marシ

Something hidden beneath all that composure and control.

With you—

he’s different.

Where people expect dominance, control… he gives you softness.

Submissiveness.

At home, your voice matters more. Your choices. Your pace.

People would assume he’s the type to grab you and fuck you wherever he pleases, rough and relentless.

And yes—

he can be like that.

But only when you ask.

Or when he does—politely.

Because Nanami would never cross a line. Never risk making you uncomfortable.

Your comfort means everything to him.

He’s gentle. Attentive. Almost painfully tender in the way he handles you.

And no one would ever guess that.

No one would imagine how much he needs you on days like this.

How much he aches for you.

—

And right now… is one of those moments.

He just got home from work.

Tired.

Quiet.

Needy in a way only you can see.

Both of you are naked on the bed.

Bare skin against soft sheets, the room dim and warm.

He’s laying on his back on the bed, completely exposed, one arm thrown over his eyes as if he can’t handle looking at you like this. His other hand grips your thigh tightly—especially every time your touch becomes too much.

You’re beside him, half leaning over his body, your right arm resting above his head.

Your left hand wrapped around his cock.

Moving slowly.

Deliberately.

Sliding up and down, your grip firm but teasing—adding small squeezes, rotating your wrist each time you move down and up, your thumb brushing over the tip just enough to make him react.

Nanami is already a mess.

Soft moans slip from his lips—quiet, restrained, but impossible to hide whenever you focus on the tip.

His breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling harder with every movement of your hand. A sheen of sweat covers his skin, his neck and ears flushed red… probably his cheeks too, you can’t see completely, not with his arm shielding his face.

His grip on your thigh tightens.

And that makes you smile.

Even after all this time together, married and fucked a thousands of times,—

he still gets shy.

“Ken… why are you hiding?” you murmur, your voice soft, laced with something teasing.

He lets out a quiet breath, voice strained.

“…You look too beautiful like this, darling… I can’t—” he swallows, “I can’t look.”

Your smile deepens.

You slow down.

Then stop.

Your hand still wrapped around him, but no longer moving.

The reaction is immediate.

A quiet, broken sound leaves him, his hips lifting slightly into your hand, chasing the friction you just took away.

“Look at me, Ken…” you whisper, leaning closer, your voice softer now—but firm. “I want to see you.”

He doesn’t refuse.

He never does.

Still breathing unevenly, he slowly lowers his arm from his face, turning his head toward you.

His eyes meet yours.

Flustered.

Soft.

Completely undone.

“…Please,” he says, his voice strained, almost. “Continue, honey.”

And you smile.

Before your hand starts moving again.

Slow.

Controlled.

Watching him fall apart under your touch.

Nanami’s grip tightens around your thigh as you resume pumping his cock.

His eyes squeeze shut, his entire body reacting instantly to your touch—hips lifting slightly, chasing every stroke like he can’t help himself.

Your gaze drops, watching the way your hand moves along him—slow, deliberate—how his body betrays him with every small squeeze you give to his aching cock.

So focused on him…

You don’t notice when his eyes open again.

Or when they drift.

Down.

To your chest.

“Can I… suck your boobs, honey?” Ken breathes out, voice strained, broken between soft moans.

You glance back to him, catching him staring—really staring this time—before his gaze flickers back to your eyes.

That look.

Soft. Needy. Almost shy.

You smile.

“Of course, Ken.”

You barely finish speaking before he’s already moving.

His torso lifts, just enough to reach you better. One of his hands comes up, cupping your breast, squeezing it slightly—firm enough to gather more of you in his palm.

Then his mouth is on you.

Warm.

Hungry.

But still gentle.

“Aah… Ken—” your head falls back, a soft moan slipping from your lips.

Your hand moves from the bed to his head, fingers threading through his blond hair, pulling him closer—pressing him deeper against your chest.

He gasps softly at the pressure.

His free hand slips away from your breast, bracing behind him for balance… while the other begins to travel.

Down.

Between your thighs.

Your legs are closed at first—but the moment you feel him there, hovering—

You open for him.

A soft moan escapes you as his hand finally meets your heat.

Two fingers.

Slow.

Dragging from your clit down to your entrance, spreading your folds… before sliding back up again.

You tighten your grip in his hair.

“K–Ken… you don’t have to—” you gasp.

He pulls off your nipple with a soft pop, breath uneven.

“Don’t worry…” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to you. “I want you to feel good too… my love.”

Your breath catches.

