched, forgotten. The chandelier above was dust-choked, only one bulb flickering faintly. Shadows wavered across the ceiling like they were alive.

Remmick was already seated when you stepped in, spine stiff, hands folded neatly in his lap. Not touching the silverware. Not even looking at the plate in front of him. A modest meal—roasted potatoes, black-eyed peas, cornbread—steamed in a careful arrangement across two plates, though yours was a little fuller.

He’d set it out like it was a ritual. Like it mattered. His eyes jumped to yours the moment you crossed the threshold. That same stare—wide, dark in the low light, too big for his face—gave him the look of something puppyish, soft in a way that didn’t match the rest of him.

“I hope it’s alright,” he said quickly, words too fast, too eager. “I cooked it this mornin’. Tried to keep it warm without dryin’ it out.”

You slid into the chair across from him. “It smells good.”

His shoulders relaxed a fraction, like a wire had gone slack. “Ain’t had much reason to cook for two.”

You took a bite, slowly. It was simple—salt, butter, heat. No herbs. No flair. But it was made with care. You could taste that.

Across from you, Remmick didn’t eat. He watched you instead.

You didn’t comment on it at first, but when you finally glanced up, fork paused midair, he looked away too quickly. A flicker of red threatened behind his lashes—gone before you could be sure.

“You’re not hungry?” you asked gently.

He hesitated. “Not for that.”

You blinked.

He flinched. “I mean—nothin’ wrong with it. I just—I don’t eat much. Not lately.”

You let it go. For now.

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, but it wasn’t easy either. It strained under its own weight. Not tension between you, but the kind that comes when someone’s forgotten how to be in a room with another person. He kept shifting in his seat—shoulders tight, hands flexing slightly in his lap, like he had to remind himself to stay still.

You tried again.

“So…you’ve lived here a long time?”

He nodded. “Since before the war.”

“Which one?”

His lips twitched. “Exactly.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Do you ever leave?”

Another long pause. He looked down at the table, fingers tracing the edge of a scratch in the wood.

“I used to,” he said. “Town was smaller then. Or maybe it just felt that way.”

“You don’t go anymore?”

“I scare folks.” He said it plainly. No self-pity. Just fact. “And I don’t…do well in the sun.”

You watched the way he said it—carefully. Intentionally vague. Like he was testing how much he could say without scaring you off.

“I noticed,” you murmured.

His eyes lifted again. In the dim lighting, they looked almost black, shadows swallowing all the unnatural blue. The wide shape of them gave him a look so innocent it was disarming—a big-eyed, vulnerable softness, like a boy too shy to ask for what he needed.

“I’m not scared of you,” you added.

He swallowed hard. The gold chain at his collarbone shifted.

“You should be,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you’re not.”

The food sat cooling between you.

You noticed he kept glancing at your hands—how they moved, how they curled around your fork, how they pressed briefly to your chest when you swallowed water. He didn’t leer. Didn’t ogle. But he watched with the intensity of someone who’d gone without touch so long, he’d forgotten what warmth looked like.

“Do you miss it?” you asked.

He looked up sharply. “Miss what?”

“Conversation. Company.”

He blinked like you’d hit him.

“Yes,” he said. Just that. No hesitation. Voice cracking around the edge.

Then, quieter:

“I try not to. But yes.”

You sat with that for a beat.

“I could talk more,” you offered, a faint smile tugging at your mouth. “Or less. If you’d rather quiet.”

He shook his head, too fast. “No—no, I like it. I…I like your voice.”

You blinked. Your cheeks went warm.

He blinked too, startled at himself. “Shit—I mean—not like that. Just. It’s nice. I ain’t heard anything like it in…”

He trailed off. His ears had gone pink.

You laughed gently. “You’re a little out of practice, huh?”

“I’m fuckin’ terrible,” he muttered, half to himself. Then, with a glance at you: “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “It’s nice. You’re…nice.”

He stared at you like he didn’t know what to do with that word. And then, without warning, a loud creak echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. The pipes moaned. The lights flickered.

You jumped.

Remmick didn’t move. But the red flashed again in his eyes—just for a blink, just enough to raise the hairs on your arms.

“Old house,” he murmured.

“Right.”

But he was staring down the hallway now, like he heard something you couldn’t. His jaw clenched. One hand curled tight against his knee, as if fighting the urge to stand.

“Is it safe?” you asked, your voice dipping instinctively into something wary.

His eyes cut to yours.

And something about the way he looked at you then—those big, dark, wide eyes still soft as a dog’s, still scared to ask too much—made your breath catch.

“With me?” he said.

A beat.

Then, softer:

“Always.”

The house changed at night.

It didn’t creak. It breathed—slow and hollow, like the walls had lungs of their own. The old wood carried footsteps in strange directions. Voices turned inward. Time unspooled.

You lay in bed, still dressed, still wired, the heat slick on the back of your neck. The lamp on your bedside table cast a low, amber glow across the ceiling. Somewhere outside, a whippoorwill called once and went quiet.

The room smelled like lavender soap and old cotton. The fan in the corner ticked every fifth rotation. You hadn’t seen Remmick since dinner.

He hadn’t said goodnight. Not that you blamed him.

He’d looked like he wanted to linger. Like his legs didn’t quite want to carry him away. But something in him—something knotted deep—had yanked him back into the dark, like a leash.

Still, you thought of him as you lay there. The way his eyes kept dropping to your hands. The way his voice cracked when he spoke too kindly. The way he watched you like he hadn’t watched another soul in decades—and didn’t know if he was allowed to.

You didn’t mean to doze. But the silence folded over you like a sheet.

And then—

You heard it.

Low. Fragile. Muffled.

A sound curling up through the floorboards.

You blinked awake, heart ticking faster, every hair on your arms rising before your mind even caught up. You sat up slowly. The fan ticked again.

And again, that sound.

A moan.

Male. Soft. Throaty.

Followed by something rougher. Shaped by a tongue and a mouth. Words.

You slid from the bed, bare feet ghosting over the cool floor. Pressed your palm to the wall. Leaned close.

The voice—Remmick’s voice—was speaking. But not English. Something old. It came in broken fragments. Whispered. Half-strangled. And aching.

“A chuisle…mo chuisle, mo chroí…”

(My pulse…my pulse, my heart…)

The wood under your fingers thrummed.

“Táid mo lámha ag crith…Dia, tá brón orm…”

(My hands are shaking…God, I’m sorry…)

A sound followed—wet. Guttural. Like he’d tried to breathe through a sob and swallowed it.

You stepped back, heart rabbiting, heat pooling low in your belly—not from fear, but from something else.

The need in that voice. The loneliness. The way the words clung to his throat like they hurt coming out.

And then—

A moan. Sharp. Broken open.

“Lig dom é a mhothú… lig dom tú a mhothú…”

(Let me feel it…let me feel you…)

You were rooted to the floor, bare toes curling against the wood as something bloomed low in your abdomen—hot and needy and shameful in its intensity. Your thighs pressed together before you even realized you’d done it.

He sounded desperate. Not sexual—not entirely. But starved. Ragged.

Destroyed.

Like he was begging for something he didn’t think he deserved to have, not even in sleep.

“Tá tú anseo…tá tú fíor…ná fág mé…”

(You’re here…you’re real…don’t leave me…)

The words were choked now. Slurred. Drenched in a broken kind of longing. You didn’t mean to press your palm flat against the wall. Didn’t mean to close your eyes.

Didn’t mean to whisper: “I’m here.”

But you did.

And somehow, the sounds stopped. Not abruptly. Just…slowed. Faded.

As if he'd heard you.

As if, wherever he was in that dream, the presence of you at the wall soothed something raw and ancient inside him.

The air stilled. No more moaning. No more whispers. Only quiet. You stood there for a moment longer, breath shallow, chest tight. Then turned back to the bed.

And as you crawled beneath the covers, something inside you whispered—

He wasn’t dreaming of just anyone. He was dreaming of you.

You didn’t sleep long.

When you woke again, the air was different. Thicker.

Your body was heavy with it, sunk into the mattress, heart drumming in your ears like you were already in motion. The fan had stopped ticking. The lamp had gone out. A soft glow slanted in through the hallway—a light left on downstairs, maybe. Or—

No.

Someone had turned it on.

You sat up slowly. The floorboards creaked outside your door. Once. Twice. A pause. Then a knock. Soft. Barely there.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yeah?” you called, voice still sleep-rough, soft enough that he could ignore it if he needed to.

But he didn’t. The door opened a crack. And there he was.

Remmick.

Still barefoot.

Still dressed the same—pinstriped button-up wrinkled from sleep, sleeves rolled to the elbows, suspenders hanging loose at his sides. His hair was mussed now, falling harder into his face, and his chest rose and fell beneath the thin white wife-beater like he’d climbed stairs too fast. Or hadn’t been breathing right since sundown.

He didn’t cross the threshold. Not at first.

He stood there like a man unsure of his place in the world—a broad shadow outlined in gold from the hallway light, wide-eyed and fidgeting, arms at his sides like he didn’t trust himself to lift them.

“Sorry,” he said, voice raw. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

He hesitated.

Then: “Can I…?”

He didn’t finish the sentence. But his eyes flicked toward the inside of the room—dark and private and unthreatening—and you understood.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

He stepped in.

Carefully. Like the floor might bite him.

The door shut behind him with a click that echoed louder than it should have. He stood near the dresser, eyes darting—not in panic, but like he was looking for something to anchor himself to. His fingers worried the hem of his sleeve. His shoulders were hunched, defensive, vulnerable despite the width of them.

His eyes—dark in this light, wide and glassy—looked almost wet. Puppyish. Devastating.

“I heard you,” you said quietly. “Last night.”

He stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added. “I just…couldn’t sleep.”

His jaw flexed. His throat bobbed. He didn’t look at you.

“You were speaking in another language.”

“Gaelic,” he muttered, almost like he was ashamed of it. “From…before.”

“Before what?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer. His hand twitched at his side.

“I didn’t know I was talkin’,” he said. “I don’t—usually.”

“You sounded upset.”

“I was.”

You waited.

Then, just above a whisper:

“I was dreamin’ of you.”

The room tilted. Your breath caught.

He raised his eyes then—still that soft, drowning dark, still wide like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say your name, let alone admit this.

“I know it ain’t right,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost breaking. “But I’ve been here so long. Been quiet so long. And then you—” His breath hitched. “You come in here like you’re made of light. Like you belong. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

You stood slowly.

He didn’t move. He watched you with that same broken hunger, like he’d already decided you were too good for him, but couldn’t stop himself from needing you anyway.

“You’re shaking,” you said.

He glanced down. His hands were trembling. You stepped closer. He didn’t flinch this time.

But he didn’t touch you either. Just stood there—shoulders tight, breath shallow, like if he touched you, you’d vanish.

“I ain’t touched anyone in so long,” he whispered. “And I keep thinkin’ about what they said. About me. About my hands. That I ruin things.”

You reached up, slowly, brushing your fingertips just above his collarbone—where the thin gold chain clung to his skin.

He gasped like it burned. You didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t ruin this.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His lip trembled. A sound caught in his throat—half a sob, half a moan—as he leaned forward, forehead just barely grazing yours.

“Tell me not to,” he whispered. “Tell me to leave, and I will. But if you don��t—if you don’t say it—I swear to God, I’m gonna fall to my knees.”

The air between you crackled.

And his voice dropped, Irish blooming up from the roots of him like something ancient and helpless:

“Cuir do lámha orm…ná tabhair uaim thú…”

(Put your hands on me…don’t take yourself away from me…)

You didn’t speak at first. Didn’t move either.

Just breathed—slow and even, like you were the calm center of a storm, and he was every desperate gust of wind trying to press against your skin.

Remmick stood there, trembling. Not from fear. From need. It curled off him like steam, thick and desperate, clinging to the air between you. His pupils were wide, swallowing the color of his irises until they looked nearly black, and his lips parted like he wanted to say more, to beg, to confess—but didn’t know how to start.

You reached for him.

He gasped—actually gasped—when your fingers slid up the open placket of his button-up, brushing the edge of his white ribbed wife-beater. You felt the tremor through him, all the way down. His chest was warm and solid, rising and falling like he was trying not to pant.

Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, palms splaying against the thick muscle hidden beneath soft cotton. And then, softly—gently, like it was a kindness—you pushed him.

He let you.

Without resistance, without question, he backed up until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he sank down like he didn’t know how to carry his own weight anymore. He sat there, breath shallow, eyes wide and wet and locked on you like you were the moon and he hadn’t seen the sky in a hundred years.

You stood between his knees. Tilted his chin up with just two fingers under his jaw.

“Hands to yourself,” you ordered, soft yet firm.

His breath hitched. His fingers dug into the comforter on either side of him, white-knuckled and obedient.

You watched the way he fought his own instinct—fought it like it pained him. He wanted to touch you. God, did he want to. It rolled off him in waves. His thighs were tense, knees spread wide, shirt wrinkled where your hands had touched him. He looked wrecked already.

