heeluvv

your hand moves from your robe to your stomach, pressing against the plane of your belly. you're small. you know this. delicate in a way that makes people underestimate you. and blind. gods, the blindness. the one thing that has sent every single suitor running in the opposite direction.

princes would see your face first—the one they called ethereal, otherworldly, beautiful in a way that seemed impossible—and they'd fall to their knees.

they'd whisper sweet words, promises of devotion, declarations of love at first sight. and then you'd speak, and they'd realize your eyes didn't track their movements, didn't meet their gaze. and slowly, painfully, you'd listen to them pull away. hear the hesitation creep into their voices. feel the distance grow until they were gone.

you were used to it.

but sukuna? sukuna had looked at you once, for a single moment, and said yes. the entire empire had been shocked. the king of curses, the ruthless murderer, the emperor who had never shown interest in any woman, accepting a blind bride from a neighboring kingdom? it was scandalous. impossible.

and you'd felt hope.

you hate yourself for that hope now.

because three months of silence have taught you the truth. he doesn't want you. he tolerates you. and honestly? you'd almost prefer cruelty. at least cruelty would be a reaction. at least cruelty would mean he saw you as something worth acknowledging.

but this nothingness? this endless, suffocating nothingness?

it makes you feel like you've already disappeared.

the servants guide you through your days with practiced efficiency. they dress you, feed you, lead you through the palace halls. you've memorized the layout of your chambers, the path to the gardens, the number of steps from your room to the dining hall. you've learned to navigate this world without sight, just as you've always done.

but you can't navigate him.

you don't know where he sits at meals. you don't know if he watches you. you don't know if he even notices when you're in the same room. his presence is a void—a massive, oppressive absence of warmth that you can feel but never touch.

tonight was bad.

you'd been led to the gardens by a new servant, someone who didn't know your habits. she'd taken you left instead of right, and you'd walked straight into a hedge, thorns scratching your calves before she'd yanked you back with a flurry of apologies.

then you'd almost fallen down a staircase—the grand staircase with its uneven steps—your foot catching on the edge, your heart lurching into your throat as you'd pitched forward. a guard caught you just in time.

and the whispers.

you can't see their faces, but you can hear their voices. the concubines. the noblewomen. the servants who think you can't hear them.

"the blind empress."

"does he even notice her?"

"i heard he hasn't touched her once."

"what a waste of a pretty face."

"she must be so lonely."

"she must be so pathetic."

you'd smiled through all of it. kept your head high, your shoulders back, your voice steady. you learned long ago that showing weakness only invites more cruelty. so you'd walked through the halls with your practiced grace, your cane tapping against the marble floors, your face serene.

but inside, you were crumbling.

and now, lying in this massive bed, with your hair spread across a silk pillow and the scent of incense curling through the air, you can feel him beside you. he's so close. you know he's sitting up, his back probably against the headboard, his presence a heavy weight in the darkness.

does he ever sleep?

you've never heard him snore. never heard him shift in his sleep. he's so still, so silent, you sometimes wonder if he's even real.

a long, long time passes. the candles burn down. the incense fades. the night wraps around you like a shroud.

and you can't take it anymore.

"ryomen?"

your voice comes out soft, barely above a whisper. you hate how small you sound. how vulnerable. you'd wanted to sound strong, confident, demanding. instead, you sound like a child calling out in the dark.

silence.

you wait. count your heartbeats. one. two. three. four. five.

just when you're certain he's ignoring you, just when the familiar ache of rejection settles into your chest, a voice cuts through the darkness.

"what."

it's gruff. low. a single word that rumbles through the air like distant thunder. and it's the most he's said to you in days.

you swallow. your throat is dry. your fingers twist in the sheets.

"i...i want to ask you something."

more silence. you can feel him staring at you. you can't see it, but you can feel it—the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

"ask."

you take a shaky breath. this is it. this is the moment you've been building toward for three months. the question that's been eating you alive, consuming you from the inside out.

"do you hate me?"

the words hang in the air between you. they sound so small. so pathetic. you wish you could take them back, but it's too late. they're out there now, exposed and raw.

"hate you?" his voice is strange. almost...confused?

"because of...because i'm...y'know, blind." the words taste like ash in your mouth. "i know it's...i know i'm not what you expected. i know i'm not the best option. i know i'm—"

"stop."

the word is sharp, and you flinch. your breath catches in your throat. you brace yourself for anger, for cruelty, for him to finally confirm what you've suspected all along.

but instead of harsh words, you feel movement. the bed shifts. his weight moves closer.

and then, without warning, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls.

you let out a frightened shriek as you're yanked from your position, your body colliding with something solid and warm. your hands fly out, grasping at fabric, at skin, at anything. you're on his lap, straddling his thighs, your chest pressed against his. he's so big—so impossibly large—that you feel like a doll in his arms.

"ryomen!" your voice is high, panicked. "what—"

"quiet."

his hand settles on your thigh. it's huge. calloused. rough in a way that sends shivers down your spine. but the touch is gentle. impossibly gentle. he strokes your thigh once, twice, a soothing motion that slowly calms your racing heart.

"you really think," he says slowly, his voice rumbling against your chest, "that i hate you?"

you can't speak. your throat is too tight. you settle for shaking your head against his chest, even though it's a lie.

a low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh. his hand slides from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face up. his thumb brushes across your lower lip, feather-light.

"open your eyes."

the command catches you off guard. "what?"

"your eyes. open them."

you blink, confused. your eyes are already open. you can't see anything, but they're open. you tell him as much.

"no." his voice is strange. softer. "i mean...look at me."

"i can't see you."

"i know." his thumb traces your jawline. "but i can see you. and i want to see your eyes. please."

please.

the word catches you off guard. the king of curses, saying please? to you?

you don't move. don't breathe. just let him hold your face in his massive hand, his touch devastatingly tender.

"i don't hate you," he says, and his voice cracks on the words. "gods, woman. i could never hate you."

your heart stutters. "then why—"

"because i'm fuckin' terrified."

you blink. "what?"

"do you know what i am?" his hand slides from your face to your hair, fingers threading through the strands. "i'm a killer. i've been killing for centuries. my hands are stained with blood i'll never wash clean. i'm rough, and violent, and i don't know how to be gentle."

"but—"

"but when i saw you..." he trails off. his fingers tighten in your hair, just barely. "when i saw you, i couldn't breathe. you were so beautiful. so small. so... perfect. and i thought, 'she's too good f'me.' , 'i'll break her.' , 'i'll hurt her.'"

his voice drops to a whisper.

"so i stayed away. because every time i look at you, i want to touch you. and every time i touch you, i'm afraid i'll destroy you."

tears prick at your eyes. you don't understand. you can't understand. this entire time, you thought he hated you. you thought he found you repulsive, broken, worthless.

but he was...

...afraid?

"you don't hate me?" you whisper.

"no." his forehead presses against yours. "i love you. i've loved you since the moment i saw you."

a sob escapes your throat. it's ugly and raw and you can't stop it.

"but you never—you never talked to me—"

"because i didn't trust myself." his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "because i knew if i started, i wouldn't be able to stop."

"then don't stop."

the words leave your mouth before you can think. they hang in the air, bold and desperate.

"don't stop," you repeat. "please. i don't want you to stop."

sukuna goes still. so still that you wonder if he's stopped breathing.