His fingers start circling your clit—slow at first, then more deliberate.

You moan louder this time.

He returns to your chest, sucking again, softer now but deeper—more desperate.

Your hand picks up pace on his cock, stroking him faster, tighter.

There’s already so much precum leaking from the tip, slicking your hand… his hips starting to move more on their own now.

He’s losing control.

Close.

You can feel it.

But his fingers—

Still not enough.

You glance down again.

And he’s already looking at you.

God—

That sight alone makes your stomach tighten.

His mouth on your breast.

Eyes locked on yours.

“…Ken,” you breathe, voice unsteady. “I want them inside.”

A small, muffled sound escapes him—barely audible—but he nods.

And he listens.

Slowly, carefully, he pushes his fingers inside you.

Your back arches instantly, a sharp inhale breaking from your chest.

He starts slow—

Too slow.

You tug his hair harder, pulling him away from your chest just enough to make him groan.

“Faster,” you say, more firmly this time.

He swallows, breath shaky.

“O–okay… I’m sorry love…”

He doesn’t argue.

His pace picks up—fingers moving in and out faster now, deeper—his palm pressing against you clit with every thrust, creating wet, obscene sounds that only make everything worse… better.

You match him.

Your hand works his cock faster, tighter, twisting slightly at the tip.

Moans spill from him against your skin.

He lets go of your breast completely now, overwhelmed—head tilting back slightly, lips parted, breath ragged.

He’s so close.

So are you.

Your hips start moving on their own, grinding down against his hand, chasing that pressure—

“…h–honey… I’m—” his voice breaks. “I’m cumming…”

“M–me too… Ken—don’t stop…” you gasp, riding his fingers harder.

Everything speeds up.

Messier.

Louder.

His legs tense suddenly—his body jerks—

And he thrusts hard into your hand with a low, broken moan.

Cum spills over his lower stomach.

Warm.

Thick.

You don’t stop.

You keep moving—hips rolling against his hand until it finally hits—

That wave.

Your back arches even more, a loud moan tearing out of you as your body tightens, releases—

Pleasure flooding through you all at once.

Your breathing comes out uneven. Shaky. Heavy.

Nanami keeps moving his fingers through it—slowing only when he feels you come down, gently pulling them out.

For a moment, there’s only breathing.

Then he leans in.

Kisses you.

Soft at first… then deeper.

Still catching his breath.

“Are you okay, love?” he murmurs between kisses, voice low, still a little unsteady. “Do you want more? You can… use me, if you want…”

You smile against his lips, cupping his face, pressing small kisses all over him.

“I’m fine, Ken…”

Your voice softer now.

Warmer.

And as you keep kissing him—

You can’t help but think it again.

Yeah…

People definitely have no idea how submissive your husband really is.

──────────────────────

a/n: NANAMI IS A SWITCH AND HE’S MORE INCLINED TO THE SUBMISSIVE SIDE (i said as they drag me back to my room). I’m a firm believer in sub Nanami. He’s definitely a switch and can be a perfect dom—but not a rough one (only if you ask, ofc). Even then, he’d be a little out of his comfort zone, but he’d still try… because it’s for you. He has such a gentle soul—he wouldn’t like being mean to you. He’s calm, he’s tired from work, he’s stressed… MY MAN IS A FKN CANCER, he’s sensitive 😭. And because of that, he would also LOVE being taken care of by his partner.

I feel like when people hear “sub Nanami,” they think of someone whiny, a crybaby, calling you mommy and shit—but NO. That’s not what I mean. Think of the kind of devotion a knight has for his princess— THAT’S the kind of submissiveness I’m talking about.

i have yet to find out who the fic ‘midnight cravings’ is from / if they actually wrote it themselves bcs im sceptical of everything. if anyone has read it before and knows who she copied that from, if she did, let me know.