“Y-you sure?” he asked, voice cracking like shaky glass under the burgeoning weight of desperation.

“I didn’t ask for your hands,” you said. “Not yet.”

His throat bobbed. The gold chain swayed at the base of his throat as he nodded—once, sharp, frantic.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay, I—yeah, I can do that. I’ll be good.”

You smiled, slow and soft and wicked.

“I know you will.”

He whimpered. Actually whimpered. A soft, strangled sound pulled from the depths of him, one he didn’t seem prepared for.

His hair had fallen over his brow again, mussed and curling faintly with sweat at his temples. You brushed it back, deliberately slow. He didn’t lean into the touch—he melted under it. His lashes fluttered. His lips parted.

“You’ve really gone this long?” you murmured, thumb stroking the sharp line of his trembling cheekbone.

His voice was barely audible.

“Thirteen hundred years.”

You blinked. He looked away, ashamed.

“I feed when I have to,” he said, “but touch? Mouths? Skin? That kinda closeness?” He shook his head, jaw tight. “Not since—fuck. Before the plague hit London.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You’re starved.”

He looked back at you with those wide, dark, pleading eyes, red bleeding into his pupils like a fresh laceration, like a man who's learned to lick his wounds clean in silence finally cracking open wide and letting you see the most vulnerable parts of him.

“I’m starvin’.”

You nodded, slow and understanding, letting your hand fall away from his face.

“Then sit still, Remmick,” you murmured, hushed, like you were afraid to shatter the silence. “And let me feed you.”

His breath shuddered out of him like you’d punched it from his lungs. His hands curled tighter in the sheets. His voice was hoarse, shaking, with the faintest Irish crack as he whispered:

“A ghrá…táim i do lámha…”

(My love…I’m in your hands…)

You stayed standing between his knees, just looking at him, because even if you didn't know what those words meant, you could feel them carve into your soul like a brand.

And Remmick—God help him—let you. Didn’t dare breathe too deep, didn’t dare move a single muscle. He was shaking with it. With restraint. With want. With that terrible, ancient hunger not just for blood, but for closeness, for skin-on-skin, for the obscene luxury of being touched.

Your fingers reached for him. He twitched.

Not in fear. In anticipation. His lips parted, a fine strand of spit hanging off one corner, catching in the gold glow of the hallway light behind you. It glistened, trailing down toward his chin before pooling at the dip beneath his lower lip—thick, warm, a little foamy, and wholly instinctual. His breath came in short, shallow bursts now, as if his body was preparing for something it didn’t fully understand.

You slid his suspenders off the broad slope of his shoulders first, snapping one against his pec, feeling arousal pool into your cunt like molten hot lava when he whimpers at the pleasant sting of it, letting the thin scraps of fabric fall down beside his hips.

Then you undid the first button of his shirt. Then the next. And the next. Slow. Deliberate. Never breaking eye contact.

Remmick’s eyes were huge in the dark—dark and shiny, wide like a dog waiting to be called forward, like he’d sink his teeth into the floor just for a word from you. Sweat pearled at his temples. His thighs spread slightly wider beneath you as the shirt parted open.

His chest was beautiful. Scarred, but beautiful—pale muscle threaded with faint blue veins, the sort that spoke of long nights and longer hunger. His skin was cool beneath your fingertips, though you could feel the heat roiling beneath it, just under the surface.

But what drew your eye—what made you pause—was the tattoo.

On his left ribcage, inked into him like a brand, was a budded cross—old, faded, the lines a little blurred from age but unmistakable. A Christian cross, yes—but older, rougher, like it had been carved into him by a trembling hand in candlelight.

You stared.

He followed your gaze, and his throat worked, the motion making his chain jump slightly against his collarbones.

“I got that when I still thought it’d save me,” he whispered, voice tight.

You dropped to your knees. He whimpered.

No contact yet—just the sound of your body lowering between his thighs, the shift in the room, the weight of your presence pressing into the cradle of his hips. He tipped his head back against the edge of the bed, more thick drool sliding from the corner of his mouth, breath now shallow, frantic, like he was trying not to choke on his own spit.

You leaned forward. Pressed your mouth to the edge of the cross.

He hissed.

You kissed it. Then licked—tongue flattening over the cool ink, tracing it reverently, slowly. He trembled beneath you like a man being sanctified and defiled all at once.

The irony rolled off your tongue with every stroke.

A man like this—older than gunpowder, older than the books that tried to define him—wearing a cross close to his heart like it still meant salvation.

You dragged your lips lower.

Down his ribs. Over the ridges of muscle. To the soft trail of hair starting just below his navel—a dark, fine line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You licked that too. Just once. Teasing.

Following the path slowly, like you were on your knees at an altar, taking your time with worship. His happy trail twitched under your tongue.

Above you, Remmick made a noise that wasn’t a moan or a sob but something shattered between the two.

More drool slipped from his lips now—foamy, thick, sliding down his chin, catching on the curve of his neck and the edge of that trembling gold chain. He didn’t wipe it. Couldn’t. You’d told him not to touch.

His voice broke apart.

“I c-can’t take it,” he choked. “I swear to God, I’m gonna come just from you lookin’ at me like that—just from that tongue—fuck, darlin’, please.”

You looked up at him.

Still on your knees. Still reverent. And said, with quiet finality, “Good.”

You reached for his belt.

His breath caught—sharply, like the sound a deer makes when it hears the snap of a twig too close behind it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stared down at you with those wide, wet eyes, black in the low light, pupils blown to the edge. His chest rose and fell like he was sprinting through mud.

The leather was worn, soft from age and use, the buckle cool in your fingers.

You took your time.

Slowly, purposefully, you undid the clasp, the soft clink of metal loud in the hush of the room. He whimpered, his thighs tensing beneath you, and more drool spilled from the corner of his mouth—thick, glistening, sliding down his chin

“Stay still,” you reminded him, voice silk-wrapped steel.

He nodded, a jerky, miserable little movement, and you swore his lower lip quivered. You dragged the zipper down, each tooth catching slightly, the sound sharp and intimate.

And then—finally—you pulled him free.

Your breath hitched.

He was hard. Painfully so. Flushed deep red at the tip, already leaking, the slit glossy and wet. He twitched in your hand, a thick vein pulsing along the underside, and his thighs quivered like he could barely keep himself grounded.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

Remmick gave a breathless, broken laugh, chin tilted back as he struggled not to move. His hands were fists in the sheets now, white-knuckled, his gold chain trembling across his throat with every shallow breath.

“I—fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I can’t stop—fuck, it’s so much—”

You looked up at him as you gave him the first stroke.

Just one.

Slow.

Base to tip, twisting your palm, watching his mouth fall open wider—thick drool spilling freely now, down his neck, dampening the edge of his shirt. He looked utterly destroyed already.

“Does it feel good?” you asked, your voice soft, cruel with how gently you said it.

He nodded frantically.

“Use your words.”

His head lolled forward. His voice was wrecked. “Feels like heaven,” he groaned. “Oh God, sugar, I cain’t—I cain’t believe—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You leaned forward, licking up the length of him, tongue flat, slow, letting his taste settle warm and heavy on your tongue—salt and skin and something a little coppery, something distinctly him, something old. He sobbed. Actually sobbed, chest hiccuping, thighs jerking just slightly before he caught himself and moaned through clenched teeth.

Your mouth wrapped around the head. He cried out.

No words now. Just a strangled sound ripped from his throat, and more drool frothed at the corners of his lips. He looked dazed—eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering. His hips bucked once—a reflex—and immediately stilled like he was terrified to move again without permission.

You pulled back just enough to speak, saliva stringing between your lips and his flushed cock.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Hands to yourself.”

His voice came out wrecked, breathless.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Then your mouth was back on him.

You took him deeper this time—slow, tight suction, twisting your wrist around what you couldn’t take yet—and the way he howled, you’d have thought he’d been starved in every way a man could be. Which, of course, he had. Thirteen hundred years of this. Denied. Suppressed. Begged away.

His thighs trembled. His belly tensed. And still he didn’t move. Didn’t touch. Didn’t dare.

You sucked harder.

He broke.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—darlin’, I—I can’t—oh, please, please, I’m so sorry—”

He was crying.

Not just drool now—actual tears, shining in his lashes, streaking down his flushed face as you sucked him through it, as he jerked and shook and whimpered out your name like it was a hymn.

He came with a sob, hips barely stuttering forward as his whole body went taut, his cock pulsing against your tongue, spilling hot down your throat in waves, thick and heavy and so much you almost gagged on it.

He was loud.

Pathetic.

Perfect.

When you finally pulled off, he was slumped forward—a wrecked, shivering mess, his lips bitten red and his chain soaked through with spit and sweat. His chest heaved. His thighs twitched.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your mouth slowly.

“Still with me?” you asked.

He nodded, weakly. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you leave.”

He collapsed.

Not fell—melted. Like every bone in him had turned to syrup and grief, his body slumping forward, catching on the edge of the bed before slipping down to the floor.

Boneless.

His cheek pressed to the old wood, hair clinging to his forehead, the buttons of his half-undone shirt twisted beneath him. He was drenched—sweat slicked across his chest and ribs, his pale skin kissed pink from effort, a shine of drool still slicking his chin, clinging to the corners of his mouth like foam. His gold chain was crooked now, stuck against the sweat-damp hollow of his throat.

You rose slowly to your knees, then leaned forward—not to comfort him, not yet—but to press your lips to that chain.

Right at the dip of his collarbones. He gasped. Like it burned. Like your mouth was fire and he’d been craving the flame.

His eyes fluttered open—glass-wet, dazed, the whites shot red, his lips trembling from overstimulation. He looked wrecked. Used. Holy.

And still. Still, he tried.

One shaking hand rose, dragging along the edge of your thigh—hesitant, aching, reverent. His fingers brushed your hip like he was praying through it.

“Lemme touch you,” he breathed. “Please. Let me—wanna make you feel good—want your taste on my tongue, sugar, please—”

You caught his wrist mid-rise. Firm. Final. His breath hitched. His mouth parted. But he didn’t resist. Didn’t fight. You leaned in close, until your mouth was at his ear, and whispered—

“You don’t get to yet.”

His eyes fluttered. His breath caught.

“You’re gonna learn to wait.”

A tremble rolled through him, from head to toe. His hand fell away, limp at his side. And then he nodded.

Small. Shaky. Utterly obedient.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait, I swear.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently now, and he whimpered at the touch.

“Look at you,” you murmured.

He did. Glassy-eyed. Pathetic. So fucking into it.

His tongue darted out across his lower lip, catching more of the drool clinging there, and he looked at you like he’d fall on his knees all over again if you so much as told him to.

“Did I do good?” he asked, voice so small, so needy it nearly broke something open in your chest.

You smiled.

And whispered, “You were perfect.”

He didn’t get up. Didn’t even try.

Just curled in beside your legs like a dog, bare chest heaving, forehead pressed to your knee, as if your body alone could tether him to the earth. His arms folded in at his chest, drawn tight like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again.

You stayed still. Let him have it. Let him exist in the aftermath—his breath still catching, his sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow, drool drying tacky at the corners of his mouth, his jeans half undone around his hips, completely forgotten. He looked small down there, despite the size of him. Small and wrecked.

He murmured against your thigh—words so soft you almost missed them, lips brushing the fabric of your skirt like a confession:

“Didn’t know it could feel like that…”

You glanced down.

His eyes were closed, lashes wet. His lips parted as he pressed the side of his face closer to your leg, as if nearness was the only thing keeping him from coming apart again.

“Didn’t know I could feel like that.”

You stroked his hair gently. He shivered.

“I ain’t been held like this since…” He swallowed. “Since before.”

You waited. Then, with a sigh that hitched in his throat, he said:

“Before I stopped bein’ a man and started bein’ a thing.”

Your fingers paused at his temple.

But he nuzzled into your knee like he hadn’t said something awful. Like he hadn’t peeled that truth out of himself and bled it onto your lap.

“I remember what it was like,” he whispered. “Before I turned. Before the hunger. Before all that silence got in me and stayed.”

Another pause.

“I used to think about what it’d be like, y’know? Fallin’ apart for someone. Just crackin’ open. Bein’ touched like I was human.”

He sighed again.

“Didn’t think it’d ever happen.”

Your hand returned to his hair, soft strokes over the messy bangs sticking to his forehead.

He let out a low, contented whine.

“Felt you on my tongue before I ever tasted you,” he breathed, voice thick and syrup-slow. “In my dreams. In my fuckin’ bones.”

His fingers brushed the floor. Not reaching. Just hovering.

“Tell me you won’t go,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t move. And that was enough.

He breathed deep then, nose brushing your thigh, the gold chain glinting dully in the light. His body slackened further, weight pooling against you like he meant to stay right there forever—a crumpled thing collared in sweat, salt, and shame, held together only by the sound of your breath and the soft drag of your fingers through his hair.

“I’m ruined now,” he said sleepily. “You know that, don’t you?”

You smiled faintly.

“Good.”