"you don't know what you're asking."

"i do." you reach up, your fingers finding his face. you trace the planes of his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips. "you're my husband. i want you. all of you."

"i'll hurt you."

"i don't care."

"i'll break you."

"i don't care."

his breath hitches. and then, finally, finally, his lips crash against yours.

the kiss is desperate. hungry. it tastes like three months of longing, of confusion, of aching loneliness. his hand fists in your hair, pulling you closer, and you gasp against his mouth. his tongue slides against your lower lip, asking for entry, and you give it willingly.

he tastes like sake and power and something darker. something that makes your toes curl and your heart race.

he pulls back, breathless.

"tell me to stop, and i will."

"don't," you say immediately. "don't stop."

he groans. his hands slide down your back, gripping your hips, and he lays you down on the bed. you fall against the silk sheets, your hair spreading around you like a halo. you can't see him, but you can feel him—his weight on the bed, his heat surrounding you, his breath ghosting across your skin.

"m'gonna show you," he says, his voice low and rough. "m'gonna kiss every inch of your body. gonna taste you until you scream my name. i want to make you feel so good that you forget every single doubt you've ever had about yourself."

your breath catches. "ryomen—"

"let me." his lips brush against your neck. "let me show you how much i love you."

you nod, unable to speak.

his hands find the tie of your robe. he undoes it slowly, reverently, like he's unwrapping a gift he's been waiting centuries to open. the fabric falls away, cool air hitting your skin, and you shiver.

"beautiful," he breathes. "so fucking beautiful."

you feel his lips on your collarbone. soft. worshipful. he kisses down your chest, his tongue tracing a path between your breasts. his hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples, and you gasp.

"sensitive," he murmurs. "good. i'll remember that."

he takes one nipple into his mouth. his tongue circles the peak, slow and deliberate, and you arch into him with a desperate moan. he laves at you, sucking gently, nipping with his teeth until you're writhing beneath him.

"more," you gasp. "please—"

"patience." his voice is a dark promise. "i haven't even started with ya' yet."

he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing patterns on your skin, until he reaches the apex of your thighs. you're already wet—embarrassingly wet—and he lets out a low growl when he feels it.

"fuck," he mutters against your skin. "you're soaked. f'me?"

"yes," you whimper. "only you."

he groans. his fingers slide through your folds, collecting your wetness, and you buck into his touch.

"tell me what you want."

"i want—" you gasp as his thumb circles your clit. "m'want your mouth."

his laugh is dark and breathless. "demanding little thing, aren't ya'?"

"please," you beg. "ryo, please—"

"shh." he kisses your stomach. "i'll give ya' what y'want."

he moves down your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire. he kisses your hips, your thighs, the inside of your knees. by the time he reaches your core, you're trembling, desperate, aching.

and then his tongue touches you.

you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. he laps at you like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, circling your clit, dipping inside you. he moans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

"taste s'good," he mutters against your skin. "could eat ya' forever."

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and you scream. your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down, his massive hands gripping your thighs. he alternates between sucking and licking, building a rhythm that has you climbing higher and higher.

"that's it," he praises. "let go f'me...lemme taste ya'."

his fingers find your entrance, sliding inside you without warning. two fingers, thick and long, stretching you. he curls them, hitting a spot that makes you see stars, and you shatter.

you come with a scream of his name, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through you. he doesn't stop. he laps at you through your orgasm, drawing it out until you're sobbing from the intensity.

when you finally come down, he crawls up your body, his lips finding yours. you taste yourself on his tongue, and it's the most intimate thing you've ever experienced.

"m-more," you whisper. "m'want more."

his eyes—you can feel them—search your face.

"are you sure? we can stop. we can—"

"i'm sure." you reach for him, your fingers finding his chest. "i want you...please."

he hesitates. you feel the tension in his muscles, the restraint he's barely holding onto.

"m'bigger than ya'," he says, matter of factly. "a lot bigger. and i have...i have two dicks, woman. i don't know if—"

"i don't care." you pull him closer. "i trust you."

he groans, pressing his forehead against yours.

"if it hurts too much, tell me. and i'll stop."

"okay."

"promise me."

"i promise."

he shifts above you, and you feel something heavy and thick press against your thigh. and then another. two cocks. the thought should terrify you, but instead, it sends a thrill through your body.

he aligns himself with your entrance, and you feel the tip pressing against you. he's huge—so much bigger than his fingers—and you wonder if you can actually take him.

"relax f'me," he murmurs. "breathe."

you inhale deeply, and he pushes in.

just the tip, and you gasp. he's stretching you in a way that's almost unbearable. it hurts. there's a burning sensation, a pressure that's too much and not enough.

"shh," he soothes. "you're doing s'well. so good f'me."

he pushes deeper, inch by agonizing inch. you feel your body struggling to accommodate him, your walls clenching around his length. and then—

a sharp pain.

fuck...you forgot.

you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. he stops immediately.

"did i hurt ya'?"

you can't answer. the pain is fading, replaced by a strange fullness. you feel something wet trickle down your thigh. warm. sticky.

blood.

his eyes slowly flicker down, and you can hear his breath stop. he's tense. too tense.

"fuck," he hisses. "you're—you're a fuckin' virgin?"

you nod weakly, biting your lip. your heart is pounding fast. loud. "is that...bad?"

"no." his voice is strained. "no, it's not bad. i just—fuck—i didn't know. i would have been more careful, woman."

"you are being careful," you whisper, fingers pressing into his shoulders "keep going."

"you're fuckin' bleeding."

"i don't care. please. i want to feel you." you sniffle. god, the pleasure is making you bold. too fucking bold.

he lets out a shaky breath. "you're going to kill me."

but he pushes deeper, slower this time. gentler. his lips find yours, kissing you softly as he sinks into you. the pain fades, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that makes you moan.

when he's fully sheathed, he stops. lets you adjust. his forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged.

"y'feel incredible," he breathes. "so tight. so...fuck...perfect."

"move," you beg. "please."

he pulls out slowly, then pushes back in. the friction is delicious, the stretch exquisite. he sets a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate—each thrust hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

"ryomen," you gasp. "r-ryo—"

"i know," he murmurs. "i know, doll. feels s'good, doesn't it?"

"yes—yes—"

his hand slides down your stomach, pressing against the slight bulge where he's buried inside you. the feeling makes you moan.

"look at that," he says, awe in his voice. "you can feel me, can't ya'? right here."

he presses down, and you feel it—the outline of him inside you. it's obscene. it's incredible.

"more," you gasp. "harder—"

"y'sure?"

"yes—please—"

he obliges. his pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts.

"gonna come," he warns. "where do you want it?"

"inside," you gasp. "please—i want to feel you—"

he groans, his hips slamming into yours. and then he's coming, hot and thick, filling you so completely. you feel it—his release pouring into you, painting your walls, claiming you from the inside. his cum is already trickling down your thigh, oozing out of your cunt.

at the same time, he's stroking his other cock. you feel the wet spurts hit your stomach, warm and sticky.

he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you. his face buries in your neck, and you feel his breath, ragged and uneven.