UPDATE REGARDING HER ‘APOLOGY’:

this is funny because i literally had been urging her to make an apology/statement on her own through our dms. i have been the person to suggest it to her, she couldn’t come up with it on her own. which, again, is sad.

she’s still trying to victimise herself and downplay her failed plagiarism. she kept trying to convince me she had apologised multiple times before in her dms with me, but she really hasn’t, until i basically forced it out of her with my own messages. again, she can’t do shit herself.

also, about homophobic/racial slurs being sent to her, i clearly have told her three times i haven’t put up anyone to do this. i even told my mutuals to just block her and not send her hate, and she knows of this, but is trying to pin it on me. what my thousands of followers and the people of different fandoms who’ve seen this post, is not my responsibility as i have never put them up to it. i do not condone using any bigoted language either, which i have told her multiple times, but she’s still trying to villainise me badddd.

i would have loved some evidence on that part of the hate, but she never sent it. her asks, comments, reblogs and dms were quickly all off so i have no idea how she received ‘such hate’ either. she might be lying to get sympathy point lol

anyway, she is trying to sound like she did no wrong. i had to be the adult and stop the convo at one point bcs she kept being more heated about it and trying to downplay everything, so that i did.

i told her, if she makes a new account let it be her own writing. if she plagiarises again, i will not hesitate to use my platform to get her new account too.

fuck around and find out 👋

…

the first time you went upstairs, it wasn’t an accident.

by now, you knew the pattern of these parties, same house, same crowd, same kind of noise that blurred into itself after a while. and him, always somewhere above it, like he existed just outside of everything everyone else was doing.

choso was never downstairs for long. people said he didn’t like the noise, or the people, or maybe just the way they looked at him, like they needed something, like they were already afraid of him even before they spoke.

you didn’t ask. you just noticed.

so when you stepped through the front door and felt the bass settle heavy in your chest, you didn’t bother pretending you’d stay.

you moved through the crowd like you had somewhere to be, brushing past bodies and laughter and hands that reached without thinking, heading straight for the stairs like it was routine.

no one stopped you, but you could feel it, the looks, the hesitation. someone caught your wrist for half a second.

“upstairs is off limits.” you pulled free easily, not even slowing down. “i know.” that was the thing. you did know.

the hallway was quieter, the music dulled into something distant, like it couldn’t quite reach up here. door were shut, most of them, except one at the end, never fully closed, never wide open either.

just enough.

you pushed it gently, like you always did and he was there.

same place as every time, sitting at the edge of the bed, posture loose but unmoving, like he’d been there longer than the party had even been going.

his head tilted slightly when the door opened, eyes lifting in a way that felt more like recognition than surprise.

“you’re late.” it wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t really a complaint either. just an observation, like he’d been keeping track.

you shut the door behind you, leaning back against it for a second before answering. “it’s not even midnight”

“that’s late for you.”

there was no point asking how he knew that. you had a feeling he noticed more than he ever said out loud.

you crossed the room without hesitating, stopping just close enough that you didn’t have to raise your voice. “you got it?”

his gaze stayed on you for a moment longer than necessary, like he was deciding something you weren’t in on, before he reached beside him and picked up a small bag, holding it out without standing.

you took it, fingers brushing his.

it wasn’t the first time that had happened. it was the first time neither of you pulled away quickly.

there was a pause, not awkward, not quite intentional either, just something that stretched a second longer than it should have.

you cleared your throat softly, shifting your weight. “how much?”

he didn’t answer right away.

he looked at you properly now, not just a glance, not just recognition, but something quieter, more focused, like he was trying to understand something that didn’t make sense to him.

“you don’t need to pay.” you huffed a little under your breath, like you’d expected that.

“you say that every time.”

“and you still ask.”

“because it’s weird” you replied, turning the bag slightly between your fingers. “you don’t do that for anyone else.”

“i know.” there was no hesitation in it, no attempt to explain.

you watched him for a second, trying to decide if you wanted to push it, but the truth was you already knew you wouldn’t get a real answer. he wasn’t the kind of person who filled silence just to make things easier. still, you didn’t move to leave.

normally, this was the part where you would, quick exchange, a few words at most, and then back downstairs before anyone started asking questions. it had always been simple like that.

but you stayed where you were, back still resting against the door, the noise from downstairs barely reaching you now.

he noticed, of course he did.

“you’re not going back down.” it wasn’t phrased like a question, but you answered anyway, shrugging slightly.

“don’t feel like it.”

“then why come at all?” you tilted your head, considering that for a second, like you hadn’t thought about it before.

“i knew you’d be here.”

something in his expression shifted at that, not much, not enough that anyone else would have caught it, but you did. you’d gotten used to noticing the small things with him, the almost invisible changes.

“that’s not a reason.”

“it is if i say so.”

he exhaled quietly, not quite a laugh, not quite anything else, and looked away from you for the first time since you walked in, like he needed a second to think.

the shift was subtle, but you felt it anyway, the way the space between you stretched just slightly, not with distance, but with something heavier settling in its place.

his gaze didn’t go far, just down, unfocused for a moment, like he was turning something over in his head that didn’t come easily.

his shoulders stayed relaxed, but there was a tension beneath it now, something quieter, less visible, the kind you only noticed if you were already paying attention.

and you were.