He whimpered again. A sound so low and lovely it curled down your spine and planted itself deep in your stomach.

And then he sighed—the sound of someone finally coming home—and nuzzled in deeper at your thigh.

[stellewriites]

trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x gn!reader

cw: no warnings really other than smoking, otherwise just soft meet-cute goodness

you went out to the pub with friends after your breakup with mark was official. it had been nasty with him not wanting to let you go but also wanting to fuck around with a few of the interns in his office.

you rolled your eyes at how fucking cliche it felt, but the texts and voice mails he’d been leaving that flitted between trying to beg for you back and calling you the most vile shit he could think of under the sun had your anxiety peaking even if you knew he wouldn’t make good on any of his weak threats.

you’d been moping, so your friends had decided to celebrate your freedom and distract you by dragging you out for drinks at your local. which would’ve been fine, fun even, if mark hadn’t have been there too. he turned up an hour in and stood at the bar with his new girlfriend under his arm.

he moved on quick. you thought about the voice recording he’d emailed you two days ago of him sobbing into his phone, talking about how he simply couldn’t live without you, how seeing you block him on everything had broken his heart.

watching him laugh with this new girl angered you more than it should.

why did he get to move on and be happy when you were still trying to pick up the pieces of a relationship you weren’t even happy in and had checked out of for the last couple of months?

you huffed and downed the rest of your drink before announcing to the table that you were going to the bathroom. you snatched up your bag and walked off before you could hear them reply.

instead of passing by mark to get to the hallway hiding the grungy toilets however, you turned to the exit instead. once you were out of the big arching doors, you slowed your walk and hovered near the hip-high wall that surrounded the pub’s outside seating and dug through your bag for your pack of cigs. you were trying to quit, but now seemed like an understandable time to relapse temporarily.

the stress of seeing mark unexpectedly was enough to want to chain a pack and a half.

you swore fiercely when you couldn’t find them and remembered you’d had the last one at the beginning of the week at lunch after finally blocking mark’s number. you remembered dabbing the tab end out and thinking it was a future you’s problem if you needed another any time soon. well, shit.

when you saw you were alone and unable to bargain for a spare off someone else, you pulled out the scrumply pack of nicorette gum your friend had bought you from the corner shop when you first announced you were quitting, knowing you wouldn’t have thought that far ahead - and right she was. you’d been intermittently scranning them like candy and only had one left.

you mentally made a note to buy another three packs as you popped it in your mouth and chewed furiously. it didn’t bring the same relief but the chomping was satisfying enough that it was slowly calming you.

you were debating messaging your friends to let them know you were leaving and why when someone else stepped out of the pub doors and joined you at the wall. unbeknownst to you, he’d spotted you a minute before and after catching a glance at your frustrated chewing he’d decided to find a way to introduce himself.

stood next to you as he was now you could see he was handsome, and with dark eyes and broad shoulders it was hard to imagine he wasn’t everyone’s type.

you watched him pat down his pockets with exaggerated movements before he sighed, those broad shoulders slumping in defeat. it all felt a little theatrical, like he was putting it on despite it only being the two of you out there.

he turned to you a second later and didn’t seem surprised to find your gaze already on him as his hopeful eyes took you in.

“don’t happen to have a light i could bum, d’ya?”

“‘fraid not,” you winced in sympathy. “stuck on gum myself.” you gesture to your mouth as you chew a little obnoxiously to prove your point.

“got any of that going spare?”

“this was my last bit,” you said, wishing you’d bought more if only for the excuse to keep talking to this guy. an idea popped into your head and you gave him a quick once over; he caught your appreciative gaze and lifted an eyebrow at you, amused. “unless you wanted to share?”

you pulled your gum out, letting it catch on your teeth so it stretched a little before offering it out to him. you weren’t really expecting him to take it, it was a bold move on your part to offer this stranger your well-chewed nicotine gum and you wouldn’t blame him if he recoiled back in disgust.

but he didn’t.

he grinned, shrugged, and took it from your fingers before popping it in his mouth.

“i’ll take it,” he said, and you gaped as you stared at him. oh, this guy wants to fuck me, you thought a little hysterically. “i’m kyle.”

you couldn’t help but snort when his eyebrows pulled together a second later once he’d had a chance to chew. “doesn’t compare really, does it, kyle?”

“think you’d gnawed all the nicotine out of it by time i got here,” he said teasingly.

you huffed, rolled your eyes playfully.

“you can give me it back then if you don’t want it,” you said a little haughty.

“why don’t you try taking it back,” he suggested, taking a step closer to you. his warmth was a welcome reprieve from the biting wind. “should warn ya though, i bite.”

he chomped down on the gum pointedly enough for it to pass as a playful snap of his teeth and you feel your smile grow, your eyes glued to his plush lips.

“mm,” you hum with a shake of your head. “i think you might be all bark.”

his eyebrows rose at that.

“you wanna put that theory to test, luv?”

you leant into his space, hand shyly making a home on his hip, and encouraged him to crowd you against the short wall. “proper science says we should test it a few times at least, really make sure the results aren’t just a coincidence,” you said with a faux serious nod.

“reliable data is always the goal,” he agreed.

“and you do owe me for the gum,” you added, letting your eyes flutter when the heady scent of his aftershave soaked in around you.

“mm, i can think of something i can do to pay you back.”

he closed what little space was left between you and softly pressed his lips against yours, parted just enough to tease the flick of his tongue.

the kiss was slow and deep, it felt more intimate than half the kisses you’d had with your ex and you almost felt self conscious about it since kyle was a stranger, but his hand squeezing at your hip and his small noises kept your head in the game and you gladly kissed him back under the glow of the street lamp.

he pulled back just a hairsbreadth away and you saw his arousal loud and clear in his eyes. it was a good fucking kiss.

“live up to your standards?” he mumbled, his own eyes glued to your spit slick lips, but still cocky enough to banter.

you smacked the gum he’d passed back to you with a giggle, butterflies making themselves known in your chest. fuck, you hadn’t genuinely giggled because of a man in years, what the hell was going on?

given the spit you’d shared, and whatever other fluids you were absolutely planning on sharing with kyle if he was game, you couldn’t really bring yourself to cringe at the over-used gum stuck between your molars.

“i think you should give me your number, could’ve just been a fluke,” you said, shivering at the feeling of his thumb rubbing along your skin, the soft part that bulged just above the waistband of your pants.

“checking for quality control too?”

“obviously, i take this business very seriously,” you said, pinching your brows into a mock frown as he grinned.

he patted his pockets, one very clearly holding his phone, before sucking his teeth on a wince.

“‘fraid ive left my phone at home,” he said and you paused; maybe you’d read him wrong? “so you’re just going to have to come with me if you want my number.”

you tutted, hoping your relief wasn’t too plain on your face.

“you drive a hard bargain, kyle.”

with one last look at the pub you took his hand and let him lead you off to his car, editing your text to your friends. you wouldn’t be going back inside, but it wasn’t for the reason you’d thought earlier.

[miirily]

Five Rules for Being the World's Greatest Dad

Pairing — Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader

Synopsis — The moment Sukuna’s matchmaking nephew, Yuji, finds out about your pregnancy, he hugs your waist tightly and declares: “I’m gonna write a new list for Uncle Kuna. He needs rules for being a dad.”

Content — modern!au, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, implied smut, unplanned pregnancy, Sukuna is down bad, uncle!Sukuna.

Word count — 4.9k

A/N — This is a sequel to my fic Five Rules for Dating My Uncle (According to a Five-Year-Old) which can be read as a stand-alone (but definitely makes more sense if you've read the prequel). Enjoy! :)

You weren’t sure how to tell Yuji. Sukuna wanted to wait, said the kid might get confused or feel left out. But you’re showing now and Yuji’s always been too observant for his age. So when he notices and blurts, “Are you getting fat or is there a baby in there?” you nearly choke on your tea.

Sukuna tries to glare him into silence but Yuji’s eyes light up like fireworks when you nod.

“You’re gonna be a big cousin,” you say softly.

He hugs your waist tightly and declares: “I’m gonna write a new list for Uncle Kuna. He needs rules for being a dad.”

You laugh but the sound wavers at the edges, soft with something close to awe. Yuji’s arms are short and warm and certain around you. His cheek presses gently against the soft curve of your belly. Sukuna clears his throat behind him, stiff in that way he gets when emotions threaten to press too close to the surface.

You glance at him over Yuji’s head. His eyes meet yours, sharply at first, then softer. His mouth twitches, as if he might say something, then doesn’t. But you know him to well by now. You read the small things: the tension in his shoulders that slowly loosens, the way his hand drops instinctively to rest on the small of your back when you straighten up. You’ve learned his silences aren’t empty. They hold a hundred things he can’t always say.

Only two months ago, you’d sat in this same living room alone, holding a pregnancy test with trembling fingers and a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow down. Sukuna had been late coming home. He’d taken Yuji, now a proud seven-year old, to a friend’s apartment, something about building a pillow fort or watching that awful zombie cartoon Yuji loved. You’d had an hour to sit in that silence, to trace the lines of your life and where they might bend from here.

And when you finally told him, he nearly gave no reaction. Didn’t curse or pace or laugh it off like a cruel joke. He went eerily still. For a moment, the silence stretched so long you could hear your own pulse rushing in your ears. He stood there, eyes unreadable, the kind of unreadable that made your throat tighten. You almost apologised. Almost took it back, just to make the tension go away.

But then, slowly, Sukuna crossed the room. He knelt in front of you, movements deliberate, quiet. One broad hand reached up to cup your cheek, so gently it made your breath catch. Far gentler than you’d ever seen him. Gentler than anyone would ever believe of him. His thumb brushed against your skin, barely there. And then, he spoke. Not loud, not sharp. But soft, low words meant only for the two of you, woven into the stillness like a thread you weren’t meant to pull.

“We—we’ll figure it out, baby,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

You nodded, tears prickling hot at the corners of your eyes. And he stayed there, on his knees, holding your face like it was something fragile and precious.  His presence unshakable. Like gravity. Like home.

You told Jin the next day because he deserved to know, as Yuji’s father and Sukuna’s brother. Then your parents. Then your sister, who cried over speakerphone and started crocheting a baby blanket that same night. But you’d kept it small, quiet. Not because you were ashamed, no, never that, but because this thing growing between you and Sukuna felt like something sacred. Something to protect.

You hadn’t expected to fall for him the way you did. Not at first.

The shift had been gradual—book club Sundays bleeding into casual dinners, then long walks, then coffee on your balcony, his hand brushing yours. Sukuna never rushed anything. Not you, not himself. And it was that patience, that steady, grounding presence, that undid you more than anything.

Now you lie beside him most nights, his hand spread over your belly like a vow he doesn’t know how to speak aloud. He kisses your shoulder when he thinks you’re asleep. Sometimes, in the quietest hours, he murmurs things to your skin that make you want to cry.

And it’s still strange. Strange and lovely and surreal, the way this once-intimidating man, sharp-tongued and steel-eyed, has become the centre of your calm. The father of your child. The man who makes you feel most like yourself.

“Do you think the baby’ll be like Yuji?” you’d asked him once, curled up together beneath the soft hum of your bedroom lamp.

Sukuna had looked down at your belly, then at you. “No one’s like Yuji,” he’d said dryly. But his eyes were warm. “But if they’re anything like you, I’ll count myself lucky.”

Now, watching Yuji grin up at you like he’s just been handed the keys to the universe, you feel that same warm ache in your chest.

“Do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” you ask gently.

Yuji frowns in thought, arms still looped around you. “Hmm. I don’t really care as long as they don’t drool on my comics.” Then he pauses. “But I do wanna help pick the name.”

You smile. “We’ll think about it.”

Sukuna, still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, lets out a long-suffering sigh but you see the tiniest pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Later, after Yuji’s gone home and the house is quiet again, Sukuna presses a kiss to your temple and whispers into your hair, “He’s not wrong, you know.”

“About what?”

“We need a new list.”

You laugh against his chest, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt, your lips finding his in a kiss that’s slow and warm and a little breathless. He hums into it, one hand smoothing over the curve of your spine, the other settling low on your belly, just resting there, solid and certain.

Somehow, in that moment, you’re not as scared as you were when the test first came back positive. Not as adrift. Sukuna’s here, by your side. And you both may be new to this, stumbling through uncharted territory with more questions than answers, but deep in your chest, you know: you’ll figure it out. Together.

The weeks that follow are a blur.

Doctor’s appointments fill your calendar. Your phone is a minefield of reminders and articles your sister keeps sending you—“Read this, it’s important!”—and you learn more about prenatal vitamins than you ever wanted to know. You fall asleep reading baby name lists and wake up to find Sukuna flipping through them, his brow furrowed like he’s reading blueprints for a heist.

You finally outgrow your old jeans. Your sister drags you from boutique to boutique, determined to turn maternity wear into a fashion statement. She talks a mile a minute, swapping stories from her own pregnancies, stopping every five feet to squeal over tiny socks and even tinier hats. You leave with aching feet and three bags of things you didn’t plan on buying, but also with a heart a little lighter.

