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hurlingdown · 8 months ago

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‎ ★ ❛ HOT DEMON B!TCHES NEAR U ! ! ! ❜

synopsis. getting two sex-addicted hot demon bitches as your roommates wasn't exactly part of the contract, but they might just be the second best part of it. oh. and the best part? they are utterly, uncontrollably obsessed with you. wc. 5.3k

tags. top master! reader, bottom succubi! gojo & geto. reader has a cock. hardcore dom/sub. mean dom! reader, masochistic! gojo. threesome, womb tattoos, breeding kink, creampie(s), rimming, face-sitting, rough anal sex, multiple orgasms, riding, blowjob, male squirting, spanking, dacryphilia, somnophilia (slight dub-con), slut-shaming, degradation, praise kink, voyeurism, jealousy, felching, yandere! gojo undertones, aphrodisiacs, both of them are whiny, needy and hungry for your cock.

a/n. this might just be the filthiest thing i've ever written. do enjoy <3

In hindsight, you really, really should have known that your two roommates were promiscuous, sex-obsessed freaks before moving in with them. No, scratch that. You should have long known that they weren’t even entirely. . . human.

Not that they were exactly being subtle with it. Once, you had walked in on Satoru naked in the middle of ‘certain peculiar activities’ with his door half-open, wings, tail and dark pink womb tattoo on full display, stretching across the expanse of his lower abdomen in obscene heart-shaped swirls. You were taken aback at first, sure, but you weren’t mean with it, even offering to keep his identity a secret—and he had taken your politeness for something more.

Now, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. In point of fact, he flaunted it.

Satoru would curl his tail around your thigh playfully whenever he would walk past you in the house, stretching his horned fuchsia wings while shooting you a sultry over-the-shoulder glance whenever you were behind him, even purposefully wearing shirts a size too small around you so that the fabric would ride above his waist whenever he had to ‘stretch’ or reach for something—perfectly showing off his pretty womb tattoo.

It drove you insane with desire. And if that wasn’t bad enough for you, Satoru’s best friend, who also happened to be a succubus and your other roommate—Suguru, decided that the white-haired succubus accidentally outing himself was his cue to start courting you.

You didn’t even know that succubi courted. You supposed there was always a first for everything.

Suguru was far from being openly vulgar like Satoru was, but just as indicative of his wants. And that happened to be you. With long black hair, dark wings and a sharp, swift tail of the same colour, he was eerily gorgeous. He took his sweet time courting you, laying blooming red peonies all over your bed that worked as aphrodisiacs, spending his weekends making you wine-flavoured chocolates in the shape of hearts, hoping to get you drunk and all to himself. You would also constantly find missing pieces of clothing from the underwear section of your wardrobe, the distinctive mouth-watering scent of an aroused succubus left behind in their stead.

Satoru and Suguru were beautiful in a way that most things were—poisonous and addictive. You had told yourself that you wouldn’t get swayed by their honeyed façade and fall into their trap. You had told yourself, but. . .

The last thing you expected to wake up to was a wet, searing mouth on your hard cock.

You groaned, shuddering as mind-numbing pleasure wracked through your body in overwhelming waves, reaching out blindly to hold onto something before it consumed you—fingers digging into the sheets so hard you heard it rip. You couldn’t explain why or how it felt so good, the pleasure almost other-worldly—the sensation of an incredibly soft tongue licking up your length, dragging a trail of heat and drool on sensitive skin. The air smelt sweet, like roses and cherries, the sharp sting of arousal zipping up your spine as you took a deep whiff.

“D-does it feel good, master?” a voice panted, whined, “am I doing good for you?”

You looked down to find two teary, dilated blue eyes staring up at you, and two you knew very well. “Satoru,” you managed, fighting down a shiver as his hot breaths smothered your shaft with unbearable warmth. Everything felt fuzzy and smelt too sweet, like someone had sprayed intoxicating perfume in your bedroom a thousand times over. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He gripped your cock tighter with a pout, like he was worried that you would take away his favourite toy. “I just… I just thought I could make you f-feel better. Some de-stressing after a hard day, y’know?” He sighed, rubbing his cheek against your spit-soaked length, raised tail quivering behind him, shyly curling forward to show off the heart-shaped end of it.

You couldn’t help but look. Satoru was dressed in a satin white shrug shirt that fully exposed his plump chest while allowing his wings to stretch out prettily, and you followed the tempting curves of his toned torso down to where his womb tattoo was pulsing and glowing red, as though showing off that he was eager to be bred. He was wearing the sluttiest, tiniest pair of lingerie underwear that barely covered his ass, the cute bulge of his cock visible from the front, his weeping cockhead poking out, strapped to his stomach. His outfit gave you the perfect glimpse of his soft milky thighs, before the rest was obscured by cream lace stockings that hugged his legs perfectly, leaving you wanting more.

Sweet Lord. If this wasn’t heaven, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what heaven would be like.

The succubus trembled under your scrutinizing, squeezing his thighs together as though he wanted to hide the evidence of his arousal. “A-are you done looking?” he mumbled, glancing at you through his lashes. “Can I continue? Please, I’ve been so good and you know it.” You could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate even more when his gaze returned to your erect cock, a line of drool running down his chin as his throat bobbed, as though he were imagining what it would feel like to swallow your cum.

“Hold on,” you breathed, carding your hand through his soft hair to gently stop him from getting closer to your crotch. “Does Suguru know about this?”

Satoru’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, his pout fading into something more. . . wary. “No,” he said, quietly. “He doesn’t.”

“I’d thought so. Suguru wouldn’t—”

“Stop talking about Suguru,” he whined, like he was actually hurt over this. “Suguru’s not about to suck your cock.”

You frowned. And what gave him the right to sneak into your room and do blasphemous things to your body while you were sleeping, then? You tightened your grip on his hair, just enough to make him let out a low, pitiful whimper. “And you’re going to be the one to do it, then, Satoru?”

His eyes widened like a guilty child.

“I’m impressed,” you scorned, “You actually think you deserve it.”

Satoru bit his lip, as though he was turned on by your sudden change in behaviour. “I… Master, please. I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been asking for it for ages, I just couldn’t wait anymore—I needed you so bad. Please let me make it up to you. Please, please,” he stammered, hands grasping your knees and thighs in almost desperation while looking up at you with a forlorn expression.

You looked at him, steering your expression into something like a leer.

“You want to make it up to me? Is that so?” You pretended to think, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp, and he moaned softly, leaning into your touch. “Fine. Get on the bed.”