“you shouldn’t rely on that.”

the words landed softer than you expected, but they carried something weightier underneath, something that didn’t quite match the calm way he said them.

his eyes lifted back to you after, slower this time, like he was checking your reaction without making it obvious.

“on what?”

your voice came out steadier than you felt, even as the air in the room seemed to thicken, the quiet stretching around the two of you again.

“me being here.”

your grip tightened slightly around the bag, though you didn’t really mean for it to. “why not?”

he didn’t answer immediately, and the silence that followed didn’t feel empty, it felt full of something neither of you were saying, something that had been building in small pieces every time you walked into this room.

when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “i’m not someone you should get used to.” you watched him for a long moment, searching his face like there was something there you were supposed to understand.

maybe there was.

you just didn’t think you cared enough to listen to it. “too late,” you said simply, which got his attention again.

his eyes met yours, sharper this time, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it, if you even understood what you were saying. you held his gaze, not backing down, not filling the space with anything else.

and then, after a second, you pushed yourself off the door and stepped closer, not enough to crowd him, just enough that the distance between you didn’t feel like a barrier anymore.

“is that a problem?” you asked, softer now. he didn’t move, he didn’t look away.

“no ” he said, after a pause that felt longer than it should have been. “it’s just”

he trailed off, like the rest of the sentence didn’t come easily to him, like he wasn’t used to saying things he couldn’t take back.

you waited.

he glanced down briefly, then back up, and something about the way his expression settled made your chest feel a little tighter, though you couldn’t really explain why.

“…you stay.”

it wasn’t an accusation, if anything, it sounded like confusion. like he didn’t understand why you kept coming back, why you were still standing here when you had every reason not to be.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how quiet the room had gotten compared to everything happening just one floor below.

“yeah” you said, just as quietly. “i do.”

neither of you moved after that.

the music thumped faintly through the walls, distant and irrelevant, like it belonged to a different place entirely. the air felt heavier, or maybe it was just the way he was looking at you now, like he was seeing something he hadn’t meant to notice.

your hand shifted slightly at your side, the bag still loosely held between your fingers, and without really thinking about it, you set it down on the edge of the bed beside him.

“i didn’t come just for that,” you admitted.

his gaze flicked to it briefly, then back to you. “i know.” of course he did. there was a beat of silence, and then another, each one stretching just enough to make you aware of everything you weren’t saying, everything he wasn’t either.

you could feel it, whatever this was, sitting somewhere between you, undefined, unspoken, but there all the same.

it made it hard to breathe normally.

“then why did you come?” he asked, voice lower now.

you opened your mouth to answer, but nothing immediate came out, nothing easy or simple enough to explain it away.

because it wasn’t simple. not really.

your eyes flicked to his lips for half a second before you caught yourself, and when you looked back up, he hadn’t missed it.

the shift in the room was immediate, subtle but undeniable, like something had finally tipped past the point where it could be ignored.

you stepped closer again, just enough that your knee brushed his where he sat on the edge of the bed, and this time neither of you pretended it didn’t happen.

his hand moved slightly, like he was going to reach for you, then stopped, fingers curling loosely against his palm instead.

“say it” he said, quieter now, but steadier.

you shook your head faintly, a small exhale leaving you.“you already know.” that was the problem. he did, just didn’t seem to understand what to do with it.

his gaze dropped again, not away this time, just lower, lingering for a second before returning to your face, and the way his jaw tightened made your pulse pick up in a way you couldn’t quite control.

neither of you were good at this. whatever this was, but neither of you were stepping back either.

the silence stretched between you, thick and electric, every unspoken word humming in the narrow space that remained.

his eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unreadable, but the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed against his thigh like he was fighting the urge to move, told you everything he wasn’t saying.

you didn’t wait for him to figure it out.

your hand lifted slowly, deliberately, and you let your fingertips brush along the sharp line of his jaw. his skin was warm, slightly rough with the faint shadow of stubble.

he didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. his breath hitched, just barely, just enough for you to feel it against your palm.

“you should stop,” he murmured, voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in velvet. his eyes flicked down to your mouth again, then back up. “you don’t understand what you’re asking for.”

your thumb traced the edge of his lower lip, slow and teasing, feeling the way his breath shuddered out at the contact. the bag you’d set aside was long forgotten. everything downstairs, the noise, the people, the world, felt a thousand miles away.

you leaned in closer, your knee pressing firmer between his legs where he sat on the edge of the bed, your body slotting naturally into the space he hadn’t closed off.