And then comes the move.

Your tiny apartment gives way to a place that feels real. Rooted. A second bedroom. A balcony that catches golden afternoon light. A modern kitchen where Sukuna grumbles about installing cabinet locks already even though the baby isn’t due for months. You laugh at him and kiss his temple and tell him to relax, but later, you find him on the floor, surrounded by screwdrivers and box parts and a very serious expression as he builds a shelf for baby books.

Sukuna pretends he doesn’t care about the shopping part. Scoffs when your sister drags you into a baby store. Grumbles about overpriced nonsense. But then he’s the one who compares stroller specs for hours, muttering about suspension and brake locks like he’s prepping for a military op. He picks up a ridiculously expensive baby monitor and says, “This one has infrared night vision.”

You blink at him. “Are we raising a baby or guarding a vault?”

He ignores you and puts it in the cart.

He argues with the salesperson about crib safety standards. Builds the changing table without the instructions, because of course he does. You find him later sitting on the nursery floor, wiping his hands on a towel, staring at the pale green walls he insisted on painting himself. There’s a smudge of paint on his jaw. A hint of something reverent in his expression.

When he notices you in the doorway, he gestures around the room, a little awkwardly.

“Figured this corner’s good for the glider,” he mumbles. “Close to the window.”

You step in and wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “It’s perfect.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s holding more in than he lets show.

And you feel it again, that quiet thing building between you. Not just love. Not just anticipation. But something steadier. A foundation. A life. Growing, inch by inch, in all the soft and ordinary ways that matter most.

You're almost six months pregnant when Sukuna’s birthday arrives, all early spring breezes and soft sunbeams warming the windows. The air smells like new beginnings: budding trees, distant barbecues, laundry hung out to dry. You wake up to birdsong and the weight of Sukuna’s arm slung over your waist, his palm warm against the now prominent curve of your belly.

Yesterday was your last day at work for a while and you’re still floating somewhere between full and fragile. Your fellow teachers had surprised you with flowers and a gift basket, your students had smothered you in handmade cards and hugs, and you'd barely made it to your car before dissolving into tears. You’ve cried more in the last three days than in the last three years combined and at this point, no one is really surprised when it happens again.

Not even Sukuna.

It starts when your parents show up mid-afternoon with a surprise cake. You’ve just finished setting out drinks and snacks on the balcony, the breeze soft through your sweater. You’re glowing, emotional, exhausted. Sukuna’s on the couch, arms folded and feigning disinterest, until your mother pulls off the lid of the cake box and everyone leans in.

There, preserved in flawless fondant: a photo of the two of you from last summer. You’re laughing, sun-drenched, sitting on Sukuna’s lap on your parents' porch. He’s holding a dripping popsicle in one hand, the other wrapped around your waist, his head tilted towards yours in that way he never lets himself be caught doing.

Except someone clearly caught it. And now it’s edible.

He groans softly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Seriously?”

You start to laugh, but it’s wet and shaky and turns quickly into tears.

“Oh no,” your dad says.

Sukuna sighs like a man bracing for impact and reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin. “It’s just cake,” he mutters but his tone is gentler than the words.

You laugh again through your tears and lean into his side, and he lets you. Lets you cry it out against his shoulder with the patience of a man who’s becoming frighteningly good at this.

The doorbell rings not long after and in comes Jin, arms full of grocery bags and takeout containers, followed by Choso, perpetually under-caffeinated, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, and finally Yuji, who bursts in like sunshine incarnate, a crookedly wrapped box clutched to his chest.

“Happy Birthday, Uncle Kuna!” he beams, marching straight up to Sukuna, eyes sparkling.

Sukuna lifts an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“It’s finally done!” Yuji announces, practically vibrating with pride. “Open it! But carefully!”

Everyone gathers around as Sukuna slowly unwraps the paper, deliberately slow in a way that earns him a few dramatic sighs from Yuji. When the layers finally fall away, Sukuna lifts out a simple white frame. Inside is a single sheet of paper, slightly wrinkled, clearly written and drawn by Yuji himself in colourful markers:

Five Rules for Being the World's Greatest Dad By Yuji Itadori (future best cousin ever)

Always keep snacks in your pocket. (Even the yucky healthy ones.)

Don’t grumble when the baby cries. (It’s not personal!)

Let them sit on your shoulders. (Even if your back hurts!)

Teach them cool stuff, like how to fix things or kick stuff safely.

Don’t ever stop loving them. Ever ever ever.

There’s a stick figure drawing below it—Sukuna, holding a tiny baby in one arm, while Yuji stands next to him with a goofy grin and thumbs up. You’re there too, smiling, with an arrow pointing to your belly that reads: “The Baby!!”

Sukuna stares at it for a long second. And then another.

No one says a word.

Yuji shifts anxiously. “Do you like it?”

Sukuna clears his throat, eyes still fixed on the paper. His fingers tighten just slightly around the edge of the frame.

“Yeah,” he says, voice quiet. “I do.”

You glance up at him and there’s something in his face, something tender and a little overwhelmed. His eyes are soft. Shining, maybe, just the tiniest bit. He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t need to. You reach for his hand again and squeeze it gently and he squeezes back.

Yuji grins like he’s just solved world peace. “You’re gonna be great,” he says confidently. “You already are!”

That makes everyone smile and chuckle, even Choso, who mumbles, “High praise,” over the rim of his coffee. Sukuna just shakes his head and leans down to kiss your temple. When the evening quiets and you’re sitting together on the couch with the framed list propped up against the mantle, you watch him glance at it again, and you wonder if, maybe, he’ll keep it. Just like you kept Yuji’s first one. Just like another promise.

Time seems to blur as your pregnancy enters its final stretch, days folding into each other like the soft corners of baby blankets, like the crinkled pages of parenting books scattered across your nightstand. One morning, you wake and realise that the shape of your body has shifted again. You lie still, palm gently splayed over the swell of your belly and feel the little nudge of life inside you.

The nursery smells like clean cotton and fresh paint. Sukuna's gone over every inch of it with the intensity of a man on a mission, checking every outlet cover, every hinge, every tiny screw in the crib three times over. The dresser’s filled with folded onesies in muted tones, all arranged by size and he’s even labeled the drawers. You teased him for it, but you also kissed him for it.

He never says it out loud, but you see it in the way he lingers in the doorway at night, eyes scanning the room as if searching for something he can still fix. Something he might’ve missed.

You love him for it. For the quiet ways he shows up. For the way he brings you your vitamins before you remember. For the way he massages your aching back without being asked. For the way he watches you as if you're something precious he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to have.

Sukuna's always been gentle with you. But in these last few weeks, that gentleness has taken on a kind of reverence. He touches you like you might break. Like he’d rather break himself than let you feel pain.

And you don’t say it often, because emotions between the two of you tend to simmer quietly rather than boil over, but sometimes, in the stillness of early morning or in the hush of shared silence, you look at him and think: If the baby gets even half the love you’ve shown me, they’ll be just fine.

But not everything is perfect. You both know that.

It’s a Tuesday, grey and brittle with fatigue, when you finally break down over hospital paperwork. You’ve toured three facilities, none of which felt quite right. Sukuna argued with a nurse at one for being condescending. You had a panic attack in the parking lot of another. By the end of the day, you're curled up on the couch, both emotionally wrung out and wordless.

Sukuna sits beside you, stiff-backed and silent, his hand splayed against his mouth like he’s holding something in.

You watch him from the corner of your eye. You can feel the weight of something brewing and when it finally comes, it’s not loud.

“I’m scared,” he says.

You turn to look at him fully. He’s not meeting your eyes. His gaze is fixed on the floor, jaw tight. He speaks with a stillness that feels almost unnatural for him. Controlled. Braced.

“I’m scared I’ll mess it all up,” he mutters. “That I’ll lose my temper, or shut down, or… scare the baby. Scare you.”

Your throat tightens.

He finally looks at you and the vulnerability there knocks the breath from your lungs. “I’m not soft and I don’t know how to be. And I don’t—” His voice wavers, just barely. “I don’t want to be someone the baby’s afraid of.”

Your eyes burn. You reach for his hand, fingers slipping through his like it’s instinct. His grip is warm, strong. Hesitant.

“You won’t be,” you whisper. “You won’t be.”

He shakes his head once, jaw clenched. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you say, firmer now. “Because I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you with Yuji. With Choso. With me.”

“You’re different,” he says quietly.

“No,” you reply. “I’m not. I’m just… the first. The first person you’ve let love you.”

His face flickers with something broken, something trying not to be.

You scoot closer, both hands now cupping his. “You’re scared because you care, Sukuna. That’s all the proof I need. You’re already doing better than most people ever try to.”

He doesn’t speak but his shoulders drop a fraction. And then he leans forward, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes. Feel his breath on your cheek, slow and warm and shaky. The baby kicks, a soft nudge and you both feel it. His hand slides instinctively to your belly and you hold it there with your own.

He whispers, “I’m still scared.”

You whisper back, “Me too. But we’ll figure it out.”

He looks at you for a long moment, eyes glassy and quiet, jaw tight with all the things he never learned how to say. Then he kisses you.

It starts soft, reverent. A brushing of lips that feels less like a question and more like a plea for closeness. You answer it by pulling him in, your fingers curling into the back of his neck, your other hand guiding his palm to rest over your belly.

“We’re okay,” you murmur. “You won’t hurt anything.”

Sukuna still hesitates. You feel it in the rigid line of his back, the way his hands tremble against your sides like they’re unsure if they have permission to want you this way again.

But you kiss him harder, surer. Your mouths meet like old friends relearning one another, like muscle memory and longing are something sacred. And then he’s there, fully there, hands cradling you like you're made of glass, worshipping every stretch and swell of you, tracing the changes like they're holy. Like you are holy.

It’s not rushed. It’s not urgent. It’s just slow and close and full of everything that’s been unspoken between you in the past weeks. He touches you as though trying to memorise what it means to love someone this much and still be allowed to want them.

Your body has changed, yes, but so has everything else. Your breath, your softness, your vulnerability. All of it is held in the quiet between the sheets, where only whispers live.

When you reach for him, he sinks into you like prayer. His thrusts are slow and steady, and you both look into each other’s eyes when you fall apart. And when you fall asleep in his arms, your head tucked beneath his chin, the weight of your belly between you, there’s no fear left. Only the soft glow of closeness, of being seen, held and known.

The next morning, the sun hasn’t even risen when you wake with a start. A dull cramp. Then warmth, too much warmth. You sit up with a gasp, blinking down at the damp bedsheets.

Your voice comes out small. “Sukuna…?”

He’s already stirring, rubbing the sleep from his face. When he sees you, fully sees you, his eyes sharpen in an instant. Not with panic but with a sharp focus.

“I think my water broke,” you say, heart pounding. “It’s too early. I’m not ready—”

You’re starting to shake now, breath turning shallow. The baby wasn’t due for another three weeks. You were supposed to have more time. Time to finish the hospital bag. Time to take the last birthing class. Time to not feel this unprepared.

Sukuna moves before you can spiral further.

He cups your cheeks with both hands, grounding you. “Hey. Look at me.”

Your eyes find his, wide and wet and terrified.

“We’ve got this,” he says firmly. “You’re okay. The baby’s okay. I’ll get the bag and warm the car.”

“But—” You swallow hard. “What if something’s wrong?”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then we deal with it. Together.”

That’s all it takes.

Within minutes, he has you dressed in the softest clothes you own, guiding you carefully down the stairs with a towel beneath you “just in case.” His hand never leaves yours, not even as he helps you into the passenger seat and clicks the seatbelt around your belly like it’s made of gold.

He drives smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on your knee. The city outside is still asleep, all pale grey light and hushed streets, but inside the car, you feel the rhythm of something ancient and new threading through your bones.

“I’m right here,” he says again, voice low and sure. You believe him, more than anything. Because he is, because he always has been. Because now, this is about more than just the two of you.

And in all honesty, weeks, no, months, later, when people ask you about the day your daughter was born, you always answer the same way: “I don’t really remember it.”

It’s not a lie. Not entirely. The truth is: the morning, the labour, the lead-up, it all feels like a half-forgotten dream. A haze of fluorescent lights, the sharp antiseptic bite of the hospital air and the almost surreal way your body folded in on itself, then tried to break open.

You remember checking in, clutching Sukuna’s arm as another contraction hit, your knees nearly giving out. Someone took your name. Someone else wheeled you down a hall. Everything smelled like lemon cleaner and the breathless anxiety of too many mothers before you.

The pain, God, the pain. It’s not cinematic like the movies. It’s raw. Relentless. Like fire coiled deep in your hips, burning its way outward in waves that refuse to be tamed. You remember screaming. You remember begging. You remember Sukuna, holding your hand so tightly you’re both sweating through your grips, his own knuckles white.

You remember him trying to call everyone, your sister, your mom, even Jin. His fingers trembled so badly he could barely hit the buttons on his phone. He cursed when calls didn’t go through, cursed again when he had to put it all aside to kneel by your bedside as you writhed, crying and breathless, muttering broken apologies for squeezing his hand too tightly, for not being able to do this alone.