"i love you," he whispers, gruff. it's funny. you've always thought the word love doesn't exist in his vocabulary. but here he is, saying it over and over again. "i love you so much it terrifies me."

you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

"i love you too."

a long moment passes. then another. and then—

"we're going to do that again."

you laugh, breathless.

"right now?"

"after i clean you up." he kisses your neck. "and then again. and again. and again. until ya' can't walk."

"promise?"

he pulls back, and even though you can't see him, you know he's smirking.

"promise."

you're already half asleep when he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapped around you like he's afraid you'll disappear. his lips press against your hair, your forehead, your eyelids.

"my wife," he murmurs. "my perfect, beautiful wife."

you smile against his skin.

"my husband."

"forever."

"forever."

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

pervert. pervert. pervert.

that’s the mantra that repeated in nanami kento’s mind as he stood in the crook of the alley with his hand around his cock, hidden from prying eyes, as he watched his former upper classman; now notorious defected cult leader—geto suguru, pound into satoru gojo’s ass from behind

“did you miss this, satoru?” geto groaned, wrapping an arm around gojo’s throat and forcing him to bend his neck back. his fingers held him so tightly, the soft flesh of his neck indented.

gojo groaned, and it was so pathetic, so uncharacteristic, it was unlike anything nanami had ever heard before. his cock twitched, filling out in his hand.

pervert. dirty pervert.

but he couldn’t take his eyes off the pair of them, not when gojo smiled and nodded eagerly, glowing blue eyes slicing through the darkness hiding their encounter. “yes,” he admitted, rocking his ass back to meet geto’s unforgiving thrusts.

geto reached around his body and found gojo’s thick cock. nanami watched the movement, enraptured, squeezing his own fingers around his freed length as geto wrapped his large hand around gojo’s cock and started stroking, trying to mimic the feeling. “i know you did. fucking holes never has been enough for you,” he cooed, plowing gojo so hard his chest crashed into the jagged brick wall. geto’s body followed him, molding his chest to his back. “this greedy ass is always begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

what was happening? how long had this been going on?? their touches were all too familiar for this to be their first encounter of such nature. nanami’s cock dripped onto the dirty stone beneath him at the though. how many times had they fucked like this? was it always so rough? so needy?

wrong. this was so wrong. he should be reporting his findings to the higher ups immediately. but the way geto’s ass flexed as he thrust into gojo… the way gojo’s fingers tangled into his long, gorgeous strands… he couldn’t look away—couldn’t stop touching himself.

nanami was too ashamed to admit he had thought about pulling geto’s beautiful before, particularly while nanami fed him his cock while the older male got on his knees. just the thought made nanami hiss quietly through his teeth.

gojo couldn’t respond to geto’s words, too busy biting his lip and groaning between trapped teeth to think straight.

was geto that good at fucking? it sure looked like it. nanami never had been one to bottom, but gojo’s gorgeous eyes filling with tears compiled with his strong thighs and arms that shook at the intense pleasure looked too appealing to dismiss.

“tell me, satoru. when was the last time you had a cock in here?” geto moaned against the shell of his ear before taking the lobe between his teeth.

“six months ago,” gojo grunted, jaw falling slack as geto did something with his hips that made the tears in the strongest sorcerers eyes fall down his rosy cheeks. tears nanami wanted to lick up. “at the hotel,” he finished.

geto released a sound so primal and raw, nanami had to lean against the wall of the alleyway to stop himself from falling to his knees. he kept pace with his thrusts, pretending HE was behind geto, fucking his senior into gojo, pulling his hair hard as he took every. fucking. inch. into that sweet, full ass.

shit. shit. nanami humped his fist. would geto be tight? has he ever bottomed before? nanami hoped not. some irrational part of him wanted to be the first one in his ass, making him lose his mind with pleasure as he introduced him to his prostate.

“no wonder you’re so sensitive, you really have been unsatisfied, and yet,” he paused his hips, rocking them against gojo’s ass in a way that made gojo scream out. he clasped a hand over his own mouth, muscled arm trembling relentlessly. “—you never let anyone else fuck this hole,” geto continued. “why?”

gojo tipped his head down to watch geto stroke him off, his free hand reaching between them to wrap around geto’s hand and quicken the pace. “you know why,” he grunted.

geto chuckled, the sound tapering off into a moan at the same time his hips jerked forward.

fuck. he was close. the knowledge had nanami stuffing his tie in his mouth before jerking himself off with more vigor, wishing he had a better view of geto’s hole while he came.

pervert. pervert. pervert.

“i’m never coming back, satoru.” geto groaned.

“i don’t care,” satoru retorted, eyes rolling back in his head. “i don’t care as long as—“ he cut himself off, biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

nanami wondered what was left unsaid, but was quickly distracted when geto burried his hand in gojo’s hair and yanked, making those pretty, wet blue eyes stare back into geto’s purple ones. “pathetic.” he whispered into the air between them, his hips growing unsteady. “you’ve always been so pathetic, satoru.” his words were harsh, but there was a strange softness laced within them, like he didn’t mean the words he said—like they were a place holder for other words they both knew, yet were too stubborn to say

“cum for me, satoru. cum for me and me alone, while i fill my greedy ass with my cum,” he whispered, voice shaking with his impending orgasm. “and take it all.”

nanami’s balls tingled with his release that slammed into him like a train. his eyes fluttered back and his teeth clenched hard on the tie between his teeth as gojo’s release splattered against the wall, making a mess all over their conjoined hands.

nanami’s moans got trapped in his lungs, threatening to suffocate him as the most intense orgasm rushed through him, covering his fingers in thick, endless ropes of cum.

his eyes focused on the flexing muscles of geto’s ass as he pumped gojo full of his cum. and fuck. the sight of gojo taking it like the obedient man he definitely was not made another spurt of cum race out of him, tingling his cock.

oh, how nanami had fantasized putting gojo in his place in similar fashion to how geto fucked him now. it was a shame it seemed gojo only let geto top him.

geto slowly pulled out of gojo, the pair moaning in tandem as they separated. shame washing over him, nanami felt disgusting at how erotic the sight of geto’s massive cock looked hanging free, covered in his own cum.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” Higuruma asked, adjusting his tie as he leaned into Nanami to speak into his ear.

Nanami did not remove his eyes from the scene in front of him as he nodded in confirmation. “He is right where he wants to be.”

“Mmm—! Mmph—” 

Higuruma shook his head in disbelief while he slid his tie from around his collar. “The strongest sorcerer...” he mused. “To think he would be...” 

“Such a slut,” Toji groaned, thrusting his hips against Gojo’s chin. He held his hand around Gojo’s throat, feeling his cock bulge as he thrust in and out of his sloppy mouth. 

Geto inhaled sharply from across the older man, his brows drawn together as he thrust himself balls deep into Gojo’s ass and held himself there. “I think he liked that,” Geto said. “He got so tight.” Geto slowly pulled out of Gojo’s ass with a hiss before he slammed back inside, starting a rhythm once more.

Toji’s scarred lip curled as he pulled his cock out of Gojo’s throat and tapped the sloppy head against his pink cheeks. “Is he right?” His words were mocking, almost condescending. “Does the strongest sorcerer like being passed around like a slut?”

Gojo smiled, exposing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’d love it more if you actually treated me like a slut.” His words were breathless as Geto continued to pound into him. 