The succubus clambered onto the bed clumsily, settling on all fours as he looked at you over his shoulder with a deep flush, tail quivering with arousal. “L-like this?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you muttered, hands coming to rest on each of his asscheeks, kneading the flesh softly. Satoru whined, back pressing into an arch as he pushed his rump towards you, eager to please. “So, tell me, Satoru. I’m curious. What makes. . . a good slut?”

“S-someone who listens to orders,” he replied, obediently.

“That’s correct.” You whistled, hooking two fingers over the waistband of his underwear, slowly sliding it down to his knees until you completely exposed his leaking cock and hole, the latter clenching and dripping with… slick, like a pussy would. You went back to playing with his ass, ignoring it for the time being. “And does a good slut ever talk back to their master?”

“No,” he whimpered.

“What about,” you began, stroking his sensitive inner thighs, “taking what they want without permission?”

“No,” he repeated, biting back a whine as a slow sense of dread filled him. “That’s what… that’s what n-naughty sluts do.” The words sounded strangely obscene in his mouth, and he flushed, ears turning red.

“Very good,” you praised. “Last question, Satoru. You’ve answered every question perfectly so far—this one will be easy.” You flashed him a vicious smile, taking great pleasure in his ordeal. “Do you think naughty sluts deserve to be punished?”

The succubus shivered in both fear and anticipation, swallowing harshly. “Y-yes,” he whispered. “They do.”

Satoru didn’t even have time to beg for mercy because your hand fell hard on his ass, the force of it sending a loud smack echoing across the room, making him jerk forward with a pleasured cry.

The pain was electric, and so was the pleasure, a white-hot burn curling in his lower stomach as his cock gave a violent lurch—Satoru doesn’t think he has ever felt pleasure this good before in all his years of being a sex demon. You were a hard hitter too. The skin on his ass stung pleasantly, and he moaned out loud at the thought of you slapping his ass again and again until your handprint was burnt into his flesh, wanting more already.

“You really are a slut,” you whispered, almost in awe.

“Please,” he whined. He would take anything you were going to give him—praise or punishment. He was yours.

You gently massaged the bruised area on his ass, leaning down to give it a tender kiss. “Turn around for me, baby.” You opted for a softer tone, trying to coax him into letting you see his face after the harsh treatment. You couldn’t believe you ever thought that he was the danger here. Things were turning out in the most perfect way, you would believe it was a dream if not for how solid Satoru felt under your touch.

Satoru parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue—but quickly remembered your words. The pain was good, incredibly good, but it was also fleeting. If this was his first and last chance with you, then he would make the pleasure last.

He flipped over on his back, removing his underwear and quietly spreading his shaky legs for you. His cock gave a weak twitch as your gaze swept across his body with interest, letting a low whine.

“Good boy, Satoru,” you muttered, eyes zeroing in on the heart-shaped swirls of his pulsing womb tattoo. Admittedly, you had looked it up on the internet and found out all sorts of things about succubi, terms that ranged from ‘breeding’ and ‘fertility’ to ‘cum-addiction’, and you couldn’t wait to experiment them on him. “Gonna open you up now.”

You rubbed your fingers against his soft and wet entrance, slathering them in his slick, before starting to push two in, just to be mean. The succubus was already panting, mindlessly arching his back and pushing against your fingers. “Hah… Master… please, more…”

“More what? Tell me what you want, Satoru.”

Satoru let out a lewd cry as you rubbed at his sensitive walls, hips jerking. “P-Please!” he squeaked. “Want your cum… inside my womb.”

You could feel a sadistic smile pulling at your lips. So this was his true objective. To be bred like a cockslut—no, an animal. An animal bound by divine instruction to reproduce again and again and again, brainlessly offering up its holes to be filled with semen until its belly swells with the early stages of pregnancy. Perhaps the rumours about succubi on the internet were true, after all.

You weren’t going to give him what he wanted so easily, though. You weren’t that nice—he hasn’t earned it yet.

“Greedy,” you settled for a simple comment, leer morphing into something more innocent. You made sure to crook your fingers at a certain angle while pumping them in and out of his drooling hole, searching for the spot that made his toes curl and back arch, a filthy wail forcing his lips to part. “You sure you can handle that, baby?”

“Y-yeah,” Satoru moaned, “Breed me… please. Wanna carry master’s children.”

His womb tattoo glowed brighter, scorching hot underneath your touch. Satoru looked fucked out already and the night was still young, lidded eyes unfocused and glassy while he continued to grind down against your fingers, as though searching for something wider, thicker, deeper.

“Slut,” you snarled, and the word was barely fitting for how the succubus was acting. You pulled your fingers out, the emptiness making him ache. He gave a loud whine, his hips giving a desperate buck into the empty air, neglected cock red and hard, smearing pre-cum all over his womb tattoo.

“‘m your good slut,” he babbled, slurred for how drunk and stupid he sounded. You were sure anyone standing outside your bedroom would hear him with how loud he was being.

His mouth felt empty, you decided. A little too empty. You hooked a thumb into the stretchy side of his mouth before rubbing your fingers on his bottom lip, and he gave a soft keen, parting his lips for you to slide them inside, before lightly sucking on them—tasting his own juices.

“If you keep this up,” you warned, “Suguru will hear. You don’t want him hearing me making you scream, do you, Satoru? Or are you more of a pervert than I thought?”

“No,” he said, muffled by your fingers stuffing his mouth full, tears dribbling down his cheeks.

“Good sluts don’t talk with their mouth full,” you reminded him, gently brushing away his tears.

He shook his head quickly, whining. Satoru didn’t like to share, and you knew that. You were his bond, his human. You didn’t need another succubus. Right?

You bit down a smile at his blatant jealousy, pretending not to notice the presence right outside your room, the rustle of fabric unmistakable—barely covered by Satoru’s loud whimpers. It was a little too early to reveal it, with how both of them were enjoying themselves. You would indulge them a little longer.

You coated your fingers with his spit generously before pulling them out, a string of drool connecting the two, before reaching down and unceremoniously plugging them back into his needy hole. Satoru yelped, trying to snap his thighs shut at the sudden intrusion, and you took the opportunity to guide them to wrap around your waist. He flushed, stammering out an apology, but you wouldn’t miss this chance to tease him.

“Look at you, Satoru.” You continued to scissor him, occasionally pulling out to slather your cock with his sweet-smelling slick. “I haven’t even put it in yet, and here you are, drooling like we’ve been at it all night. Messy cockslut.”