But you weren’t alone. You never were.

Through it all, through the chaos and confusion and searing agony, he was there. His voice, low and hoarse, saying your name over and over again. His forehead against yours as he counted through your contractions. His hand wiping the sweat from your brow, whispering that you were doing so well, so damn well. That he was proud of you.

“You’re almost there.”

But none of that is what you really remember.

What you remember, what you will always remember, is the moment everything stopped. The moment the room went still and the pressure in your chest gave way to something new, bright and terrifying and so beautiful it stole the breath from your lungs.

Your daughter.

Your beautiful, furious, wailing baby girl, slick and red and alive in the doctor’s arms.

You remember the way her cries filled the room like sunlight after a storm, the tremor in the nurse’s voice when she said, “Here’s your baby girl,” and the way your own voice cracked as you whispered, “Is she okay?”

“She’s perfect,” Sukuna whispered, breathless.

The doctor placed her against your chest and that’s when the blur cleared. That’s when everything became sharp.

Her warmth. Her weight. The way her tiny body trembled against yours as she cried, how her cries calmed the moment your hands cupped her fragile back and your lips met her damp forehead.

You looked up, dazed and crying and stunned beyond words, and there Sukuna was. Still holding your hand. Still there. Still him.

It’s also the first time you ever saw Sukuna cry.

He wasn’t sobbing or even blinking fast, the way some people do when they’re trying to hide it. Just—silent. Still. As if even his own body didn’t know what to do with the feeling crashing through him.

The tears slipped down his cheeks without a sound, without acknowledgment. He didn’t reach for them. Didn’t shake them off. He only leaned in, slowly and reverently, and brushed one thick knuckle along your daughter’s cheek. So gentle it made something deep inside you ache.

She stilled under his touch. A breath. A shudder. A softness you never thought possible in a man like him.

You’ll never forget how he looked at her. Like she was something sacred and divine. A tiny, miraculous tether to something he didn’t believe in until she arrived screaming and alive into his hands.

And then he looked at you.

And that, that, is a memory etched so deeply into your bones it hums through you still. His eyes on yours, wide and wet, unguarded in a way no one else will ever get to see. His brow pressed gently to yours, your newborn daughter nestled safely between you both and then that whisper, barely breathed: “I promise.”

To her. To you. To whatever the hell this strange, beautiful life was turning him into.

Now, months later, the nursery hums with quiet life. Toys in soft pastels. The scent of baby lotion lingering in the air. The white noise machine purring low near the crib. You’re standing at the changing table, tidying the folded onesies and plush blankets, your body tired but your heart full in that peaceful, heavy way that comes with love and exhaustion lived at the same time.

He steps into the room, barefoot and shirtless, with your sleeping daughter cradled against his tattooed chest, her tiny fingers curled in the fabric of the old t-shirt slung over his shoulder like she was always meant to fit there.

You turn as he reaches you.

There’s something in his face tonight. Something soft and cracked open, raw in a way that only you get to see now. You lift your hand and brush a strand of hair from his face. He leans into the touch. Kisses you like a breath. Like a thank you.

And then he looks up, past you. His gaze settles on the wall just above the changing table.

Yuji’s list.

Still proudly framed in its rainbow-painted glory, complete with crooked letters and glitter stickers, mounted like a relic above the wipes and lotions and rows of folded diapers. The doodle of Sukuna holding a baby with absurdly long eyelashes and way too many teeth. The words, uneven and slanted but brimming with earnestness. Sukuna exhales and his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he says.

You press your forehead to his chest, arms circling the strong, steady curve of his back. The warmth of him anchors you. Your daughter’s tiny breaths puff softly between you, her cheek pillowed against her dad’s heart. You close your eyes and listen to the quiet, to the stillness, to the way love can exist in silence and breath and presence alone.

When you finally look up, Sukuna's gaze is still where yours goes next.

You both smile at Yuji’s list, soft and knowing, as your eyes scan the rules again. But it’s rule number five that still gets you every time. The one scribbled in all caps, underlined three times, with a little heart in the corner: Don’t ever stop loving them. Ever ever ever.

Your throat tightens. Sukuna exhales slowly beside you and when he speaks, it’s not quite a whisper, it’s a vow.

“Ever ever ever.”

You turn your face into the side of his neck, smile trembling against his skin, and let yourself believe in it fully. In him. In this. In the list, in the life, in the future.

Because somehow, against all odds, Yuji was right.

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Days of the Week

♡ AN: from the Promptlist

♡ INSPO: this by the lovely @yanderedrabbles

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, drugging, alcohol/poisoning, vomiting/forced/emeto, abuse of power, plotting murder, waterboarding-ish, squirting, implied bottle-fucking

♡ FEM reader

Monday is your strict boss.

He’s always breathing down your neck around the office, checking if you come in on time, laying into you when you’re anything but perfectly on the dot—not even allowing you to get settled into your cubicle before dumping a workload onto your desk on top of the one you already have, coming back with a fresh one right after lunch again.

You know you’re probably just being sensitive, but you feel as though he singles you out. Barking at you to redo things, even after you’d gone through the extra measure of running it by a coworker who’d given you the thumbs up. You don’t know, it sort of feels as if he has it out for you.

Being yelled at is already bad enough, not to mention how he’ll demand you work late to make up for the slack. And yet, that’s not even the worst part! 

No, the absolute worst part is that he’ll insist on staying behind, too—to supervise you. 

It’s utterly nerve-wracking. ‘Cause he isn’t only your boss, he’s also sort of… well… really hot. Always dressed sharply in a tailored pin-striped suit and those sharp-tipped newly-polished shoes—hair slick with a fresh barbershop cut and a chiseled face to match.

He smells good, too. And it all just makes it extra awkward for you. Especially when you stay late together, alone. He’ll remove his tie and jacket, then button up his collar and roll up his sleeves—flexing those burly arms of his and that fat wristwatch that’s worth more than your entire life savings. 

That neat hair of his will start to fall apart as the late hours take their toll, getting disheveled and only sexier for it—and the way he’ll drag his ring-clad fingers through it with a groan, looking at you with such a fierce glare, you actually have to calm your breath and suppress the urge to rub your thighs together.

But although his voice is definitely something you could dream about, you could do without it when he talks down to you, always admonishing you, grumbling about what a poor employee you are, how you only give him more work to do, how he should be compensated for it. 

You’re certain he’s going to fire you soon.

And it turns out soon is even sooner than you’d thought or hoped.

This is it, you think, once he calls you into his office. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to have to find a new job now—without a good recommendation to help you out, no less. Knowing him and how much he despises you, he’ll probably give you a really poor review on top of it all—he might even call around to make sure no one ever hires you again. 

You’re almost about to cry.

“You’re about the worst employee I’ve ever had,” he states, sitting behind his desk with you standing before him, twiddling your fingers while looking sorrowfully down at your heels, hoping he’d have enough mercy to at least make it quick. “But since firing people is fucking impossible nowadays, I’m just gonna haf’to relocate you somewhere else you won’t be damn useless.” 

You look up at that. Tears held back in surprise. 

Wait, so… he’s not firing you?

He sighs, looking through your employee files, making the changes, “And given it’s the only job open right now, starting today, you’ll be my new personal assistant.”

Gathering everything, he brandishes the documents with his signature, then looks up at you while sliding the pen and papers over.

“Think you can handle that?”

Stunned, you only briefly think about how you’re overqualified to be a personal assistant, but at the same time, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care, blinded with relief that you hadn’t been sacked.

You just nod your head all prettily, signing just as quickly while vowing, “I’ll try my best, sir.”

He becomes significantly nicer after that—always praising you for a job well done and giving you pretty gifts on top of your paycheck, which, funny enough, is nearly double what it used to be, all the while telling you how lost he’d be without you there keeping his life together. 

You can’t help but let it all go to your head, completely forgetting that you had bigger plans than being an assistant.

He brings you everywhere he goes now. Out of the building on business meetings, out of the country on business trips. Expensive dinners, fancy hotel rooms, big yachts and galas. You can’t complain—too busy picking your jaw up from the floor—too busy to notice his leer and how he plans to keep you by his side for the rest of his life—too busy to understand that when he stays work late, he doesn’t mean doing paperwork.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Toji, Higuruma, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

Tuesday is your old classmate who just moved in across the hall. 

It’s a funny coincidence, you both agree, as neither of you lives in your hometown anymore—what a small world, huh?

You’ll meet each other in the mornings when you both set out for work and small talk on your way down the stairs, then up the stairs when coming home again. It’s impressive how often it happens.

He’s always asking for the two of you to catch up—always inviting you over for dinner to talk about old times and what you’ve gotten up to since. 

You never know what to say… You don’t feel like the two of you were all that close during school, so you’ve turned him down each time, hoping if you ask him for a rain check enough times, he’ll eventually just forget.

But after coming home, tired after a grueling Monday and an even harder Tuesday, on top of realizing you didn’t have anything stocked up in the fridge, you end up agreeing to his home-cooked meal when he offers in favor of ordering takeout.

He lights up at once, “Great!”

It’s a bit of an overreaction, you think. But hey, he just moved here—maybe he hasn’t made any friends yet. It’s not easy being in a new place—he’s probably dying for some company. 

Shoot, now you feel a little bad for not having agreed earlier. You remember how it had been yourself when all you ever did was go to work every day—not knowing what else to get up to in the city. Maybe you could give him a hand, tell him about a few places—just to help him get on his feet.

“Yeah, just let me shower and change, and I’ll come over,” you say, unlocking your apartment. 

“Sure thing! See you soon!” he cheers, watching you go with a big beaming smile on his face, only turning around to unlock his own place when you’d closed your door.

He’s a little strange, you can’t help but think—or maybe he’s just that eager. Thinking about it, you don’t remember much about him from college. Honestly, he’s one of those faces that just sort of end up blending into the background. He never made any impact in class or at any parties or other gatherings. You don’t know, he was always rather quiet. You don’t remember him having any friends either. 

But whatever, people change, and he seems nice enough—maybe he was just more concerned with his average. Fucks knows you weren’t.

You shower quickly, not bothering to wash your hair or put on anything too nice. It’s only a Tuesday, after all—it should be casual. A bralette, boxers, baggy T-shirt, shorts, and slippers later, and you pop out the door and knock on his.

He’s quick to answer. “Hey! Come in, come in—it’s almost done!”

“Cool, thanks,” you say. “Smells good.”

He ushers you to take a seat at the tiny kitchen table he has. Similar to yours, actually—these apartments aren’t all that big. Still, his place is poorly furnished. But then again, he only moved in a little while ago, so you won’t judge.

He rushes over with dinner shortly. Spaghetti, meatballs, and red sauce. A classic. You’re not complaining. However, you could have done without the candles and moody lighting. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect from a corny date, but you decide to ignore it.

“Wine?” he offers despite it being only Tuesday. 

You know you probably shouldn’t, but the start of the week has been hard, and you honestly wouldn’t mind the good night's sleep that follows a few glasses of red or anything that would make the affair go over a little more smoothly.

“Sure, why not.”

And yet, it’s still a little awkward. You don’t know what to talk about—you just end up droning on about work, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then you remember what you’d thought about earlier and start talking about some of the places and things he should check out now that he lives here. You try asking him about his work and why he decided to move here, but he doesn’t seem very interested in talking about himself.

After finishing, it isn’t long before you feel drowsy. You blame it on the wine at first—starting to think it was time you thank him for the hospitality and excuse yourself. But as soon as you get up, you’re already falling over.

No worries, though. He’s been waiting and ready to catch you for a while.

“It took you some time to agree to come—I was afraid you’d never say yes, but I’m glad you finally did… I was about to take other drastic measures…”

You’re so sleepy it’s suddenly impossible to grasp what he’s saying—as well as have any sort of grasp on the situation while you’re being carried bridal style away from the living room, through a door into a very dark room.

“I bet you don’t remember me that well, huh?” he continues as he lays you down on something soft, something that swallows your body in a way you can’t really decide if it feels nice or not. 

He keeps talking while you try to figure it out, “Hm, that’s fine. I remember you very well.”

You connect one and two associations and come to conclude the thing beneath you is a bed. It ripples and dips with the added weight once your neighbor crawls over you. Your body doesn’t yet recognize being alarmed, but something behind the fuzz that’s taken over your mind still has enough common sense to make you feel as if something’s not right.

“I just had to follow after you, you know?” he keeps rambling, but you’re only barely able to listen. “I just needed some time to save up the money and all, but I was right behind you. And made sure I’d get this apartment right next to yours.”

He looks at your pretty face—all spaced out—stroking your cheek all slow and delicately.

He sighs, “Heh, I know they say that if you love someone, you should let them go—but I just couldn’t find it in me.”

His hand travels further down—eyes following the trail. Down, down, down, until reaching the hem of your shirt.