At the look Toji gave him in response to his bratty quip, Gojo reached for his own cock and began stroking himself off, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Toji grabbed Gojo’s cheeks and pinched them together, shaking him around a bit. “Two cocks filling you from either side, and it’s still not enough for you.” Toji turned around and caught Higuruma’s gaze, raising an eyebrow in question. “Are you planning to join anytime soon?”

Higuruma’s throat bobbed on a swallow. His pants were moments from bursting at the seams from how hard he was just watching. He nodded once, keeping his lips pressed in a straight line as he stepped forward. 

Geto lifted Gojo’s hips and began plowing into him. At the new angle, Gojo was practically crying around Toji’s dick, the vibrations making him groan and throw his head back in bliss.

“Fuck,” Geto’s eyes rolled back in his head. “He’s gonna cum. Higuruma, get in here.”

The lawyer wasted no time in ripping his belt from his waist and discarding it to the side. In the next moment, his zipper was pulled down, and he had his cock in his hand. The tip was wet and achingly red, a tell of how long he had been dying to get inside Gojo’s ass. Hell, Higuruma had wanted to do anything with him. Fuck him or otherwise.

Slowly, Geto lowered Gojo’s hips back down on the bed and stepped to the side. Gojo groaned in protest and began stroking his cock faster, his balls jerking with the movement. He thrust back against nothing, hips gyrating in desperation as he moaned around Toji’s cock, desperate to be filled—

Hiruruma wrapped his arms around Gojo’s spread thighs and yanked him forward. Gojo slid across the bed, Toji’s cock slipping from between his lips as Higuruma slammed into Gojo with no warning.

Gojo grit his teeth as tears pricked his eyes. “Holy fuck—” 

Toji placed a knee on the mattress beside Gojo’s head and slapped his cheek with his saliva-coated cock. “Don’t run,” he chastised, although the movement had hardly been Gojo’s fault. 

Gojo reached back with a hand and gripped Toji’s cock, stroking him sloppily as Higuruma pounded into him. “No one is—” he cut himself off by biting his lip. “Running,” he finished through clenched teeth. His head tipped back down as he found Higuruma between his legs. “I’m so close,” he groaned, his deep voice scratchy and ruined.

Geto shoved himself next to Toji, his hand working frantically on his cock as he jerked himself off over Gojo’s face. Geto reached down and gripped Gojo’s jaw, tipping his head back to make eye contact with him. “Gonna cum for us, Satoru?”

Gojo’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Yes. Fuck. Yes.”

There were more sounds of shuffling, and when Gojo reopened his eyes, Nanami was standing there on the other side of Toji, looking like sin incarnate with his tie slung undone around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned. Only his pants remained fully intact, but it didn’t look to be that way for long at the size of the bulge that pressed against his tan slacks.

Gojo smiled as Higuruma slammed into his prostate over and over, bringing his orgasm closer than ever. “Do you wanna fuck me next, Nanami?” He practically purred his friend's name, and Nanami’s nostrils flared in response. 

“Can you handle more?” Came Nanami’s response.

As if on cue, a hand that was not his own took over his furious stroking, making Gojo’s words seize in his throat. He jerked his head down and nearly gasped at the sight of Toji stroking him off with his large, scarred hand. He hadn’t even seen him move, too enthralled at the sight of Nanami’s rare and obvious desperation.

Gojo was going to cum. He couldn’t hold it anymore. It was all too much—the attention, the touches, the constant hammering away at his prostate.

A hand gripped his jaw again, this time when Gojo opened his eyes, Nanami was there, holding him still by his jaw. “Don’t be selfish,” he chastised. “Open your tongue for Geto.”

His eyes flickered to meet his best friends, and in his face he saw such raw, potent lust that it tipped him over the edge. “Oh fuck—” he hardly had the words out before he stuck out his tongue and his orgasm slammed into him.

Higuruma grunted, his hips jerking as he struggled to fuck Gojo through his orgasm. His ass was so tight, so warm. It felt so fucking good. The way he pulsed around him with each wave of his high was almost enough to take Higuruma with him, but he wasn’t done with his ass yet.

“Oh, Satoru,” Geto groaned. “So fucking sexy.” Geto’s sounds of pleasure were interrupted with grunts as his balls drew tight and forced his orgasm out of his dick. He jerked himself quickly, groaning with each rope of his cum he shot all across Gojo’s pretty face. Most of his load missed his tongue, but Nanami wasn’t about to let it go to waste.

Gojo twitched from his orgasm, his chest rising and falling heavily as Higuruma let up on his prostate, and Toji slowed down the strokes on his dick, letting him recover if only for a moment.

Nanami swiped his fingers against the mess on Gojo’s cheek and shoved his fingers down his throat with no warning. Gojo’s brows furrowed at the unexpected intrusion, but he wrapped his lips around Nanami’s fingers and sucked, licking Geto’s cum off them.

Toji laughed before releasing Gojo’s dick and wiping his cum on his thigh. “God. He’s fucking nasty.”

Geto chuckled. “Careful, you’re going to get him going again.”

And he was right. Toji’s condescending words went straight to his cock. He just came, and already he could feel his cock desperately twitch, trying to force itself back to life.

“Good,” Higuruma chimed. “Because I haven’t cum yet.”

Nanami hummed, his eyes on Gojo’s mouth as he watched him suck earnestly on his fingers. A second later, he pulled them out and gripped Gojo’s flushed cheeks, reveling in the way Gojo’s cock drunk eyes stared up at him. “Don’t worry. We aren’t anywhere close to done with him.”

Gojo would’ve purred at that if he could’ve. “Fine with me,” he shrugged. “This time, though, can I get someone to ride my cock?”

Nanami’s eyebrows rose. He paused to look around at the other men, who all exchanged glances with one another. After a moment, a voice spoke up. 

“Think you can make me cum?”

Toji. It was Toji.

nanami tried to be reasonable. he tried to tell you that you needed rest, that you were sick, that this could wait, but you'd just shaken your head and hooked your leg around his hip, and the sound you made when he'd accidentally pressed against you — half groan, half whimper, all desperate need — had shot straight to his dick like a live wire.

so now here he is.

here he is, kneeling between your thighs on the rumpled sheets of your shared bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting everything in shades of gold and amber. here he is, watching you completely fall apart beneath him, your skin flushed an impossible pink, your lips parted and wet and whispering his name like a prayer.

and here he is, losing his goddamn mind.

because you're hot. not just in the way you always are — the way that made him fall in love with you in the first place, the way that still makes his breath catch when you smile at him across the dinner table — but actually, physically hot. like a furnace, like sin wrapped in skin and slick heat and the kind of wet that has him groaning before he's even all the way inside.

nanami sinks into you slow — he always does, because well… he's nanami kento and he believes in savoring things, in making them last — but the moment the head of his cock pushes past your entrance, he freezes.

"f-fuck," nanami breathes, and his voice cracks on the word, splinters right down the middle.

you're so warm.

you’re so impossibly, unbearably warm; it's like slipping into a bath that's just this side of too hot, the kind of heat that steals your breath and makes your muscles go liquid. your walls flutter around him, clenching and pulsing like you're trying to pull him deeper, and he has to brace one hand against the headboard just to keep from collapsing on top of you.