“then you should stop me,” you whispered back, your voice barely above a breath. “if you really think I don’t understand.”

his hand finally moved. not to push you away.

his fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm enough to hold you there, thumb pressing into your pulse point like he could feel how fast your heart was racing.

for a second, you thought he might actually pull your hand back. he didn’t. instead, he used that grip to tug you forward, closing the last inch between you.

the kiss wasn’t gentle.

it crashed into you the moment your lips met his, hungry, almost desperate, like he’d been holding back far longer than you realized.

his mouth was hot, demanding, the faint taste of something sharp and sweet lingering on his tongue as it slid against yours.

a low sound rumbled in his chest, half groan, half growl, and his free hand came up to grip the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair to angle you exactly how he wanted.

you melted into it instantly, your body pressing flush against his as you stood between his spread thighs. your hands found his shoulders, then slid up to cup his face, holding him there as the kiss deepened, turning messy and breathless.

teeth grazed your lower lip. his tongue moved like he was memorizing you, like he needed to claim every inch before either of you could think better of it.

when you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling hot and ragged. choso’s voice came out wrecked, barely more than a rasp. “you still don’t get it.”

your lips brushed his again, teasing, refusing to let the moment cool. “then show me.”

that seemed to snap whatever thread of restraint he had left.

his hands dropped to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he pulled you fully into his lap in one smooth motion. your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his thighs, straddling him as your chest pressed against his.

the new angle made everything sharper, the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, the hard line of his cock already straining against you through the fabric.

the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you still or grind you down harder.

you rocked against him instinctively, a soft moan escaping you at the friction. his head fell back slightly, eyes half lidded and dark with want as he watched you move.

“fuck” he breathed, the word rough and reverent all at once. one hand slid up your spine, under the hem of your shirt, palm hot against bare skin. “you really shouldn’t be here.”

“but i am” you whispered, leaning down to drag your lips along the column of his throat, feeling his pulse jump under your tongue.

you nipped lightly at the skin just below his ear, then soothed it with a slow lick. “and you’re not stopping me.”

his grip tightened, guiding your hips in a slow, deliberate roll against him. the pressure made sparks shoot up your spine, heat pooling low in your belly.

“no” he admitted, voice strained. his other hand slipped higher under your shirt, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, teasing but not quite giving you what you wanted. “i’m not.”

you kissed him again, harder this time, pouring every bit of that building tension into it, tongues sliding, teeth clashing, hands roaming.

his fingers finally cupped your breast fully, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked under his touch, drawing a gasp from you that he swallowed greedily.

clothes suddenly felt like too much. too many layers between you and the heat you both needed.

you tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he broke the kiss just long enough to let you pull it over his head, revealing the lean, tattooed expanse of his torso.

your hands explored greedily, tracing the dark ink that curled over his chest and shoulders, feeling the way his muscles tensed and shifted under your palms.

choso didn’t give you long to look.

he flipped you suddenly, smooth and effortless, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed over you. his hair fell forward, framing his face as he stared down at you with that same intense, almost disbelieving hunger.

his hand slid down your body, pushing your shirt up as he went, lips following the path, kissing, licking, biting softly along your stomach, your ribs, until he reached the edge of your bra.

“you still have time to change your mind,” he murmured against your skin, voice vibrating through you.

but his fingers were already hooking under the fabric, eyes flicking up to yours like he was waiting for the word that would make him stop.

you didn’t say it.

you arched into his touch, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him back up for another searing kiss.

“i’m not changing anything,” you breathed against his mouth. “so stop talking and fuck me, choso.”

a low, broken sound tore from his throat, something between a laugh and a groan.

his hands moved with purpose now, stripping away the last of your clothes, your bra tossed aside, pants and underwear dragged down your legs in one impatient motion.

cool air brushed your bare skin for only a second before he was on you again, his bare chest pressing flush against yours, the heat of him overwhelming.

he kissed you like he was starving for it, deep and consuming, while one large hand skimmed down your side, over the curve of your hip, and between your thighs.

his fingers found you already slick and aching. a low groan rumbled in his chest as he dragged two fingers through your folds, circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk.