“I had a crush on you since day one, you know?” he confesses while pulling your tee up over your bra, exposing your pretty chest to him. He licks his lips, breath shuddering, and yet he keeps preaching despite it, “All three years. I wanted to tell you, but you were always surrounded by those pesky friends of yours. It was impossible to catch you alone.”

He feels your skin with a gentle touch as if in reverence. Still, now that you’re getting used to the effects of whatever it is he’s drugged you with, you’re lucid enough to feel the treacherous hard-on he has rubbing against you. 

“Unlike me…” He stills for a moment, and something dark takes over. “I was always alone.”

Beyond uncomfortable, beyond alarmed, you’re fully terrified now. You want to scream, but you can’t find the strength to move, even just a finger. Completely limb, and yet not numb, but sensitive to all his awful touches.

“But that’s all in the past.” He smiles. “Now that I finally have you all to myself.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Tenko ♡ JJK – Yuuta ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

Wednesday is the cheerful clerk who works at your local grocery store. 

You like doing your grocery shopping on Hump day. It only makes sense, after all—you’ve made it through the first half of the week and deserve to spoil yourself a little! 

He’s only just a bit older than you and yet still plays the older and wiser card—all in good fun, though, making a few comments about your lifestyle, jokingly telling you that “Candies are strictly  for the weekend, you know?” A brow quirked while looking at you slyly.

And you’ll return his banter, giggling while saying, “A little fun never killed no one.”

It’s an innocent flirt the two of you share—neither of you really expects anything in return. He’s just a really friendly guy—always coming over to help you in the store. Tall as he is, he reaches the top shelf, barely needing to stretch his arm. Sometimes, he’ll even take a look at your shopping list and help you gather everything, bag your items, and then carry them out to your car as if the two of you are the people around and the store isn’t filled with dozens of other shoppers in bigger need of his assistance.

He mostly only sees you on Wednesday, but he knows your entire life story and your day-to-day schedule the way the two of you end up talking. Usually, people would be wary of sharing things with strangers, but you trust him with so much exactly because he is a stranger—treating him no different from a confidant. No one knows you as intimately as him. He knows all your little habits—from what you eat on a daily basis to what brand of soap you use, even what type of tampons and pads you like. 

He doesn’t appreciate you eating things outside of the groceries the two of you pick together. He fucking hates it, actually—it makes it feel like you’re cheating on him. Every time you eat out, order in, go to a bar or cafe, even a fucking candy store is like a stab to his back and heart all at the same time. It drives him crazy—he might just burn all those places down to the ground. 

But he never lets any of that show when you’re in the store. It’s not your fault after all that there are so many temptations out in the world. You just need a little help saying no.

You don’t have to worry though. After he becomes your boyfriend, he’ll be that help for you. 

Yeah, all you have to do is stay home and he’ll make sure you get what you need. He won’t let you indulge as much as you do now, of course, but he won’t be too strict either, so don’t fret. 

He’ll make sure you get all the right nutrients to lead a long, happy, healthy life—get your body ripe and ready to start a family. 

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Yukimiya, Aiku ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

Thursday is your is your random-ass friend who’ll drop by unannounced. It’s never anything crazy, though—no, just a fun hang-out to get a little headstart on the weekend. He’ll bring a joint or maybe some gummies—he likes to keep you guessing. And the two of you will watch cartoons or shitty reality TV, play a round or a dozen of Mario Cart or the like—giggling over each other’s commentary.

He’s chill, laidback, a fan of both comfortable silences and making good conversation. A really good friend.

Yeah, a really good friend who likes sticking his tongue down your throat when you’re knocked out from all the laced drugs he keeps passing you. 

“God, you’re so clueless,” he moans when bearing over your passed-out body where you lie all comfortably oblivious on the couch. “Just a naive cutie pie who’s gonna get her gullible little pussy used.”

You make him so hard—you have no idea how he licks your face and kisses your eyelids. Drunk of the power he has over you and feeling all but unhinged because of it. 

He feels your limp tongue with his fingers, playing with it while grinding against your thigh. Breaths thick with lust—eyes half-mast, getting overstimulated by all the nasty things he’s going to do to you and how you will never ever find out about any of it.

“You know I fuck you raw every time I come over? That’s right, every single time,” he laughs and shudders in delight, whispering the truth into your ear despite knowing you’re in no state to hear it. 

“Mh, I use this body like my own personal sex doll. There’s not a spot left I haven’t touched.” He tugs down your top and takes both your tits in his hand, squeezing them as if they belong to him because, in his mind, in these special precious moments he shares with you, there’s not a part of you that doesn’t belong to him and there’s not a part of you he can’t do whatever he wishes with.

And so, he sucks and licks your pretty tits too and keeps raving, “You’re all mine, every single part of you—I own it all.”

He pulls up your skirt and strokes your cunt through your panties, sliding his fingertip through the slit as if he’s teasing you even though you’re going to stay just as unresponsive no matter what. But in his mind, he imagines it wants him—that your pussy desperately craves him without you knowing—that it’s a secret the two of them share with each other and that they're somehow in cahoots on keeping you oblivious.

“You’re always so tight and wet—it takes everything in me not to cum inside, but we wouldn’t want you figuring things out and ruining our fun, now would we?” he rambles, finally sliding your panties to the side so that he could slip his digits within, pumping you sweetly while you sleep oh-so-soundly and blissfully unaware, getting you good and ready to take his cock in the next minute.

“Yeah, it’s gonna stay our fun little secret forever.” 

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Karasu, Shido ♡ WB – Togame

Friday is the bartender at your go-to club. 

He’s seen you in every state of drunkenness possible—from tipsy, plastered, sloppily drunk to flat-out shit-faced. You’re a bit of an alcoholic, you know that? Once you start, you can’t seem to stop yourself. If someone puts a drink in front of your face, you dont even think before grabbing it—all laughs and zero critical thinking.

Of course, the way he overserves you, you’re bound to get fucked up.

“Wanna go home…”

He holds your drowsy body against his chest, keeping you upright.

“My shift’s done, and my place is right above here, so you don’t gotta worry,” he says, soothing you as you cling to his side, utterly unable to stand on your own two feet, flinching at the flashing strobe lights and wincing from the blaring party music—feeling as if there’s a seismic eight earthquake raging on inside your poor head.

“Where’ my friends?” your words are so slurred, they’re barely audible. 

But he hears you, chuckling before cooing at you, “Let’s get you someplace comfortable, and then we’ll contact your friends, okay? Sound good?”

You burble a few incoherent sounds before uttering out a weak, “Okay…”

“Alright then, baby, don’t worry, I got you,” he purrs in return, getting a better grip around your body as he leads you out of the club, into the elevator, and up to his flat.

“I feel sick…” you mumble, whimpering.

And he coos, “I know, baby, it’s okay, I’ll help you.”

He leads you to his bathroom, setting you down on your knees in front of the toilet. You don’t think much of it when he lifts up your little party dress and tugs it off over your head—feeling as if he’s just making you comfortable. Yeah, he's just taking care of you.

“Let’s empty that system of trash, yeah?” 

He gets down on his own knees just behind you, cradling you as he gathers your hair back with both hands—gripping it a little too tightly in a single fist before being just as rough, sticking two of his thick digits deep into the back of your throat. 

You immediately gag and throw up. 

And he hums, sounding pleased while praising you, “That’s a good girl—get it all out.” 

He doesn’t pull his digits out despite you struggling, trying to wrench away—no, he just uses his bigger body to keep you pressed and hunched over the toilet bowl while finger-fucking the back of your throat—smiling sadistically while at it.

“Come on now, baby, I know you got more in there. Let it out.”

He keeps you there for half an hour, making you dry gag and spit, mascara streaming down your pretty face as he feels your smaller body convulse under his weight. Fuck, it’s enough to make his cock pre.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting your hair and placing a kiss on your temple, all while you shudder and sniffle. “Let’s get you washed up, hm?” 

He reclaims his harsh grip on your hair, just as tightfisted, using it to make you crawl across the tiles until reaching the tub. He takes his place behind you—trapping you between his legs, thighs, and crotch, keeping you locked against the porcelain edge while he fetches the showerhead and immediately sprays your face with the cold at full force. 

“Open up, baby, let’s wash your mouth out.”

You yelp, whining, but he finds your protesting more amusing. Finding your nose with his other hand, he pinches it shut. Making you gape and gasp for breath through the water stream. 

But he doesn’t leave it at that. No. The shower head is about the same size as your fist and proving to be just small enough to allow him to force it into your mouth—all but waterboarding you.

He has to chuckle at your fussing—you’re so weak he barely has to put in any effort keeping you in place—he nearly busts in his pants feeling it. But the best part is how when he lets go of your nose, the water starts coming up and out your nostrils.

He let’s go before you drown, of course. Snuff isn’t on the menu tonight. He’s been stalking you for far too long—he can’t just waste it with foreplay.

You collapse on the floor, shivering and coughing—head a spinning mess, still wasted, riddled with shock yet stifled by exhaustion to do anything but lie there, trembling against the wet tiles.

“No, no, no, baby, you can't fall asleep yet. The party’s still far from over,” he admonishes, giving your cheek a few small slaps before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you up. “Yeah, come here—I’m far from finished with you...”

He carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on his bed. 

“God, you’re fucking dumb,” he grabs your face, pinching your lips while giving it an ugly kiss. “Did your mommy never tell you not to go home with strangers, huh?”

Leaving you there, he goes off to find your purse.

“Let’s let your friends know you’re home safe, hm.”

You try getting up while he’s gone, crawling around in the bedsheet like a worm, but not managing to get anywhere. 

He watches you and scoffs while typing up a message, hitting send to your most recent group chat. It only takes a minute before all the dumb bitches you call friends send hearts in return, saying how fun tonight was.

They have no idea what they’re missing out on.

He saunters back to you. Enjoying every second of watching you squirm. Thank fuck for alcohol, and god bless dumb party girls.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He grins while grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, baby—you’re staying right here with me where I can have my fun with you.” 

His hands go up and down your soft skin, thinking of all the pretty marks he’s going to leave on you before curling his fingers around your slutty string panties.

The lace is all wet from his earlier actions as he tugs it down your thighs and legs, tossing it over his shoulder before spreading your legs and pulling you even closer. 

“Aw, you got your pussy all clean-shaven for me?” he awes with a smirk, “What a good girl you are.”

He’d planned on having a bit more fun with you before giving in to his urges, but seeing your pretty little cunt so ready to be fucked, he couldn't be asked to wait any longer, needing to fuck you like he’d been wanting to ever since he first spotted you in the club so many TGIFs ago.

“You sure like to party, don’t you?” he rasps while buckling up his belt and zipping himself down, letting his pants drop before grabbing his painfully hard cock. “Always at the club shaking this pretty little ass of yours—just a dumb party animal, huh?” He just knows your little cunt’s going to squeeze him tight like a trap—he isn’t even going to give you a finger test before bullying himself inside.

“Yeah, you like having fun—you havin’ fun now, babe?” he bows down, biting your cheek while putting his head to your entrance, pressing inside despite the resistance. 

He was right—you are fucking tight, taking his cock just the way he thought you would.

“Fucking slut,” he groans as he starts thrusting, hugging your thighs tight. “Begging to get gangbanged out on that fucking dance floor—dancin’ like a fucking stripper for free and for all to see.”

Fuck, how he’s going to ruin you—give you a necklace of hickies all around your throat as he fucks you into a mess, then press a beer bottle inside you once he’s done—keep his cum in you all night long.

“You deserve to be used. And I’m gonna use yah for all you’re worth.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Karasu, Shido, Aiku ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Kaji, Togame

Saturday is a gym-bro. There isn’t a day he doesn’t go. Yep, not even Saturday.

You try to go as often as you can muster. But no, you don’t go every day, especially during the weekend—and that gives him a good reason to come up to when you do—teasing you about how he missed you last time. Acting all smug and cocky when asking you what bad habits you got up to on Friday that made you skip out.

He makes you feel sheepish standing next to him as he all but bullies you for being an itty-bitty weakling. 

He’s not exactly being fair. It’s not as if you’re especially weak compared to everyone else. It’s just that absolutely everyone’s an itty-bitty weakling standing next to him. The guy’s pure muscle and taller than most of the equipment, for crying out loud!

One time, he’d demonstrated his strength by daring you to hang from his bicep. And sure enough, he could lift you like you were nothing. Using you like a dumbbell—which is what he’ll sometimes call you.

You’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. It’s flattering, but honestly, you think guys like him are a bit too much. His leg has the same girth as your thigh, and so does his neck—not to mention how you think he has enough strength in his hand alone to pulverize your skull in one simple squeeze.

Besides, he’s way too full of himself. You get being proud about health and fitness, but holy shit, does he never shut up? He’s always bragging about how much he benches and how many reps he does every day—and on top of everything, he seems to always be watching and studying you, commenting about your form, and mansplaining how you can get better.

He gets on your nerves. 

But then again, the guy does seem to know what he’s talking about. And after several weeks of neither seeing nor feeling much results, you finally decide to let him help you out.