“Your cockslut,” he whimpered, and it sharpened into a keen when you slowly drove forward to dip the head of your cock in his hole. It clenched around you greedily, and it felt incredible even with only the tip in, soft and wet and hungry, warmth oozing into you, making you burn with desire. What was even more incredible was the fact that Satoru was crying, tears spilling over red, flushed cheeks as he struggled to stay still for you, wanting to please, wanting forgiveness. “Hnngh… master…”

He was right. Satoru was your cockslut.

You leaned down to caress his wet cheek, the action only causing your cock to nudge deeper inside, the warm tightness nearly sending you into overdrive—making you moan. You had never been inside a hole this heavenly before. The snug stretch around your girth was insane, and if that wasn’t enough, his hole kept on fluttering and clenching around you, making delicious sensations bleed into you.

So the myths were true, after all—succubi were demons crafted for the sake of providing pleasure.

Your vision was growing hazy with lust, the heat in your belly growing. The pleasure was almost too much—but you held on. You would drain him before he drained you.

Grabbing him by the thick of his hips, you buried yourself to the hilt in one go, and Satoru let out a wrecked cry, fingers bunching up the sheets at the sudden stimulation. His womb tattoo sizzled and pulsed obscenely, and you reached down to gently press your palm against it, making him whimper loudly.

You didn’t know if you would be able to hold it in for much longer—with how the poor thing was squirming on your cock, sweet slick coating your cock with every thrust in and drive out, the carnal smell of it all making your appetite grow tenfold, making you want to strip him of all dignity and devour.

“Satoru,” you murmured, thrusting forward, and he answered with a keening wail of your name. “It seems like… we have a rather eager spectator. Should we invite him inside?”

“Wh-what…” Satoru said dumbly, whines interrupting his words as his eyes struggled to focus. “Spectator…?”

“Yeah.” You grinned as he realised who you were talking about, stiffening and shaking his head with a cry. He wanted to have you all to himself for a little longer… you haven’t even cum inside him yet. This wasn’t fair. “Let’s see if he’s just as much of a cock-hungry slut as you are, mm?”

You turned your head to the door. “Suguru. Come in.”

The door hesitantly creaked open, and Suguru stepped inside. Immediately, the sweetness of aroused succubi intensified in the room, a clash between Satoru’s sugary scent and Suguru’s honeyed one making you dizzy with want.

“Master,” Suguru swallowed, a red flush on his cheeks. He was dressed in a revealing dark purple night-robe, a ravishing complement to the long, black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. He looked at the two of you calmly, but you didn’t fail to notice the shine between his thighs, giving away how bothered he really was. “How long have you known?”

“Quite a while. Get on the bed and prepare yourself,” you ordered, turning back to the other succubus who was currently grinding himself senseless on your cock, little whines and pleas plucked out with each desperate roll of his hips. “I’ll deal with you after I’m done with Satoru.”

Suguru listened obediently, laying down on the bed on his back, night robe gracefully falling open to reveal his purple womb tattoo, already throbbing and glowing with heat and need. He reached down between his parted thighs, rubbing and pleasuring his hole while watching the two of you, soaking the mattress with how much slick he was producing.

You turned back to Satoru, the sight of his red, crying face sending a jolt of heat straight into your abdomen. “What?” You grinned, gripping his waist and starting to thrust into his tight heat again. “I did warn you.”

“S-so mean,” he sobbed, arching his back at the pleasure. He was whimpering again, warm walls hugging your length firmly every time you drove in, and you could tell he was getting close again, had been close before you had so cruelly stopped to indulge someone else. Satoru turned his head to look at the other succubus, their simultaneous pants and whines serving to make each other even more aroused, Satoru’s slick drenching your cock while Suguru’s messily dribbled all over his hand, obscene squelching noises like heavenly music to your ears.

“Gonna cum,” you announced, and both of them answered you with needy, high-pitched whines, Suguru fingering himself to your thrusts while Satoru laid there, moaning and sobbing, reduced to nothing but a pliable body made to take and take and take.

The latter blinked up at you with glossy eyes, tears dotting on his lashes and crying out lewdly while you continued to pound into him like a rabid animal. Satoru loved it, how rough and careless you were treating him, your gentle hands telling a different story as they caressed his face, the contrast of pain and pleasure making him shiver. No one had been able to satisfy him like this before. You were perfect for him.

“Please… your cum…” he pleaded, laying a hand on his pulsating womb tattoo, begging for you to fulfil his only purpose in life—to be filled and bred like the dumb slut he was. “I w-want it inside…”

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, his warm hole sucking you deeper in with every flutter, every clench, showering you in waves of stimulation to the point where it teetered between pleasure and pain. Just when stars began to float across your vision in hazy swirls, a sign that you were close to orgasm, you pulled out hastily, ignoring Satoru’s desperate, keening sob, yanking Suguru towards you by the hips before roughly plunging your cock into his needy hole.

The startled moan that you pulled out from the other succubus was enough to drive you to the peak of your arousal, and you thrust a few more times before spilling into warm wetness with a loud, guttural groan.

When you came to be, there were two kinds of noises rebounding in the room—Satoru’s cries and Suguru’s whines.

“Master!” Satoru sobbed, bucking his hips into empty air as tears messily dripped down his face.

“M-master,” Suguru whimpered, drooling and panting, stuffed so full of cum and cock he could barely speak.

You moaned as you drew out from Suguru’s heat, watching as cum dribbled out from his puffy hole and onto the soaked mattress—and he let out a soft, needy whine, plugging two fingers inside himself to stop anything more from leaking out, as though to replace the fullness that he had felt before. You watched as he lay there shivering weakly, glowing womb tattoo tainted with streaks of white, and you realised that he had come just from you releasing inside him.

You swallowed, feeling your cock fill out again. Suguru really was a good slut. Perfect, even.

“Master…!” Satoru cried out again, gaze lingering on you and Suguru with an expression that could only be described as heartbroken, and you would feel sorry for him, if not for you catching sight of the softening cock resting against his heaving abdomen. The perverted thing had orgasmed from watching you cum inside someone else. If that wasn’t a sight.

“I never promised you anything, Satoru.” You looked down at the mess you had created, smiling innocently. “Plus, Suguru’s a far better slut than you are, don’t you think? After all, he waited patiently for his turn to be bred, unlike you.” You slumped down onto the bed with a heavy sigh, turning to Suguru and patting your lap. “Sit on my cock, baby.”

Suguru rubbed at his eyes, compliantly trudging over and straddling your waist, the length of your cock rubbing lewdly between his cheeks. He bit his lip, raising his hips until the tip of it nudged against his sore hole, the growing stretch more pleasurable than anything. Your cum turned out to be the perfect lubricant, and the intrusion was met with little resistance, allowing him to slowly sink down with a hungry whine.