"kento?" your voice is soft, hazy, your eyes half-lidded and glassy in a way that has nothing to do with the fever and everything to do with him. "you okay?"

nanami laughs — it was a short, broken sound that's half sob, half something else entirely.

"am i okay?" he repeats, like you've asked him the most ridiculous question in the world. "sweetheart, you're—"

his hips twitch, an involuntary little thrust that sinks him another inch deeper, and the sound you make is so sweet, so wrecked, that he has to close his eyes.

"you're so hot. inside. it's—god, it's like—"

nanami can't even finish the sentence, he doesn't have the words for what it feels like. the heat is radiating through him, climbing up his spine, settling low in his belly like embers catching flame. every single nerve ending is on fire, every muscle pulled taut, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

you shift beneath him, trying to take more of him, and your hand comes up to cup nanami’s jaw, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. your skin is warm too — not as searing as the rest of you, but warm enough to make him lean into your touch like the tide answering the moon.

"then move," you say, simple as anything else, like you haven't just turned nanami’s entire world inside out. "kento, please. i want you to move."

he's never been able to deny you anything, so he moves.

slow at first — because nanami is trying, he's really trying, to keep some semblance of control. he pulls out until only the tip of his cock remains, then pushes back in with a steady, rolling movement that has you arching off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders. the wet sounds are obscene, amplified by the quiet of the room, and every single one of them makes his stomach clench with want.

but it's the heat that undoes nanami.

every single thrust feels like coming home and getting burned at the same damn time.

your body is so hot inside, so slick and welcoming and tight, and nanami can feel the fever radiating off you in hot waves; it's in the way your breath stutters against his neck, in the way your legs shake where they're wrapped around his waist, in the way your pulse flutters wildly against his lips when he leans down to kiss your throat.

"you feel—" he gasps, and his hips stutter, rhythm faltering. "you feel incredible. i can't—fuck, sweetheart, i can't think."

and nanami can't.

his brain has completely short-circuited, reduced to nothing but static and sensation. every logical thought has been burned away by the heat of you, replaced by something primal and desperate and almost frightening in its intensity. he wants to be gentle. he wants to take his time, to worship you the way you deserve, to show you just how much he loves you with every careful, deliberate movement.

but his body has other plans.

nanami’s hips are moving faster now, snapping against yours with a rhythm that's more urgent than he intended. the headboard knocks against the wall in a steady, rhythmic beat, and nanami knows he should care about that — nanami knows the neighbors will probably hear, nanami knows he'll be embarrassed about it tomorrow — but right now he can't bring himself to give a single shit.

not when you're making those sounds.

soft little gasps and moans that pitch higher every time he bottoms out, your head thrown back against the pillow, your throat bared and vulnerable and so beautiful it makes his chest hurt. your hands are everywhere — tangled in nanami’s hair, scraping down nanami’s back, gripping nanami’s hips like you're trying to fuse yourself to him.

"k-kento," you whimper, and it's broken, shattered, the kind of sound that goes straight to nanami’s dick and makes him see stars. "kento, don't stop. p-please don't stop."

"not stopping," he grits out, and his voice is ragged, wrecked, nothing like the composed, collected man he usually is. "never stopping. not when you feel—fuck, not when you're this—"

nanami loses his words again, and he buries his face in the curve of your neck instead, breathing you in. you smell like sweat and illness and something uniquely, achingly you, and he wants to live in this moment forever. he wants to drown in the heat of you, in the tight grip of your body, in the way you moan his name like it's the only word you remember.

you're clenching around him — tighter now, your orgasm building, and he can feel it in the way your thighs tremble, in the way your nails dig crescents into his back. but more than that, he can feel the fever; the heat that seems to intensify with every thrust, radiating from your core and soaking into his skin, making him sweat, making him need.

"sweetheart," nanami gasps, and his voice breaks on the word, splinters into something raw and desperate. "i'm—i'm not going to last. you're too hot. you're so hot, i can't—"

you turn your head, catch his mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and clumsy urgency. it's not graceful — nothing about this is graceful — but it's real, it's you, and he groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst.

"then don't," you whisper against his lips, and your voice is thick with fever and want and something softer, something sweeter. "don't last. i want to feel you. want you to—ah—want you to cum inside me. please, kento. want to feel you."

nanami going to die.

he's actually going to die, right here, inside his wife, and he's going to die happy.

his hips snap forward harder, faster, every single ounce of control he had evaporating like water on hot pavement. he's gripping your thigh with one huge hand, holding you open for him, and the other is fisted in the sheets beside your head, knuckles white. nanami’s whole body is trembling — from the effort, from the pleasure, from the sheer overwhelming muchness of feeling you like this.

"you're everything," nanami hears himself say, and his voice sounds so strange, so distant, like it's coming from someone else. "you're everything to me. fuck, sweetheart, i love you. i love you so much. i love—"

he's rambling now, words spilling out of him unchecked, and he simple can't stop, he doesn't want to stop.

you're so hot, so wet, so perfect, and every time he pushes inside you, he swears he can feel your heartbeat, he can feel the fever thrumming through your veins, he can feel the way your body clings to him like it never wants to let go.

your orgasm hits you without warning — nanami feels it in the way you gasp loudly, in the way your back entirely bows off the bed, in the way your nails rake down his spine hard enough to sting. but mostly nanami feels it in the way you clench around him, a vise of slick, searing heat that pulses and flutters and tries to completely milk him dry.

"oh god," you sob, and there are tears on your cheeks — from the pleasure, from the fever, from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. "kento, oh god, oh god—"

nanami watches you fall apart beneath him, and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent scream, your whole body shuddering through wave after wave of pleasure. and through it all, you're so hot, so impossibly, devastatingly hot, and nanami can feel your orgasm like it's his own, nanami can feel it in the way your walls massage his desperate cock, nanami can feel it in the way his name falls from your lips like a benediction.

he follows right after.

there's no warning, no buildup — just a sudden, violent crest of pleasure that crashes over him and drags him under. he buries himself as deep as he can go, hips flush against yours, and spills inside you with a groan that's almost a sob. the heat of you surrounds him, consumes him, and for one perfect, eternal moment, there's nothing else in the universe.

just you.

just him.

just the two of you, unreservedly tangled together in the sweaty sheets, trembling and gasping and so full of love it might actually kill him.

nanami collapses on top of you — careful, always careful, one arm bracing his weight so he doesn't crush you — and presses his forehead to yours. your skin is still warm, still flushed with fever, but there's a softness in your eyes now, a drowsy contentment that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

"that was—" you start, but your voice is hoarse, faded, and you have to clear your throat before trying again. "that was not how i expected tonight to go."

he laughs, breathless and a little unsteady, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"you're sick," he says, like it's just now occurring to him. "you have a fever. i shouldn't have—we shouldn't have—"

"kento." you cut him off with a hand on his cheek, turning his face so he has to look at you fully. "i wanted to. i want to. always want to, with you."

he closes his eyes, lets out a shaky breath, and when he opens them again, there's something soft and wondering in his gaze.

"you're going to be the death of me," he murmurs, but it sounds like a declaration of love.

you smile — that bright, brilliant smile that made nanami fall in love with you in the first place — and pull him down for a kiss that's slow and sweet and tastes like forever.