And he does. Taking you through all the motions, from warm-ups to really pushing yourself, and now, the cool-down stretches. 

Though… you can’t exactly say there’s much cooling down involved in the way he has you full-feverish, sweating more than you did during the actual workout. In the locker room, suspended against his swole chest with his arms locked around your thighs, folding you clean in half, fingers locked behind your neck as he bounces you on his thick length. And fuck, even his fucking dick is riddled with muscles and veins—feeling as if he’s fucking you with an arm the way he’s stretching you out and punching your guts to mush.

“You holdin’ out, dumbbell?” he mocks, knowing you’re a mess. “Tap out any time, yeah?” 

Fuck him, you think—as if you can move your arms in this position—as if you can even speak or make any sound except full-on panting like a bitch and drooling like one too.

One more hit, and you’re spraying—and he insists on fucking you just as hard through it. Straight pounding your wet cunt until he’s sure you’re empty before dropping you back down on your own two feet.

But just because you’ve cum like a shower doesn’t mean he’s done. No, far from it, as he rushes you up against the lockers next and continues where he left off. 

The cool metal feels good against your cheek, so good you don’t even mind how he’s pressing you flat and free of air—keeping your neck in a chokehold and your hair in his other fist while fucking into you from behind.

“Trust me, this is way better exercise for someone like you,” he grunts with a grin, feeling you go limp. Your knees shot and your whole body listless, kept up solely by his strength like a puppet on strings.

He rasps out a laugh, “I’ll be your personal trainer, free of charge—just meet me after my reps, and I’ll put you to work and make sure you go home feeling proud.”

Yeah, sure, if you don’t pass out before then.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Kunigami, Shido, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza ♡ WB – Togame

Sunday is the religious guy who always comes and knocks on your door to share his faith. 

You don’t share his views, but you’d invited him in for lemonade and pastries once. 

You don’t know exactly why. You usually just say no thank you and close the door, but that time, well, you’d just finished making cupcakes, and the house smelled like a bakery—it seemed like a waste not to have company.

Sundays were usually so anticlimactic you never really knew what to make of them. But after that, you came to really enjoy spending them baking, always trying out new fun recipes. And before you even knew it, since he always came knocking on your door on Sundays to enlighten you bout God, it quickly became a thing of ritual for you to invite him in.

You’d always thought strictly religious people such as him were more… how do you say… fanatic? Or, at the very least, be somewhat passionate about talking about their God. But he doesn’t seem to be very interested in telling you about that at all. No, he seems much more invested in you and how you’ve been since last time.

Oh well, you think—maybe he’s more accepting of people having different life views and isn’t deadset on changing minds after all. Maybe that was never his agenda—maybe he’s simply a good samaritan going door to door to see if he’s needed or wanted. That is what religion is all about, after all.

Little do you know, though… he’s not really a religious guy at all… 

No, he’s actually a serial killer who’d been hunting for his next victim. 

He thought you were just perfect, exactly his type—pretty and kind and dumb, just like prey should be. Oh, but then, you became a little too perfect, didn’t you? Inviting him in with such big doe eyes, despite living all alone, feeding him cupcakes, and telling him tales about your life as if he isn’t a total stranger. You might as well be begging him to make you his victim.

But he can’t waste perfection. 

And so, instead of abducting you and frolicking in your screams as he cuts you up into a dozen pieces, he abducts you and frolics in your screams as he sucks your pussy into a dozen orgasms.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Tomiyama

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 CHECKED THE RACK ?!

☆ sum. bóob obsessed jjk men who just can keep their hands off of you, their sweet sweet wife. toji, choso, gojo, geto, nanami.

warnings 𝜗𝜚 . fem! reader, wife reader, feral handsy men, bóob fondling, unprotected, cowgirl, dry humping, praise, dirty talk, lactátion fantasizes, brief face-fucking, bréeding mentions, implied multiple rounds, overstim, petnames.

☆ SATORU GOJO.

“god, really missed my girls,” satoru huffs, sucking in a single sharp breath as he buries his face right between your breasts.

you gasp, feeling him lick a single long stripe down the sloping valley of your chest before he roves his tongue to teasingly lap near your perked nipple. he takes a single whiff, and he’s enticed. satoru was always a clingy man. you had his cock stilled inside of your cunt the entire time you laid back against the cushioned mattress. despite it being so early in the morning, he couldn’t help but want more, want you.

pristine white tresses of hair rub up against your chest as he nuzzles further into you. “mhm, seems like they missed me too, mwah,” he kisses your left breast, feeling you cutely writhe. satoru’s still reclined back against the king-sized bed before he shoots you a sleazy grin. “tell me somethin’,” he whispers, and his hands suddenly grab onto your unsteady hips. you moan—feeling him start to leisurely rock you quicker into him. the bulbous curve of his shaft makes your legs merely collapse inward. “you touched yourself today, sweets? while i was work, hm?”

“n- no,” a soft whisper sprints out of your lips as you watch his hands tenderly guide your hips back and forth. you’re drenching his cock with your sweet syrupy sap, clamping down mercilessly within each sloppy thrust. so good, you bit down at the bottom of your lip before your tits start to bounce again. satoru glances straight toward them and he almost moans himself. the way they slap back against your chest. pap pap pap, he feels himself get harder the more he stares at your loud tits hitting against you, his cock sporadically and shamelessly twitching inside of you.

“no?” he repeats, and he noticed how your eyes dart away for a split second as you speak in a hushed voice. as his fat shaft continues to deeply barrel inside of your puffed cunt, he hums, cupping one of your springy soft breasts. “ ‘course ya did, you sent me those soapy pics of you in the bath on my break,” shit. you completely forgot, and you now start to whine as you’re just bouncing on his cock. your head fills up with nothing but clouded empty thoughts—not a single thought in your mind but the longing anticipation of satoru pumping you full of yet another thick load.

ruthlessly, the skin of your own starts to smack back onto your chest over and over as you thoroughly dig the centers of your knees into his thighs. “silly girl,” the white haired man playfully taps against your forehead, giving it a soft dumbing knock. ‘m making that my wallpaper by the way. fuckin’ sexy.”

as you’re whimpering the same repeated cacophonies of his name, you gasp, feeling his palm softly swat against your tits. “fuck, satoru!” you clench down on your jaw and your hips continue to sway. it was a tender delicate spank against your breasts, but he grunts once he feels your pussy squeeze against him the second he does it. you liked it. your body, he knew it—he knew every part of it, and he found it cute how you always responded to his lewd antics. “hngh, ‘m not gonna last, ‘s still sensitive, ‘toru.”

“you’re a kinky ‘lil thing, huh,” he lips curve into sly simper once he hears your cute hiss. you’re growing dumber and dumber the more your ass pounds against him and the brief sting makes him groan. his fat thick base sits right underneath you and you feel how full it is, so swollen. your mouth starts to salivate at the realization of just how deep he’s inside—merrily massaging your gummy clingy walls. satoru loved more than anything to give you a good filling after a long day of work. it was his treat to you, and he couldn’t resist when you were just so sweet. “ooh. like that?” he purrs, and you moan once he then gives your nipples a squeeze with two stubby fingers. fuck, your legs were shaking and he felt it—your body was a ticking time bomb. “yeah, yeah you do. pussy’s a sloppy dead giveaway, angel.”

“sato—ugh,” you moan, and he goes back to sucking on your tits. even whilst buried between your chest, he’s so pretty. satoru’s got the biggest cheekiest grin plastered on his lips as he’s got nothing but your boobs in his mouth. you’re still riding him but once his tongue slurps against your sensitive nipple - it’s over. your brain short circuits and your hands grab onto his hair hard. he’s drooling all down your chest and yet he doesn’t care about being messy. his tongue traces everywhere down your skin until he’s just tenderly sucking at any spot his lips can reach. “fuck, fuck, m- more please.”

“my wife’s got such a pretty body,” he groans, his lips ‘popping’ loudly once he removes your boob from his lips. glossy strands tear away from the slim cracks of his mouth before he rubs a thumb over your throbbing nipple. “y’know what though,” and his voice lowers. you gulp, still having his dick idle inside of your sopping cunt before he leans up close to your ear, pressing a hand down on your tummy. “you’d be an even prettier mommy. think ‘m ready ‘ta see that tummy round ‘n plump again, sweets.”

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURUO

“ah, ah babygirl. hold still, need ‘ta give the twins some extra lovin’ too,” a raspy voice whispers against the back of your ear.

you moan, slumping back against your husband’s chest. he still had his work clothes on and he’s just came back from home. it’s late evening, dusk preparing to set and yet—the first thing he made sure to do was to touch his pretty wife everywhere.

his bare scarred hands softly grab against both of your breasts, making them playfully bounce in his palms. “no bra too? such a good girl.”

“t- toji,” you whimper, almost forgetting that his cock was still buried deep inside of you. hes not even moving, you’re not even moving and yet you feel his thick heavy cock plummet through your goopy insides. he’s always been a clingy man, you knew that, and if it wasn’t your ass toji fushiguro was utterly obsessed with, it was your tits.

you were wearing nothing but a silky ivory colored nightgown. he peeped at how your perky nipples would rub and poke out against the showy soft fabric and he hums in sly amusement.

your hips were slow, painfully slow.

you were barely moving, but his cock was very much keeping your gummy insides occupied. his touch was fiery hot and you collapse back against his chest before feeling his lips kiss down your neck. “fuck, i still have to m- make dinner.”

“no need, hon,” he huskily snickers, and you let off another moan once he gives both of your breasts a firm squeeze. he’s obsessed, the rotund prints of his thumbs couldn’t resist to swipe and swerve all across your sensitive nipples just to feel you squirm and writhe on his cock.

oh, you could never stay still and it was his favorite thing about you. you cutely shiver from his touch, leaning into his grasp before hearing your own cunt squelch.

it’s screaming out a pretty sloshing ‘pop’ sound that echoes through the thin peeling dry walls and a wry smile compresses against toji’s lips. “already got my dinner right fuckin’ here,” and you moan once one of his hands creep down toward the curvature of your ass, giving it a soft spank. “ah, never said you could stop ridin’ me, pretty mama. work those hips more f’me. chop chop.”

“ngh, toji i’m gonna cu— oh!” you shriek, and as your jerking hips start to pick up again, slamming meaner and quicker against his lap, you gush right out. you end up cumming far earlier than you anticipated, all thanks to his rude blushing tip repeatedly kissing and mashing up against your most sweetest spots. you’ve never felt more dumb. you’re at a lost for words, stupidly dumbfounded. you’re moaning out inaudible whimpers as you hear your slick mess slosh down right between your pried open thighs. toji grunts, feeling your honeyed mess spray and cream all down his twitching lengthy shaft. his cock’s still plugged into your greedy pussy as your legs now grow limp. toji’s got his hands glued back on your tits and he playfully gives them a few bounces. “f- fuck.”

“did ya just cum from me playin’ with yer tits, baby?” he coos, a wolffish grin spreading against his lips.

so hot, your legs continue to spasm before squeezing shut, keeping his dick inside. you could barely even swallow without moaning out little whimpers of his name as your tongue’s just casually lolled out of your mouth.

“aw,” he tsks, giving your nipples that poke through your blouse a kittenish pinch. you’re weakly grinding against his lap whilst he’s whispering sweet nothings to you from behind. you’ve never felt more sensitive—and ripples surge all through your body as you ride out your orgasm, hearing toji’s breath get more rasp against the shell of your ear. “there there babygirl, ‘s okay. relax,” he whispers in a gruff tone as one of his hands slide down your body. you twitch from his callused fingers slithering down your chest. “such a messy cutie, should play with y’er tits more often if ya get like this, heh.”

☆ NANAMI KENTO.

“thought about you today at work,” nanami purrs, a husky baritone smoothing underneath his tone. your drooling wet pussy was so so closed to milking him yet again, and he’s just in awe at how you ride him good—bouncing on his fat cock with droopy half-open eyes. he’s exhausted, he’s been up and about his feet all day everyday, same old same old nine to five job but he was missing you. and now that he had you, he was clingy. nanami kento was clingy, so clingy to the point where you had to pry his hands off. he’s got you riding him in his creaking wooden rocking chair whilst he’s got a flustered grin curling against his slick glossed lips. “thought about you ‘n these pretty girls too.”

right as he said that though, he’s got two big hands squeezing against your tits, cupping them each in such a delicate manner. you gasp, continuing to rock back and forth against his halfway pulled down silk slacks before you moan. “fuck, ‘ken,” and his touch was so tender. his fingertips trace everywhere—every crevice and corner of your body. you still had your bra clasped on and he can’t help but openly gawk.

your wobbly hips continue to swivel all around him as your ass rigorously throws itself on his lap, smack smack smacking away. it feels sharp, your unpredictable movements that were once in sync with his grew more and more unsteady and it makes the aging rocking chair behave more and more rickety. it’s pathetically crying from the pounds of hefty weight crushing against it. “mhm,” you mewl through gritted teeth and your hands softly grab onto his wide wrists. a thumb of yours ghosts against the band of his rolex and he shoots you a needy grin. “kento, you never answered my question.”