“F-feels so goood,” he slurred, his eyes rolling back as you bottomed out, making the both of you moan. He mindlessly rubbed at his stomach, right above his womb, where you had gifted him a baby.

“See?” You looked at Satoru lazily, the poor thing watching in a mixture of arousal and frustration. “Suguru’s been so good for me. What have you done?”

Satoru wanted to cry again at your demeaning tone. This was too much. You were being so mean to him, when he was trying his best to atone for his wrongdoings! He didn’t deserve this treatment, not one bit. If Suguru gets a baby, then he should get one, too.

“I’m s-sorry,” he snivelled weakly. “Please, master… I promise I won’t ever misbehave again. I’ll be a good slut… I’ll do anything you want.”

You smiled. “Anything I want?”

He nodded, desperate.

“Sit on my face and I’ll think about it.”

Satoru wanted to protest, yank Suguru off your cock and ride it himself until you spurted heavy into his womb, showing you that he could please you just as much as the other succubus did, maybe even more. You were his, and naturally, your pleasure belonged to him as well. Suguru might be his best friend, but that didn’t mean Satoru liked to share his toys with him. But. . . if this was his last shot at gaining your forgiveness, then he would do whatever it takes to please you, even if it meant suppressing his needs for the time being.

He scrambled over to where you were lying, carefully placing one knee on each side of your face, trembling with effort as he slowly lowered himself onto your face. He let out a soft, whiny keen as his position pressed his hole directly against your parted lips, and he struggled not to rut against your face—holding himself back from chasing after the addictive pleasure.

You gently lifted him by the hips to breathe, before pressing a light kiss to the twitching hole. Licking around Satoru’s swollen rim in an attempt to loosen him up, you rolled your hips up into the welcoming warmth of the other succubus, jolting out an erotic moan.

“You can start riding me, Suguru,” you muttered, closing your eyes and letting out a drawn-out moan as he gave a filthy clench around your length at the mention of his name. “Don’t hold back.”

“Yes, master,” Suguru whined, rolling his hips against yours in smooth, circular motions, and you could feel the slick leaking out from his hole, smothering your length with the abundance of it, sweet and sleek and thick. The succubus rode you like he was made to do it, his cock slapping against his womb tattoo messily with every bounce, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure—letting out a stream of whimpers and pleas while his hole fluttered around you tirelessly, trying to get you to cum inside him a second time.

You returned to your task at hand—giving a broad lick over Satoru’s dripping hole to gather some of his slick on your tongue, making him sob out a whine. It was sweet and intoxicating, addictive flavour melting in your mouth like sugar, and you couldn’t get enough—shoving your entire tongue into him before eating him out in earnest.

And sweet lord, did he taste good. He was squeezing around you deliciously, releasing so much slick that it dripped all over your chin and down the column of your throat, making a mess. It drove you crazy. Before you knew it, you were making animalistic noises against his swollen entrance as you made love to it with your tongue, the vibrations making him croon with pleasure. And by now, you were sure that succubi slick had aphrodisiac effects, because with every mouthful that you swallowed, you found it harder and harder to control yourself, wanting to just give in to your arousal and take.

“Please,” Satoru was sobbing loudly, feeling wet and loose and dirty, thighs trembling with little restraint as you lifted him up and down your tongue with ease, reaching so deep one would think you were trying to plunder his soul. “Gonna… gonna cum already…”

“M-me too,” Suguru chimed in with a moan, hips growing wearier with every lift, his impending orgasm making him weak, the fullness of cock giving him the illusion of heaviness, and he held his belly as though he were pregnant already.

You continued to pleasure the both of them the best you could, tongue curling inside Satoru with precision to press against his sweet spot until he was shaking and whimpering with overstimulation—while rolling your hips up to meet Suguru’s, feeling him needily clench around you every time you rammed up just right.

You could feel yourself getting closer as well, the noises that your two obscene lovers were making serving to turn you on even more. Combined with the sinful pressure of Satoru’s sopping hole clenching around your tongue and the searing tightness of Suguru jumping on your cock, this was practically heaven.

Reaching over to grip Suguru’s hips, you thrust up repeatedly into his tight warmth, leaving the other to ride your tongue on his own. You groaned your pleasure into Satoru’s hole, and the succubus answered with a keening cry of “Master!”, grinding down against your face with wild abandon. Both of their womb tattoos were glowing brighter than ever, screaming at you to breed them, take them, devour them—and you did just that.

You rammed your hips up with a muffled shout, gripping Suguru’s waist so tightly you were sure it would leave dark bruises for days to come—unloading everything into his womb for the second time tonight—your seed, your love, your legacy. Suguru cried out loudly at the feeling of your cum filling him up, shuddering as his cock squirted all over the three of you—his stomach, your chest, Satoru’s back—while Satoru clenched around your tongue so tightly as his orgasm crashed over him like a hurricane, cumming all over your face and the mattress with a hoarse scream.

You gasped for breath the moment Satoru slid off your face and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily, black spots swirling heavily in your vision—the aftermath of the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. Succubi—no, your succubi really were something.

Suguru was too tired to even protest as your softening cock slid out from his sheath, dragging out a trail of slick and cum. Yawning, he shifted to lay on the bed on his stomach, mumbling “Thank you, master,” before his eyes drooped shut in exhaustion. You watched him fondly, reaching out to card a hand through his silky hair, before a soft, almost petulant whine caught your attention.

Satoru was glaring at the other succubus with jealousy. Sure, he had gotten a mind-blowing orgasm out of it, but he wanted you filling him up until he felt bloated with your cum, wanted to be bred.

You let out an amused laugh. “You want my cum that bad?”

He nodded his head frantically.

“Well, then…” You turned to where Suguru had fallen asleep, cum trickling out of his asshole and sliding down his perineum steadily. You guess it would be somewhat of a waste to just leave him be. “Since Suguru took your share for the night. . . there you go. Have a taste.”

Satoru’s face was slightly pale when you turned back to look at him, a sick grin stretching at your lips. He didn’t question you, however, quietly crawling over until he was kneeling between Suguru’s legs. His heart was pounding, your words earlier that night replaying in his head again and again like mantra—a good slut listens to orders.

Making eye contact with you, he poked his tongue out, slowly leaning down before giving the excess cum a tentative lick. . . and swallowed.

You were sure those were hearts exploding in his eyes.

kinktober masterlist! masterlist!

13K notes · View notes

sincerelyneo · 5 months ago

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i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to fuck you | l.mk

“you are the girl that i’ve been dreaming of”

📀now playing: i’m not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you by black kids

❯ summary: Asking your best friend to take your virginity because you have a crush on someone else and want experience is totally normal, right? Mark doesn’t think so. If he’s taking your virginity, it’s not for practice—it’s for him. He’s nobody’s wingman—especially not when it comes to you.