"good," you whisper against his lips. "then you'll die happy."

nanami laughs again, real this time, and gathers you into his arms. you're still too warm, still sick, still in need of soup and water and cool cloths and rest, but right now, in this moment, none of that matters.

right now, you're both exactly where you're supposed to be.

"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.

he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.

"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."

he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.

he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"

you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.

"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"

"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"

he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.

"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."

you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.

"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."

you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.

"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"

"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.

"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."

you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.

before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.

"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."

"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.

he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"

you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.

he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.

"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"

he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.

"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."

"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"

"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."

his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.

you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.

"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"

he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.

"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.

you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."

"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."

you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."

Weekends at Jungwon’s apartment are usually peaceful. 

Usually. 

Today, unfortunately, Jungwon woke up and decided your suffering was entertainment. It starts in the morning when you’re standing in front of his apartment. He opened the door wearing those damn grey sweatpants and that fuckass tank top–who you love way too much, it’s embarrassing. His arms and shoulders were exposed so casually that it felt almost offensive. 

And the worst part? 

He looked completely normal doing it. Like he had no idea what kind of effect he had on you. 

“Why are you just standing there?” Jungwon asks, one brow lifting slightly.

You immediately look away.

“I’m taking my shoes off.”

“You stopped moving for ten seconds.”

“I did not.”

His lips twitch upward.

You brush past him quickly before he can tease you further, trying your best to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. The familiar scent of his apartment wraps around you instantly, laundry detergent, coffee, and the faint smell of his cologne lingering in the air. 

Usually, being here calms you down. Today, unfortunately, your hormones decided otherwise. You’re ovulating. Which means every little thing Jungwon does feels amplified to a genuinely unbearable degree. The sound of his voice, the warmth of his hands, and the shape of his shoulders beneath those fuckass tank top. You hate how much you like them. 

The weekend is supposed to be productive. 

That’s why you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch with your laptop balanced on your thighs, several research tabs open, half-finished notes scattered across the coffee table, and a report deadline hanging over your head like a threat. 

You know damn well that you should be working. 

Instead, you’re staring at the same paragraph for the fifth time because Jungwon just walked past you looking scrumptious as ever. 

He just casually walked into the kitchen to make iced coffee while pushing his hair back with one hand, exposing the line of his neck and shoulders so effortlessly that your entire brain short-circuited. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. This is horrible. 

Maybe it’s because you’re ovulating. Maybe your hormones decided to ruin your life. Maybe Jungwon simply exists too attractively for your own sanity. Whatever the reason is, you feel pathetically needy. 

From the kitchen, you hear the clink of ice against glass. You glance up instinctively. Big mistake. Because now he’s leaning against the counter with his back facing you, broad shoulders stretching beneath dark fabric as he reaches for something from the cabinet, and suddenly you can’t breathe normally anymore. 

Jungwon turns slightly, one brow raised while sipping his coffee. There’s amusement flickering in his eyes already. 

“You’re doing it again.”

You nearly choke. That stupid, knowing grin. You duck your head back toward your laptop immediately, pretending to type something while your ears burn in embarrassment. Jungwon walks over eventually, completely unbothered, and drops onto the couch beside you. Close enough that his thigh presses lightly against yours. 

“What are you working on?” he asks casually.

“Report.”

“You’ve written the same sentence three times.”

You glare at the screen.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong—straight up just stating facts with zero hesitation. Which somehow makes it worse. Now you just look dumb and pathetic. 

“Must be misstyped,” you mumble defensively. 

Jungwon hums beside you from where he’s sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown behind his head lazily. “Three times?” 

“Yes.”

“With the exact same typo?”

Oh, God. You genuinely want to dunk your head into the couch pillow and never come back out. 

Jungwon glances lazily at the screen, clearly expecting to catch another repeated sentence. Instead, his eyes pause. Then narrow slightly. 

“…You just wrote ‘Jungwon shoulders’ into your report.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Your soul leaves your body instantly.

Slowly, painfully slowly, Jungwon turns toward you with the most unbelievable expression of amusement you’ve ever seen. You slam the laptop shut immediately.

“Don’t look at me.”

The laugh he lets out is dangerously delighted. 

“Mhm.”

That smug tone already tells you today is going to be horrible. And somehow, it gets worse from there. Because Jungwon spends the entire day teasing you.

You’re sitting on the floor beside his couch, pretending to organize your bag while Jungwon lounges above you, scrolling through his phone. Then he casually runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head back against the couch. It was normal, like every other person does that, but why does this suddenly feel like a threat? 

Well, you wonder. 

The entire day had been a slow, agonizing torture. Every time you caught a glimpse of Jungwon—the way his tank top strained against the broad, powerful slope of his shoulders, the subtle, rhythmic flex of his back as he reached for a file—you felt a heavy, pulsing ache between your thighs. You were so worked up that your laptop screen was a blur; you couldn't focus on a single sentence of your work because all you could imagine was his heavy weight pressing you into the mattress, his skin hot against yours. 

You’d tried working earlier. Tried sitting at the kitchen counter with your laptop open and your notes spread around you. But every time Jungwon walked past, your concentration was shattered instantly. To the point where your report became completely hopeless. 

The brush of his arm against your shoulder while reaching for a mug. The sight of his back shifting beneath his tank top as he opened cabinets. The way he casually leaned against the counter beside you, smelling like soap and coffee and Jungwon. 

And unfortunately, Jungwon was observant.

“You’ve been sighing a lot today.”

His voice breaks through your thoughts suddenly. Two steaming bowls of ramen sit in front of you now, the rich smell instantly filling the kitchen. Soft curls of steam rise into the warm apartment air, and Jungwon slides one bowl carefully toward you before sitting down beside you at the counter. 

For a second, your chest tightens unexpectedly. Because, despite all the teasing today, Jungwon always does little things like this so naturally. Your heart feels annoyingly soft all of a sudden.

“You didn’t have to,” you mutter.

“But I wanted to.”

The casual sincerity in his voice almost makes things worse. You quickly look away before he notices the warmth rushing to your face again. Unfortunately, Jungwon notices everything.

“There it is,” he says quietly.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “What?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered.”

“Mhm.”

You hate that hum. It always sounds like he’s humoring you.

You aggressively stab the noodles with your chopsticks while Jungwon watches with obvious amusement from beside you. The kitchen light reflects softly against his figure, while he leans one arm against the counter, posture relaxed and unfairly attractive for someone simply eating ramen.

And somehow, despite how badly he’s been teasing you since morning, Jungwon’s expression softens for a moment while looking at you now.

Like, he finds your entire existence unbearably endearing.

“You’re really needy today, huh?” he murmurs.

You immediately look back down at your ramen. “Shut up.” 

.

.

.

"What was that? I can't hear you," he teased, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back, deliberately stretching the fabric of his shirt across those shoulders you were obsessed with. 

When you tried to pull him closer, your small hands grasping at him, he playfully dodged you, giving you a look of mock innocence. "Are you actually asking for it? I don't know, I'm suddenly feeling very... tired. Maybe tomorrow?" 

He kept it up, pushing your buttons with a stubborn, teasing refusal that felt like a knife to your desperation. The frustration, combined with your natural sensitivity, finally snapped. The overwhelming feeling of being ignored while your pussy was screaming for his cock became too much.  

The frustration. The embarrassment. The awful overwhelming ache of wanting him all day while he kept laughing and teasing, and acting unaffected. 