“hm? oh,” there’s a playful glint in his eye, and you moan again once his head goes right between your springy tits. he’s showering every exposed area with a multitude of wet chaste kisses, making sure your skin knows who’s making it feel good - him. “oh, my day was fine sweetheart,” and a drawing hot breath gets stuck in the back of your throat, feeling his sly tongue slowly and playfully lap down the valley of your breasts. “mhm, so fine,” and his voice drops lower and lower. your hips start to slow down with seconds and he’s just toying with you. nanami’s hands now slither further down to toward your quavery hips. “my day’s even better now that i’m spendin’ it with my pretty wifey.”

and you let off a sweetened three second moan once he starts to latch his glistening lips against your swollen neglected nipples. shaggy blond strands of hair tickle against the upper part of your chest as he starts to suck, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to roam. “ah, i remember when milk used to come from here, my love,” he grunts, shifting between each tit — he’s tender, making sure to take his time whilst his hardened cock’s still hidden inside of your puffy cunt. nanami’s cupping each hand over your breasts before his gentle fawn eyes meet yours. the tip of his tongue swirls around your achy nipple before he groans right into your chest. “thinkin’ about that makes me wanna put another baby in you, sweetheart. f- fuck, all swollen ‘n plump. you’d like that?”

“y- yes,” you moan, and your hips start to frantically pick up again. the angered plump crownhead of nanami’s cock extends through each pivotal thrust and you feel it. the curving hook of his cock repeatedly thrashes up inside of you and you’ve never felt more full. he’s just so deep, you bite back a moan or two before your breathing starts to catch up with you. he’s tapping against a spongy texture and it makes your thighs squeeze together in sudden rapture. “want another baby, please. give me another..another baby,” your words start to chop as your hips become sloppy. your pussy’s got his entire cock slobbering down from the veiny sides with your sap and he grunts at the sloshing slickness.

“give you?” nanami softly rasps, and he raises a blond eyebrow at your needy demand. “oh, baby. that’s not how we ask. c’mon, be a big girl ‘n ask me the right way, sweet thing,” and he grazes a thumb over your pouting lip, kissing it gingerly. “talk to me nice, my love.”

as his cock roughly punctuates inside of you within each exaggerated thrust, you toss your arms over him, whimpering loudly. “please, please can i have another baby, ‘ken. breed me, make me full. want it so bad, want you.” and he leans in to kiss you. it’s passionate, his lips dance against yours whilst his tongue slides into your mouth, demanding access. you moan, feeling his solid weight continue to anchor into yours. slamming, he’s got your hips working to the bone and it makes him groan. nanami’s hand go back toward your tits and he gives them a nice good feel, smiling against your lips once he feels the full doughy mounds bounce and jolt in his hand.

“better be a g-good girl ‘n take it then,” he huffs, stammering over his own words. nanami leans in, going back to sucking against your tits. they slap and move move all against his face due to your rocky hips and a faint grin tugs on both sides of his lips. your hips grind further into him at full speed—full throttle and you moan once one of his hands gives your ass a squeeze which turns into a quick spank. “mhm, that’s it. ride me, honey. milk me, got so much ‘ta give you,” and your skin melts into him the faster you move. skin against skin and it smacks rough, ricocheting against both pounds of flesh and you whimper at the brief twinges of pleasure. each smack against flesh makes your ears ring and it’s only seconds before he’s cumming.

it’s a lot, a thick load of velvety ropes that deeply pours into your aching cunt. it’s so much to where it’s unapologetically dribbling down your thighs in creamy stringy clumps. it can’t fit inside of your cunt—he groans at the realization, cupping your right tit before going back to sucking against it whilst staring you straight in the eyes. “fuck, i- i need a minute,” and he’s gradually feeling his body succumb to defeat as his burly muscles tense underneath his business attire. with your tit still popped in his mouth, nanami shoots you a wry pussy drunk smile before lathering his tongue around your tender nipple. after a few seconds, he takes it out of his mouth before falling back. his and clench underneath his business shirt and he playfully smacks your ass, another hand dramatically fanning himself. “whew.”

☆ CHOSO KAMO.

“a- are you sure?” choso mumbles with a pout, and he’s panting heavily at the sight that’s right before him. you’re on your knees for him whilst your two hands cup under both of your tits. doing so—you show off your pretty nails he paid for about a week ago. you make direct eye contact with his leaking cock. his tip was a pearly pink, swollen with tears of pre-cum spewing from the sides. he’s got a hand wrapped around his length before he exhales. “i just—put it in between..?”

“mhm,” you softly coo, occasionally glancing at the black curly specks of hair that glue near his base. his happy trail, you stare at it for a while, watching his chiseled abs achingly flex before you puff out your bottom lip. “c’mon, baby. nice ‘n slow. ‘s okay. just pretend you’re fuckin’ me.”

an elongated breath gets caught in his throat at your lewd words. just pretend he’s fucking you. choso’s sable dark pupils dilate as he gives his throbbing cock a few single pumps. he’s slow, a thumb of his swipes against a pulsating vein that’s prodding on his skin before he slowly positions his dick between your plump tits. “f- fuck,” he murmurs, watching as two of your hands squeeze your breasts together. so soft, he watches you with cute widened eyes as his achy cock rests in between both of your mounds. choso’s so hard too, it’s almost painful at how much he’s throbbing but it feels too good to shy away. “baby, can you use your mouth too?”

“yeah, ‘cho,” you hum sweetly, and he hears the tease in your tone. it was probably a dumb question and he already felt a hot wave of embarrassment spray over his body. his breath continues to hitch as he sees you—gradually starting to bounce your breasts up and down with his twitching shaft caught between the slick valley. your dewy glossed eyes never leave his, and every few seconds you’d grab his shaft, using a hand to pull it up to your lips for a quick suck. choso whimpers, desperately craving for more. he’s never did such an activity like this before. a boob job, apparently humans call it that. he’s not a stranger when it comes to intimacy but this, he could get used to having his cock between your pretty tender tits. “mhm,” you purse your lips, briefly wrapping them around his sweltering hot tip. he’s close, you could tell he wasn’t gonna last long and the bouncing of his thigh gave it away.

“ugh, w- when you use your tongue, i—” he cuts off, a keen gasp ripping out from his vocal chords. you drag his leaky pulsating tip to smear around your nipples before popping it right back into your mouth. choso takes a mental image of this entire scenario, storing it in the back of his mind. but he just couldn’t take it anymore. “fuck it.”

you let off a sheepish giggle before it’s your turn to gasp once choso’s hand suddenly grabs the back of your head. you look up at him and he moans, pushing your head all the way down until his tip greets against the roof of your mouth. the edges of your nails pierce into his thighs as you’re now being face fucked, ruthlessly.

your head bobbles up and down continuously as your tits bounce in sync and you’re slobbering all down his cock. lustrous cobwebs of saliva start to string away from your lips and it’s so pretty. he’s trying to luxuriate in the feeling of your warm mouth keeping his cock warm.

so so good, he’s rolling his eyes in pleasure but that’s when you then feel his dick twitch inside your mouth and on your flat tongue once he spots you starting to drool. oh, and that was all it took for him to grow weak. glimmering sheeny strands of saliva cascade past your lips and further down the crack of your chest. it brings a brighter shine to your breasts and he’s never felt more turned on. “fuck, y- you’re so fuckin’ hot, baby,” he babbles, black arched brows contorting together in awe. choso’s tugging at your roots - pulling hard. you’re getting his entire dick wet with the help of your mouth—slurping inch after inch until his mushroom tip’s continuously kissing against the back of your throat. “ohfuckohfuckohfuck.”

as he’s blabbering out the same repeated cries, your eyes briefly widen once he’s shooting gooey ribbons of cum right into your mouth. the bittersweet taste never fails to make you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. choso’s dick resumes to weakly pump down your throat as his milky hot cum sprays on the center of your pink tongue. twirling your tongue around his tip whilst your hands still play with your pretty breasts, you meet his gaze once he’s shaking—releasing his rough grip against the back of your head. “shit, was i too mean? ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry baby-”

and his voice slowly trails off once you pull his cock out of your mouth, hearing the loud ‘pop’ sound from your lips before you lick the side of your mouth. “i’m okay, ‘cho,” you coo, feeling yourself throb a bit at choso being rough for a change—it was just the image of him shoving you down his cock, watching you play with your tits, gripping hard on your strands all while whining. “you liked that, baby?”

“a lot, actually,” he grows sheepish. but even after the fact, choso can’t help but smear his achy tip against your swollen lips, before softly smacking it against it against your rolled out tongue. you looked a mess - his mess. strands of saliva land on his tip once he brings it toward your lips, watching you give it s quick kiss. but as he glances at your twitching cum-glossed lips, he desperately to kiss you and snatch a taste for himself but he knew he had to wait. choso starts to pant, wrapping all five fingers around his veiny length before stuffing it back between your tits. “one more,” and he lets off a soft moan once you spit on his cock, slimy transclucent drool glissading down the valley of your chest and onto his rosy tip. “you’re so n- nasty, heh. do that again, princess.”

☆ SUGURU GETO

“stay still,” he whispers, and you glance down at geto who’s resting his chin right between your breasts.

they’re all bare and exposed, his favorite view. he’s missed you all day and he couldn’t wait to pounce on his pretty wife. “my, look at these. jus’ waiting for me,” and he cups both of them, giving them bother tender kisses. fat silky covers go over the both of you and just seconds ago, geto was pounding into you raw until your pussy was literally overflowing with velvety ropes of cum. “untouched, i presume?”

“y- yes, sugu,” you breathe, feeling a bit tender from his delicate touch. he grunts, shifting a bit under the plump covers. his cock rests flat against the dull grey sheets before he starts to rut against your leg. a hand of yours finds its way to run through his strands, digging near his tender scalp. “didn’t touch myself all day. waited for you.”

a small hum leaves from him before he brings his crooked lips up toward your right breast. groaning, geto leand in to suck against it—he’s feral, sloppy rutting hips slowly grind against your thigh that’s propped up underneath him as his tongue flicks up and around your nipple. “ah, sugu,” your eyes squeeze shut for a moment as your fingers intertwine with his thin raven locks. his eyes were closed and he was so into it, his tongue circles around your nipple before he slurps—popping sounds shrieking out from his slim reddened lips. “fuck, don’t stop. . please,” and your words only made him grunt more. he didn’t even realize he was humping all up against your leg but he didn’t care.

this place—buried right between your tits, absolute heaven to him. .

he’s so sloppy too, he’s got strands of slippery saliva dripping past his perfect parted lips as he’s snaking his head down the crack of your chest. “oops,” he whispers, dark hooded eyes observing the mess he’s creating. your breasts were all swollen, the centers of your mounds were so shiny all because of his saliva. your nipples were poorly tender and glistening with drool. “sorry, sweetie. couldn’t help myself. had ‘ta get a taste of my favorite girls,” and his words get a bit muffled once he stuffs his face back in between your tits. you giggle but it quickly turns into a sultry long moan once he starts to greedily suck against the other neglected breast. “mhm,” and he groans loudly, the tip of his cock brushing up against your thigh. geto’s wearing sweats but even still, you could feel it. his dick rubbing off against the grey fabric, ticking all against your leg. he’s brick hard and with your tits stuffed in his mouth, it only made him ten times worse.

“fuh— fuck,” he snarls, and his half on boxers continue to snag against your skin. geto’s brows come together before he ends up cumming - it’s so abrupt, his eyes roll back and you can almost hear a whimper leave from his throat. “goddamn,” he huffs, and as his chest heaves in and out, he stares up at you with the most feral expression. his mouth’s open and no words come out anymore for a while—just breathy hot pants and faint whimpers. geto couldn’t have felt anymore embarrassed. damp grey splotches soak and create a patch near the center of his boxers as his hips grow substantially weak. geto’s shuddering, and you pull him close as his head’s buried between your tits. “you drive me c- crazy, y’know,” he moans, and he’s still feeling the sharp after effects. his cock was now soft and flaccid, bulging inside of his cerulean blue boxers that hide underneath his sweats before he pouts on your chest. “got me h- humpin’ your leg ‘n moaning for you, fuck.”

“it’s okay, suguru,” you whisper, silvery fingers still kneading through his hair. his face softens at your reassurance. his eyes meet toward your lips before you give his forehead a kiss. “good boy.”

“s- shut up,” he scoffs, both sides of his cheeks angrily flushing the second those two horrid words slither out of your lips. the audacity, geto’s still laid on top of you as if he’s practically glued against your body. he’s so hot against your skin that both pounds of flesh practically melt against each other. but, geto can’t help but pout more against your chest as he looks up at you, his pride’s nowhere to be found as he’s now happily nuzzling his face into your tits. “say it again, sweetheart,” and he sounds annoyed but he’s actually pleading for more—not only did you make him insanely sensitive but you also made suguru geto whimper. “tch. call me that again. see what happens. f- fuck.”