❯ pairings: mark x virgin fem!reader

❯ genre: smut, friends to lovers

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, corruption kink, loss of virginity, nipple play, fingering, hand jobs, praising, body worship, protected sex, back scratching, brief possessiveness, pet names, reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, love confessions, just fluffy smut because it’s what i do best lol.

Mark swears he’s a good listener. Considering he’s been friends with Zhong Chenle for years, the world’s most dedicated yapper, he doesn’t really have a choice. He has to be a good listener. But Mark almost does a double take when he hears the words ‘my virginity’ and ‘you’ come out of your mouth.

His best friend. With the biggest, prettiest, most innocent eyes and sweet little mouth that could barely stammer through conversations about flirting—asking him about sex. No. Not just asking. Wanting him.

After nearly choking on his own spit, Mark tries to regain his composure—but fails miserably. Especially when your cheeks flush, and you start chewing on your bottom lip. It’s a crime. No, worse. It’s sin in human form. You’re sin in human form. Looking this cute, blushing like a maniac, like you didn’t just drop that question on him.

“You want me to take your virginity, Y/N?”

You cringe the second he repeats your question back to you. It sounded a lot better in your head—practical, reasonable, totally fine. But now, with his brows furrowed and that ‘are you insane?’ look on his face, you’re starting to think maybe you are insane.

But when you came up with this plan last night, none of that crossed your mind. All you knew was that Mark never says no to you. Ever. Not when you asked him to be your first kiss in middle school. Not when you made him take you to your first frat party. Not even when you guilt-tripped him into helping with your dissertation.

"Look, forget it—" you say, pushing to your feet, desperate to escape your shared living room that suddenly feels way too hot under Mark’s stare. "I totally crossed a line by asking. I’m sure I can find someone on Tinder—"

"No."

You blink. "No?"

Mark wants to curse himself for the hasty reply, but who could blame him? There’s just no way he’s letting you swipe right on some douche bag looking for a quick fuck—some guy who’ll take you to a lousy bar, probably make you pay for your own drinks, and then expect to take your virginity like it’s nothing.

It’s ridiculous. It’s not happening.

Not when you just handed him the opportunity on a silver platter.

“What I meant to say was,” Mark rubs the back of his neck, “Don’t you want to lose your virginity to someone you trust—someone you love?”

You nod without hesitation. “That’s why I asked you. There’s not a single man I trust more than you. And I love you—platonically, yeah, but it’s still love.”

Platonic.

If Mark could rip that word out of the dictionary, set it on fire, and launch the ashes into space, he would. Anything to stop you from thinking whatever he feels towards you is platonic. Was it platonic when he kissed you when you were eleven? No. Was it platonic when he drove ten miles just for your favourite snack on your birthday? No. Was it platonic when he worked on your final thesis at the same time as his own? No.

And if he’s going to be the first one to have you, it sure as hell won’t be platonic. That’s for damn sure.

His eyes squeeze shut as he sits forward, clammy hands rubbing up and down his jeans. "Okay, so you want me, your best friend, to take your virginity? Why?"

You chew your lip. This was the part of the scenario that kept you up at night—explaining why. How the hell are you supposed to tell someone you want them to take your virginity just so you can be ready for someone else? There’s no handbook, no online forum, for this kind of thing.

So you settle for:

“It’s stupid. A dumb reason. Don’t even worry about it. Will you do it or not?”

Mark gives you a knowing look, exactly like you knew he would. He’s one of those perspective fuckers, especially when it comes to you. Normally, you love it. Right now, not so much.

“Y/N,” he draws out your name, “What happened to me being one of the most trusted men you know? Tell me.”

You suck in a breath, trying to steady yourself. After all, it’s just Mark. Sweet, kind, nonjudgmental, Mark.

“I have a crush on my co-worker, Xiaojun,” you blurt out. Mark just blinks, completely still, like he’s trying to process. You, on the other hand, keep rambling. “And there’s rumours that he’s amazing in bed, and he asked me out for drinks this Friday, and I just feel really…unprepared.”

Mark feels his blood pressure spike—because fuck your co-worker, fuck those rumours and fuck that little date your planning to gone on this Friday night. Look, he’s not a prude or anything. Mark knows people fuck on a first date—but not you. At least not you with some asshole making you think you need to be prepared for him.

"If that asshole makes you feel less than just because you're a virgin, Y/N, he’s not worth your time."

You narrow your eyes. "I don’t think your opinion holds any weight here, considering you don’t think any guy is worth my time."

Mark relaxes slightly and smiles at that—because it’s true. No man deserves to talk to you, touch you, kiss you—no one but him.

“Besides,” you perk up again, trying to sound more confident. “This isn’t about what Xiaojun or any other guy thinks. This is about me… being comfortable having sex with someone that isn’t myself.” You chew your lower lip. “I want to be comfortable having sex with other men.”

Mark almost growls, a caveman-like urge pounding in his chest at the thought of you wanting to be comfortable with other men. He’s changed his mind. He’d take the word platonic any day over hearing other men leave your mouth.

“Let me get this straight—you want me to teach you how to fuck, to please other men?”

Your cheeks flush, not just because the idea sounds so ridiculous when he puts it like that, but because it’s the first time you've ever heard him talk like that. Mark is always so careful, so delicate with you, keeping his foul mouth and sex life locked away. But hearing the phrase "how to fuck" leave his mouth in that deep, husky drawl, sends a pulse right through you, straight to your clit.

You chew your lip again, hesitating. “I don’t know… I just wanna be good... at it… at sex.”

Mark’s head tilts back as he stares at the ceiling, a string of mumbled curses slipping out before his Adam’s apple starts bobbing against his throat. He pauses to think—and so do you. You can’t figure out why he’s interrogating you like this. The proposition is a lot, yes, but if you’d crossed a line and made him uncomfortable, he could’ve just said so, you wouldn’t have taken it personally. There’s no reason for him to poke and prod like this.

Just as you're about to squash this whole thing, Mark speaks again. He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, his brows furrowed like he's still deep in thought, but his eyes, dark and blown wide, pin you in place.

"I'll teach you, Y/N," he says, standing up slowly. "I'll fuck you if that's what you want and if that’s what you're asking me for," he continues, moving closer until he's right in your personal space. "But I won't fuck you just to get you ready for someone else."