A shaky sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. Jungwon froze instantly. Tears blurred your vision embarrassingly fast, and you covered your face immediately, mortified at yourself for crying over something this stupid. But it wasn’t anger. It was worse. You just felt completely undone.

“You’re so mean,” you whispered brokenly, voice trembling. “I just wanted you…”

The moment the first tear fell, Jungwon’s expression shifted instantly. The smugness vanished, replaced by a look of pure, concentrated hunger and guilt. 

"Oh, baby... no, no, no," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, suddenly thick and raw. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. "I'm sorry, I was just teasing.”

He moved immediately, grabbing your wrists gently and pulling your hands away from your face so he could see you properly. His eyes widened slightly at the tears sliding down your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

You tried turning away out of embarrassment. Jungwon wouldn’t let you. Your face buried automatically against his shoulder, warm tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, while Jungwon wrapped both arms tightly around you. The second you curled against his chest, your body relaxed instinctively. 

“There’s my girl,” he murmured against your hair, rubbing your back slowly. “I pushed too far.”

You sniffled miserably against him.

“I hate you.”

Jungwon tilted your chin upward carefully after a moment, eyes softer now than they’d been all day.

“I’m sorry for teasing you too much,” he whispered.

He didn't waste another second. Jungwon’s lips crashed onto yours, kissing you hungrily, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a desperation that mirrored your own. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours, sucking on your tongue as if he wanted to consume you. 

The atmosphere in the bedroom was thick with a tension that had been building for hours. Jungwon had spent the entire evening playing a dangerous game. Now he had to deal with the consequences of his action. 

He could see the frustration in your eyes, the way your lower lip trembled, and how you were practically vibrating with a need you were too timid to demand. The playful smirk he’d worn all night finally softened as he realized he had pushed you just a bit too far. He didn't want you truly distressed; he wanted you wanting him, but the line had blurred. 

"Look at me, baby," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, velvety register that always made your toes curl.

He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, grounding touch, designed to soothe the frantic beating of your heart. He shifted his lips to your temple, then your cheek, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice dripping with genuine contrition. "I know I was being a brat. I enjoyed seeing you get all worked up, but I didn't mean to actually upset you. I'm sorry for teasing you so much, sweetheart."

He trailed a path of soft kisses down the bridge of your nose, lingering just long enough to make your chest ache. One pressed carefully against the corner of your eye. Another against your cheek. Then, finally, a sweet apologetic kiss right on the tip of your nose that made your breath hitch despite yourself.

Jungwon looked unfairly gentle up close like this.

His dark lashes were low, his expression softened by guilt and affection instead of teasing for once. One of his hands stayed warm against the side of your face while the other rested securely at your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles through the fabric of his oversized hoodie hanging off your frame.

“You’ve been so patient with me today,” he murmured.

You tried to look away out of embarrassment. Jungwon only followed.

“No,” he whispered, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “Look at me.”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Because suddenly, all the teasing from earlier was gone. No smug grin. No playful mocking. Just Jungwon looking at you like you were something precious. Then he kissed you. Slowly. Not the overwhelming, breathless kind of kiss he usually gave when he got carried away. This one was softer—careful and lingering, like he was trying to soothe every bit of frustration he’d caused all day.

It somehow affected you even more.

Your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt while his hand slid lower along your waist, gently pulling you closer until your hips settled flush against his. The warmth there made your breath catch instantly. Jungwon felt it too. His own breathing deepened slightly against your lips before he kissed you again, slower this time, almost coaxing.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My pretty girl.”

Your face burned immediately.

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you like it.”

Unfortunately, the tiny shiver that ran through you betrayed the truth instantly. Jungwon smiled against your mouth.

“So sensitive today,” he whispered.

You buried your face briefly against his shoulder with a quiet groan, still embarrassed by how easily he affected you. The movement only made him laugh softly under his breath.

“You spent the whole day staring at me like you wanted attention,” he teased gently, fingers tightening slightly at your waist. “And now you’re shy?”

“You made me like this,” you muttered against his shoulder.

“Mhm.” He tilted his head just enough to press another kiss into your hair. “And I’m gonna make it better too.”

The warmth in his voice sent another wave of heat through you. Jungwon leaned back just enough to look at you again, eyes darker now but still impossibly affectionate.

“How about I make it up to you properly?” he asked quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

“You’ve had all this frustration building up since morning,” he continued softly, thumb brushing beneath your jaw. “I wanna take care of you now.”

The sincerity in his tone nearly undid you all over again. Especially because this wasn’t teasing anymore. Jungwon was looking at you like he genuinely hated seeing you upset. Like your feelings mattered more to him than the game he’d been playing earlier. You nodded shyly after a second. His expression melted instantly.

“Good girl,” he murmured warmly before kissing you again, deeper this time, one hand sliding into your hair while the other held your waist securely against him like he had no intention of letting you go for the rest of the night.

He shifted lower, pressing a soft, slow kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the other, teasingly grazing your lips without fully capturing them yet. He was being agonizingly patient with you. It was almost cruel how patient he was now. Not teasing to frustrate you this time. Just savoring you. 

"Forgive me?" he breathed, his voice dripping with affection.

You tried to maintain at least a little dignity.

“…Maybe.”

Jungwon smiled immediately.

“Oh? Only maybe?”

“You were really mean today.”

“I know.” Another soft kiss against your cheek. “I’m sorry.”

This time, you only nodded quietly. The tiny bit of stubbornness you’d been holding onto melted away under the softness in his voice. Without thinking much about it, you shifted closer and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Jungwon let out a soft, contented sigh as you tucked yourself into his neck, his arms wrapping around you instantly to pull you flush against his chest. He held you with a protective, needy grip, his face burying itself in your hair as he inhaled your scent deeply, as if he were trying to memorize you all over again. 

Jungwon guided you carefully toward the bed, movements unhurried and gentle. The mattress dipped beneath your weight as he eased you down against the soft sheets, never fully letting go of you even for a second.

The bedroom light was dim now, warm amber shadows stretching softly across the room. Against them, Jungwon looked almost unfairly beautiful, hovering above you like this—dark hair falling messily over his forehead, lips slightly swollen from kissing you, eyes heavy with something so openly affectionate it made your stomach flutter nervously.

He looked at you like you were precious. Like you were something to be adored. And somehow that gaze always affected you more than anything else. Your hands instinctively reached for his shoulders again the second he settled over you. Jungwon immediately smiled.

“There they are,” he murmured warmly. “Knew your hands would end up here.”

You looked away instantly, embarrassed.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m not teasing.” His nose brushed softly against yours. “I like it when you touch me.”

The honesty in his voice made your heartbeat stumble.

Jungwon lowered his head slightly, pressing slow kisses along your shoulder this time. Warm lingering presses of his lips against sensitive skin that made tiny shivers ripple through you despite yourself.

“So pretty,” he murmured between kisses.

Your face burned.

“You say that too much.”

“Not enough.”

Another kiss. Slower this time. Jungwon’s hands moved carefully along your waist and hips, not rushed or impatient like earlier. Now every touch felt deliberate—like he wanted you to feel how much he adored you through every small movement.

“There you go,” he whispered soothingly after one particularly shaky exhale. “Just relax for me.” 