"Mark—"

"No, Y/N, I’m talking," he cuts you off, his long, tantalizing finger tracing from your cheek down to your neck before he whispers, "I don’t mind teaching you how to be good at sex with me, angel, but I’m sure as fuck not teaching you how to be good at it for someone else. If I finally get to fuck you, I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me."

Your mouth parts in a soft gasp, just from his words and that innocent touch alone. Mark’s eyes track the movement, and his irises darken with something you can’t quite name—want, lust, need... you don’t know. All you know is that it’s fucking hot, and it almost makes you miss what he just said.

"Finally?" you breathe out.

The corner of Mark's mouth twitches into a smile, and a low, silky laugh slips from him. "Don't pretend like you don't know I want you." His finger slides to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re too fucking smart to be playing dumb with me, Y/N. You know you could have me on my knees if you just asked. I’d do anything if you just asked.”

You always knew you had Mark wrapped around your little finger, but you never realized it was because he wanted you the same way you’ve wanted him. Yes, you’d only asked him to help you with this plan because you know he struggles to say no to you; but a small, twisted part of you wanted Mark to be the one to take your virginity. Because he’s him—hot, lean, experienced, sweet, loyal Mark. Your Mark.

It’s all too much. His breath is too warm on your skin, his words too heated, his proximity too hot—he’s too hot. You whimper, and you watch as his pupils soften in response.

“Y/N,” he says softly now. “I need you to use your words to tell me what you want. If you don’t want to do this anymore—because, to me, it’s more than just practice—that’s fine. But if we do... this, us, it becomes real.”

Your mind goes fuzzy. Words? He thinks you have words after just confessing that this—that you—are something he wants? Almost like he senses your hesitation, he nuzzles deeper into your neck, his lips feather-light, dusting over your skin in a way that sets your nerves alight. It’s erotic, it’s intimate, it’s so damn sexy.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His voice is soft, breath scorching against your skin, thumb grazing over your collarbone like he’s memorizing you. “I’ve imagined you—craved you—for years. If you want me to take your virginity, I’ll do it. Happily. But I’ll be your first and your last—not Xiaojun.”

The mention of your coworker feels irrelevant now—a distant, meaningless fantasy compared to this. The stupid office daydream you’d clung to seems laughable because the man you thought only saw you as a friend is standing right here, offering himself to you. Completely. Utterly asking to be yours. And who are you to deny him?

“I want this—”

Mark doesn’t waste another second, doesn’t let you finish your sentence—because he’s wasted too much damn time already. Too much time waiting, hoping, aching to hear you want him. Not just need him for something, but actually want him. Crave him. Desire him.

He has to kiss you. Now.

It starts slow, soft, and sweet. Both your mouths take their time exploring one another as his hand tenderly cups your face, holding you to him. But in no time at all, the heat builds, kisses stretching longer, deeper, until it’s not enough for him. Not nearly enough for you. A hum of approval slips from you the moment his tongue grazes yours, and he takes it as permission, sweeping in and taking control.

“I have fucking dreamed about this,” he pants against your lips. “About kissing you. About touching you. Tell me to stop if it’s too much, Y/N.”

Stop? He’s out of his damn mind if he thinks you want to stop. You shake your head against his lips, legs winding around his, and he takes the hint without hesitation. His hands find your waist, lifting you with ease until you’re resting around his hips. His eyes are fully dark now, black, and locked onto you. They never waver as he carries you both to his bedroom.

Mark lays you down carefully, like you’d break if he was any rougher, but his gaze tells a different story—intense, burning, desperate. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and he just stares, eyes roaming every inch of you like he’s savouring the moment before he ruins you completely.

You’ve never been this intimate with a man before. Sure, you’re no stranger to your own fingers, to vibrators, and okay—maybe you don’t mind the occasional steamy make out session at a party. But this? In his room, under his stare, is different. You’re not even naked yet, and somehow, you already feel so bare, so exposed.

“I want to take my time with you, Y/N,” Mark murmurs, as he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. He gently pushes you back so you’re lying flat, his body hovering over yours. “I want to savour every inch of this pretty little body of yours... and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, nodding at the same time, and Mark smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips.

His hands slide up your legs, gliding over the fabric of your sweatpants, until they reach the hem. His eyes search yours, silently asking for confirmation, and you nod, breath catching in your throat. He tugs at your pants, so slow, so deliberate, and when they finally slip off, he lets out a low, groggy "fuck" at the sight of the pink lacy panties you’d chosen for this—for him.

You suddenly feel self-conscious, heat creeping up your chest.

"Knew I'd say yes, huh?" Mark coos, his hand tracing the band of your panties as he looks over your body, studying it because it's the first time he’s seeing you like this. Displayed for him.

You blush, squirming beneath him, overwhelmed by how new, how unfamiliar this all feels. Mark senses your discomfort and smiles softly.

"Don’t go shy on me now, pretty girl," he murmurs, "I’m losing my shit knowing you wore this with me."

His hands graze over your hip bone, fingers brushing gently, soothing as they explore the small hint of flesh you're revealing to him. The softness of his touch, of him, makes you ease up just a little.

“I wore the matching bra too,” you say on an exhaled breath.

Mark groans, his eyes closing as he takes in a slow, intentional breath of his own, nostrils flaring slightly. “Did you? Can I see, baby? Please?”

You nod, and those exploring hands of his glide up your stomach, fingers brush over your skin as he tugs the tight fabric of your tank top over your head. When it falls away, you're left in nothing but the matching set. The pink bralette, almost see-through, giving him a clear, vivid view of your pebbled nipples.

"So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he says, his voice strained, almost painfully. "Can you take it off for me?"

You smile, teasing, as your hands find the clasp at the back. "After I went through all this effort to put it on for you?"

He shakes his head with a small scoff of laughter, the sound easing your nerves a bit. That familiar banter, the playful back-and-forth, reminds you why you asked him—why you wanted him to do this in the first place. You trust him.

“Is this the part where I learn that you’re a fucking brat?” he mutters, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“I can be, if you want me to be.”

Something flashes in his eyes—dark, predatory—and he leans in closer, his tone dropping an octave. “Take the bra off. Now, Y/N.”

And you do, the flimsy fabric slipping from your breasts and meeting the same fate as your sweats and tank. You feel so exposed, which is ridiculous considering how little modesty the bralette was offering in the first place. Still, your hands instinctively cross over your chest.

"Hey, don’t," Mark murmurs, his hand gently reaching up to move yours, his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles around your wrist to reassure you. "You don’t ever have to be embarrassed with me, Y/N. If you want to stop—”

"No," you interrupt. "I mean, please... I want this... I want you, Mark. I’m just nervous."

His eyes soften at your words, and he licks his lips. "Can I touch you?"