He started with your shoulders, pressing slow, lingering kisses to the skin, his lips warm and soft. "You're so beautiful," he murmured between kisses, his voice a low hum of praise. "So perfect. I can't believe you're mine."

His hands began to roam, not with the urgency of before, but with a reverent slowness. He traced the curves of your hips, his palms grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. Every time you let out a small, needy whimper, he would pause to kiss your forehead or your eyelids, reassuring you, reminding you that you were safe and cherished.

"I'm going to take such good care of you," he breathed, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. "I'm going to give you everything you want, baby. Just tell me... tell me what you need." 

Your throat tightened slightly under the weight of his attention. Because suddenly, after all the teasing and overwhelming frustration from earlier, the only thing you could really think of was him. 

“I want you.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, sounding almost overwhelmed himself. 

As he slowly peeled away the remaining layers between you, his gaze never left yours for long. And when he finally paused above you, taking you in properly, the expression on his face softened into something dangerously tender. Like awe. A shaky breath escaped him quietly.

Your face immediately burned.

You instinctively tried turning away, embarrassed under the intensity of his attention, but Jungwon gently cupped your cheek and guided you back toward him.

“No,” he murmured. “Don’t hide from me.”

The warmth in his voice made your chest ache.

Jungwon lowered himself again slowly, pressing kisses along your shoulder, down the sensitive curve of your collarbone, lingering everywhere that made your breathing stutter.  His lips brushed softly along your inner thigh afterward, warm enough to send a sharp shiver through your body. Jungwon noticed immediately.

“There,” he whispered with a small smile against your skin. “Felt that.”

You covered your face instantly with one hand, mortified by how easily he could read you. Jungwon laughed quietly under his breath before gently pulling your hand away.

“Don’t get shy now.”

Jungwon’s hands moved slowly along your waist, thumbs brushing comforting circles into your skin while he kissed the dip of your hip gently enough to make your stomach twist. 

"Look at how you're shaking for me," he whispered, a small, loving smile playing on his lips. "You're so sensitive, so responsive. I love how much you want me."

Before he even entered you, he pinned you down, his mouth attacking your neck and breasts, his teeth grazing your nipples until you whimpered. You reached up, your fingers digging frantically into the muscles of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his back, pulling him closer, begging for the friction. 

When he finally positioned himself between your legs, he paused, his thick, pulsing cock brushing against your entrance. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss that tasted of devotion. He didn't use a condom; he wanted you to feel every inch of him.  

"I'm going to be gentle, sweetheart. I'm going to fill you up so completely," he promised.

He entered you with an agonizingly slow push, savoring the feeling of your tight walls gripping him. He stopped halfway, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed through the intensity of the sensation.

"You feel so good... so tight," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut. "God, I love how you feel around me. You're perfect, baby. Absolutely perfect."

He was just watching your expression with that same unbearable tenderness that had been undoing you all night.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded immediately, fingers tightening against his shoulders.

He began to move in a slow, rhythmic cadence, each thrust deep and deliberate. He wasn't trying to wreck you yet; he was making love to you, focusing on the emotional connection, the way your eyes locked, and the way your breaths synced. He praised every sound you made, every arch of your back, whispering how much he loved you, how much he adored your body, and how lucky he felt to be the one inside you.

"That's it, just take it all," he murmured, his voice dripping with affection as he picked up the pace slightly, the friction building into a searing heat. "You're doing so well for me. Such a good girl. Just let go, baby. I've got you."

Every word was spoken with such open fondness that it became impossible to stay embarrassed for long. Especially when Jungwon looked at you afterward like he was completely gone for you already.

As the tension peaked, Jungwon’s movements became more urgent, his possessive nature resurfacing. He gripped your hips firmly, pulling you higher against him to ensure he was hitting every sensitive spot. He wanted to feel every inch of you, to merge his body with yours until there was no space left between them.

"I want to fill you," he gasped, his breath hitching as he neared the edge. "I want to leave every drop of me inside you. I want you to feel me deep in your belly."

With a final, powerful surge, he buried himself as deep as he could go, his body shuddering as he released a massive, hot torrent of cum deep inside your womb. He groaned your name into your neck, his grip tightening as he pulsed over and over, filling you to the brim, obsessed with the feeling of his seed claiming you.

As he reached his first peak, he didn't pull out. He buried himself as deep as possible, his cock throbbing and expanding inside you as he blasted a hot, thick load of cum deep into your womb. You screamed into the pillow, feeling the warmth flood your internals, your walls pulsing around him. But he didn't stop. He stayed inside, grinding his hips to keep the friction going, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

The second time he came, he was relentless, pumping more seed into you, his cock twitching inside your tight heat. You could feel your belly beginning to tighten and bulge slightly from the sheer volume of his cum filling you. The intensity of the pleasure, combined with the feeling of being completely claimed and filled, triggered something visceral inside you.

Suddenly, your internal muscles clamped tight around him in a violent spasm. With a shaking, guttural moan, a massive spray of fluid erupted from you, soaking the sheets and splashing against his stomach and chest. You squirted for the first time in your life, your body convulsing in waves of pure, blinding ecstasy, your pussy milking him dry as you shuddered.

Jungwon froze, his eyes widening as he felt the hot spray and saw the wetness covering them both. He looked down at the drenched sheets and then back at your flushed, dazed face. He was in absolute awe.

"Did you... Did you just squirt for me?" he breathed, his voice trembling with a new level of obsession. He looked at you as if you were a goddess, his heart hammering against his ribs. Seeing you react this way—completely shattered and undone by him—made him fall for you all over again, deeper and harder.

As he pulled back just an inch, his gaze dropped to your stomach, where the slight, tell-tale bulge of his multiple loads was still visible beneath your skin. A small, possessive smile quirked his lips, and he leaned down to press a lingering, sweet kiss right over your navel, his lips grazing the skin where his seed was pooled inside you. 

The room felt unbearably warm now, sheets tangled around both of you while the soft amber light cast shadows across Jungwon’s flushed face and messy dark hair. He looked completely undone. 

You were curled against Jungwon’s chest with his oversized blanket tangled around both of you, your cheek pressed right over his heartbeat, while his fingers lazily traced patterns along your bare back. Neither of you spoke for a while. Mostly because you physically couldn’t look him in the eye yet. Not after everything. The moment Jungwon realized that, he smiled against your hair immediately.

“There she is,” he murmured sleepily. “Hiding again.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You literally tucked your whole face into my chest.”

“…It’s comfortable here.”

His arms tightened around you at that answer. The reaction was immediate and instinctive, like Jungwon couldn’t help himself whenever you got clingy after affection.

“Mmm,” he hummed softly. “Stay there then.”

You could hear the smile in his voice. This was your least favorite thing about Jungwon sometimes. No matter how overwhelmed or embarrassed you got, he always sounded unbearably fond of it. Like your shyness was something precious to him instead of awkward. The mattress shifted slightly as Jungwon leaned down to press a slow kiss into your hairline.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded against him.

“Tired?”

“A little.”

“Understandable.” His hand slid slowly up your spine soothingly.

“You know I’m obsessed with you, too, right?”

Your heartbeat stumbled. Jungwon’s gaze softened even further at your stunned expression.

“Maybe worse than you,” he admitted quietly.