You nod, and his hands steadily, gently travel up and down your stomach, hovering around your sternum before they rest beneath your breasts. You suck in a breath as his touch lingers. "Can I touch you here?" he asks, and again, you nod.

Mark’s hands gently cup your chest, the softness and weight of your tits filling his palms. The pad of his thumb teases over one of your nipples (pretty peaked nipples that are practically begging for his mouth) in a steady rhythm that has you arching into him. He continues, flicking over the sensitive bud until he elicits the reaction he wants: quiet, breathless whimpers and tiny darling moans from your mouth.

“You’re so damn perfect, Y/N,” he mutters, his eyes glued to your body as he tests his touches, watching in awe as your eyes flutter, roll, or widen. “So damn perfect for me.”

You moan, and his head dips to the valley between your breasts, his tongue flicking out to trail a slow, heated path up your skin. His mouth, warm and wet, captures your pebbled nipple, sucking and licking with a hunger that makes your body shiver. It’s then that you remember why Mark is perfect for this—he’s experienced.

“Pretty fucking tits,” he groans, “I’ll fuck these one day. Promise.”

He focuses entirely on your nipples, squeezing your breasts, and you swear you're already on the verge of coming undone for him, writhing beneath him. Terrified it’ll end too soon, your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him away from your chest to capture his lips in a desperate kiss.

His chest hovers over you, so close to you, but still hidden beneath layers of fabric. His jeans, too tight, too impeding. You want to feel him—skin to skin. It’s not fair. You’re lying here in nothing but your underwear, exposed and vulnerable, while he’s still fully dressed—his clothes a frustrating barrier that keeps you from feeling him the way you need to. You can’t stand it anymore.

Your fingers dig into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, desperate to rip it off and close the damn distance. "Mark," you breathe. "Take it off. Please."

“You want it off, huh?” He teases.

You’re beyond patience now, body aching for him. “Yes. I do.”

Mark’s eyes darken at the desperation in your voice. He sits up slightly, pulling away from you just enough to shed his shirt, the fabric tugging over his head and revealing the toned muscles of his chest. You can’t help but watch, your eyes glued to the way his hands move, but he’s taking his damn time. Frustrated, you reach for his belt, but he stops you, his hand brushing yours as he undoes it himself. The sound of it unbuckling makes your breath hitch.

Finally, his jeans slip down, revealing the taut curve of his thighs before he kicks them aside, leaving him in nothing but his black boxers. His bulge is prominent, straining against the tight material, and you swear you can’t take it any longer.

But before you can pounce, before you can touch him and feel him the way you want to, he’s hovering back over you, his body pinning you down, forcing your back flat against the bed.

“So eager, pretty girl,” he muses with a teasing smirk. “But you asked me to teach you, didn’t you? I’m in charge.”

He’s so controlled, so assertive, it sends a flood of need coursing through your body. His hands are back on you, gliding over your now fully exposed body. Well, not entirely exposed—his fingers toy at the edge of your panties, tracing, testing, taunting, as if waiting for your permission. And you’d give him it immediately, only he wants to ride this out, prolong it.

His fingers move to dip just beneath the fabric, but then he stops.

“I know you said you wanted to be good at this, Y/N,” he hums. “But I want to be good for you. Tell me what you like. Tell me how to touch this pretty pussy.”

Heat floods your cheeks and pools between your legs. From the way Mark smiles, and the fact that he’s cupping you through your underwear, you know he can feel it too.

“I-um—”

“I already told you to stop being shy with me, Y/N,” he says. “Don’t think I overlooked that comment about you getting yourself off. You wanna learn, so do I. Let me be a good boy for you.”

Your eyes lock onto his, and you can see the seriousness. He wants to know what makes you tick, what works for you, what gets you off—wants to be the one to do it. His breath hitches as he studies you, chest contracting with focus.

“I-I start with my clit,” you instruct, and his fingers follow suit, finally dipping under the fabric he’s been teasing for the last ten minutes right to the spot. You want to feel embarrassed telling him all the dirty ways you play with yourself, but you can’t. He won’t let you feel that way, because, like you said, he’s him—sweet, loyal Mark.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re dripping for me,” he groans, voice thick with need. “Aching for me, aren’t you, baby?” You nod pathetically. “Then tell me, what do you do to your clit? Teach me.”

“I like small circles,” you whisper, your breath shaky.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice low as he carefully follows your instructions. It’s almost too careful. Too slow. You need more—so much more.

“Faster, Mark.”

His fingers speed up, the circles on your clit growing faster, the pressure he applies intensifies with each stroke. You moan, squirming beneath him, your hips shifting in desperate need for more—more of him.

"Can I try a finger, baby?" he asks, and you nod, wanting everything he has to give right now.

Mark shifts his gaze from your face down to where his hands are stuffed inside your panties. He watches as he trails his index finger up and down your slit slowly until it’s circling around your entrance before finally easing it inside. You gasp, feeling the initial stretch, and his eyes lock back onto yours, waiting for the sting to fade and the lust to take its place again. Once it does, he begins to move, his finger sliding in and out, in and out, faster and faster until your breaths come heavier.

“Mark,” you gasp on a moan, a thrill coursing through you as he picks up the pace.

Mark adds his thumb back to your clit, the combination of his fingers easing in and out of your drenched pussy and the attention to your sensitive nerves send waves of pleasure crashing over you. Because cumming has never felt like this—so close, so quick, so desperately needed. Mark must sense your closeness too because his lips quirk, devilish and taunting.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?” he asks, but it’s clearly not a question. The cocky bastard knows you are. “Or should I say finger? Think you could handle two?”

Your mind is incoherent from the pleasure, the foreign stretch of his fingers. Any thoughts you have dissolve into a haze of need, only capable of a frantic nodding at him because you want more, need more, need to cum. He eases in his middle finger, both digits slowing down as you adjust to him. Then, the world around you blurs; all that matters is the rhythm of his fingers and the growing knot forming in your stomach as his pace picks up. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel the waves of your orgasms building, until it finally, deliciously, crashes over you.

Your vision blurs, and sounds you didn't even know you could make slip from your lips. All you can hear is Mark's incoherent, muffled praise—telling you how pretty, how perfect, how good you are for him.

When you come down from your high, he’s watching you intently, his hand running through your hair as you refocus back on him with hazy eyes. You’ve never experienced an orgasm like that, and as you notice the strained bulge in his pants, a surge of eagerness wells up in you. You want to return the favour, to please him, to learn how to be good the way you asked him to twach you.

You reach for his boxers, fingers trembling as you strip them off, revealing the thick hard length of him. Your breath catches at the sight of his cock, angry and needy and desperate. Mark looks down at you with his own haze-induced eyes.

“Please, Y/N.”

The heat radiating from him ignites a fire within you. You take a moment to admire the way he looks at you—hungry, eager. With a newfound confidence, you lean closer, your lips brushing against his skin, ready to give him the pleasure he’s so generously given you. You press soft, delicate kisses to his abdomen, watching as his stomach flexes in response.

You know you probably should suck his cock right now; that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Almost as if he can sense your hesitation, Mark’s fingers clamp around your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to, not yet, not ever if you don’t want to,” he says softly. “But you can touch it. Touch me, Y/N, please.”

That feels more like your speed, so you wrap a firm hand around his cock, giving it a slow, steady long tug. Mark's head rolls back from where he sits on the bed. Your hands tremble with nerves, this is all so new to you, and you desperately want to please him. But before you can overthink it, Mark’s words soothe your insecurities.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “Just like that... so fucking good, Y/N.”

He's like a fucking mind reader, because that one comment, that small ounce of reassurance, has you stroking him faster. Your hand moves in a messy rhythm, feeling the weight of his cock in your palm.

As you continue to stroke him, you start to experiment with different techniques, trying out gentler touches and firmer grips. Mark's reactions are your guide, and you watch as his face contorts in pleasure, his eyes screwing shut as he lets out low groans. He sounds so sexy, you like it, you want more of him like this.

You feel a sense of power, knowing that you're the one bringing him to the edge. Your strokes become more insistent, your hand moving faster as Mark's breathing quickens. You can feel his cock throbbing in your hand, the veins standing out as he gets closer. Mark's body tenses, his muscles straining and that’s when suddenly, his eyes snap open.

“You gotta stop, Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and husky as he pulls your hands off his length. For a moment, you almost feel scorned, but then he adds, “I want to last until I’m at least inside of you...”

You both laugh, Mark's eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckles, and you feel a flutter in your chest. He gently lies you back on his bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it underneath your hips. As he fumbles with his nightstand, he rips open a condom and slides it along his cock. You can't help but watch, mesmerized by the sight. It’s oddly sexy. Your body responds instinctively, your hips arching upwards as if seeking him out.

As Mark positions himself between your legs, his head dips down to kiss you. It’s sweet, like the first time, and you think you could get used to them—you want to get used to them. The feeling of his lips on yours, on your cheek, the top of your head.

When your lips finally break apart, he holds eye contact with you, aligning himself with your pussy. He teases you, brushing against your folds, occasionally grazing your clit—his eyes watching your reaction, a smirk on his lips. Sensitive, he notes. And he has to note because there will be a time for more, a time where he’ll make you work for it. But today isn’t that day. Today is about you and him—together.

“Tap my arm if it’s too much. If you want to stop—”

“Mark,” it’s your turn to be stern now. “Please, just fuck me.”

He smirks, liking this side of you—the impatience, the newfound dirty mouth of yours. Something else to note for next time, he thinks.

Rubbing himself up and down your slit for a final time, Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance, hips shifting forward to slowly push into you. His nostrils flare, and his teeth clench because he has to be careful, he has to be in control. He cannot—he will not—hurt you any more than he has to.

So, slowly. Torturously slowly. Mark eases into you, inch by tantalizing inch, until his tip coaxes past the small ring of resistance. You’re so tight—so impossibly tight—that he almost regrets letting you jerk him off before hand, because he’s already teetering on the edge of cumming from merely the first few inches. He’s waited far too long for this moment; the last thing he wants is to blow his load before he’s even begun to move.

He shifts his focus from his own pleasure to your face, keenly observing for any signs of discomfort. When he catches the slight scrunch of your nose, he leans down to kiss you, wanting to distract you from the sting of you stretching around his cock for the first time.

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl. You were made for me.”

He feels your body relax into the mattress at the praise and your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer. It’s a silent invitation, a clear signal that you’re okay with more—that you need more.

His hips finally press flush against yours, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him, all of him. Your fingers dust up and down his spine as you get used to this, how full you feel, how complete.

“Move, Mark,” you whisper barely above a whisper. “Please.”

And he does. He rolls his hips, pulling out of you completely before sinking back in, slow and sensual. You moan—right into his ear, because he’s buried in your neck—and he nearly loses the last thread of control he’s holding onto. Mark quickens his pace, keeping his body flush against yours—like he needs to be as close as possible. Needs to consume you the same way you’ve consumed him for years.

“Yes, Mark,” you cry, your nails raking down his back, scratching, digging, marking into his skin.

“Fuck, Y/N. You feel so good. You have no idea how fucking perfect you are.”

He reaches for your hand, prying it from his back to lace his fingers with yours, pinning them to the mattress. It’s gentle, it’s sweet—it’s so Mark. He fucks you slowly, his hands holding yours as he kisses you. Intimate, tender, and so fucking hot.

You tighten around him, and the squeeze makes something flicker in Mark’s eyes—something determined, something feral.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper between ragged breaths.

“Fuck, yes—please,” he groans. “Cum around my cock, pretty girl. I need it. I want it.”

Hearing him just as desperate, just as needy as you, sends you over the edge. Your lip trembles, your lashes flutter, and then—your second orgasm takes over you, ripping a scream of his name from your throat.

It’s the prettiest thing Mark’s ever seen, ever heard—the best thing he’s ever felt. And he swears this moment will be etched into his memory until the day he dies. He holds you close to his chest as you ride your high, feeling every desperate breath you take, swallowing every moan with wet open mouth kisses. And when he senses you’ve finally come down, he chases his own orgasm—greedy for it, for you.

He becomes ravenous for his own release, his hips pistoning faster, harder, as he drives deeper into you. His breaths come in ragged gasps, his chest contracting as his fingertips anchor your hips in place. With every thrust his cock throbs with an almost unbearable intensity until he lets out a low, guttural groan, his body shuddering with pleasure.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispers your name, over and over again, like a mantra and he spills inside of the condom.

The room fills with a silence, punctuated only by the sound of your mingled breaths as he comes down. Your hands are still entwined, hearts still racing, and you both can’t do anything but look at each other. Eventually, Mark leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away. He eases out of you, removes the condom, and tosses it into the nearby trash can.

You watch him as he moves, and when he turns back to you—his gaze a mix of awe and satisfaction—you can’t help but smile.

“You know when I said I loved you platonically?” you ask, and his brows knit together. He looks like he’s about to have a full-blown panic attack, so you quickly put him at ease. “I lied. I actually just love you.”

Relief washes over his face before it melts into a smile. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Good. Because, I love you too. Always have.”

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