“fuck… look at you,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and rough. “so wet already. all this for me?”

you couldn’t answer with words, only a shaky moan as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them instantly against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

he pumped them slowly at first, then faster, thumb working your clit in tight, relentless circles. your back arched off the bed, hands fisting the sheets as pleasure coiled hot and fast in your belly.

choso watched every reaction, eyes hooded and intense, drinking in the way you writhed beneath him.

when your walls started to flutter around his fingers, he pulled them out abruptly, ignoring your frustrated whine. “not yet,” he said, almost gently, though the strain in his voice betrayed how close he was to losing control.

he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, holding your gaze the entire time. the sight sent another rush of heat through you.

he shoved his own pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. it was thick, heavy, the head flushed dark and already leaking.

he gave himself one slow stroke, jaw clenched, before settling fully between your spread legs. the blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, sliding through your wetness teasingly.

he braced one hand beside your head, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider for him.

“last chance,” he rasped, voice wrecked. His eyes bored into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost warning.

“tell me to stop if you don’t understand what this means.”

you wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, and pulled him closer. “i understand,” you whispered, then rocked your hips up, taking just the tip of him inside you. “just please, i need you cho”

a guttural sound tore from his throat.

he pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn that quickly melted into pure pleasure.

when he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, both of you froze, breathing hard. you could feel him throbbing inside you, so deep it stole your breath.

“shit” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “you’re so fucking tight. taking me so well.” he stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, his control visibly fraying at the edges.

then he started to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside you.

the pace gradually built, thrusts growing harder, faster, until the bed creaked beneath you and the wet slap of skin against skin filled the room.

you clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, legs

locked tight around his waist as he drove into you. every powerful stroke pushed you higher, pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin, one hand gripping your thigh hard enough to leave marks while the other braced beside your head, knuckles white against the sheets.

“fuck you feel perfect,” he panted hot against your ear, hips snapping forward with sharp, precise thrusts. “like you were made for this, for me.”

you could only moan his name in response, hips rising to meet every thrust, the coil in your belly drawing impossibly taut.

he shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you with every stroke until you were trembling, right on the edge.

his hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts.

“come for me,” he growled, voice low and commanding “let me feel you.”

the command sent you spiraling. pleasure slammed into you, white hot and overwhelming.

you cried out, back arching violently as your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching rhythmically around his cock.

he fucked you through it, hips never faltering, drawing out every pulse and whimper until you were shaking beneath him.

his thrusts grew erratic, deeper, hips snapping against yours with raw urgency. you could feel him throbbing inside you, his breathing ragged and broken against your neck.

just as the tension in his body coiled impossibly tight, Choso started to pull back, trying to withdraw.

your legs locked around his waist instantly, heels digging hard into his lower back, holding him deep inside you. he froze, a strained groan tearing from his throat.

“why?” you whispered, voice husky and breathless, refusing to let him go even an inch.

his eyes met yours, dark and wild, jaw clenched tight “we’re not using a condom,” he rasped, the words rough and strained, like it took everything in him to get them out.

you didn’t hesitate. your fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as you rocked your hips up to keep him buried to the hilt.

“come inside me,” you breathed against his lips, eyes locked on his. “i want you to.”

a low, broken sound ripped from his chest, half groan, half curse. his restraint shattered completely. he slammed back into you with one final, deep thrust, burying himself as far as he could go.

his hips ground hard against yours as he came, pulsing hot and thick inside you. the raw groan that tore from his throat was guttural, wrecked, vibrating through both of you while his body shuddered with the force of his release.

he stayed pressed flush against you, hips twitching with every spurt, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he never wanted to leave.

the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint, distant thump of music from downstairs.

he stayed buried deep inside you, his weight a solid, comforting press as he dropped his forehead to yours again.

his hand came up, surprisingly gentle, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. his thumb traced your cheekbone, then your swollen lower lip.

he didn’t speak right away. just looked at you, eyes dark and heavy with something far more complicated than lust, something raw and unguarded.

you reached up, tracing a lazy finger along the dark tattoos curling over his chest, feeling his heart still hammering under your touch.

he stayed there a moment longer, still joined with you, breathing you in, before carefully rolling to the side and pulling you with him so you were tucked against his chest.

his arms wrapped around you possessively, one hand stroking slow, soothing patterns along your bare back as the aftershocks continued to hum through both of you.

the party could wait. the world downstairs could wait.

right now, there was only the quiet heat lingering in the room, your bodies tangled together, and the unspoken understanding that the line you’d just crossed had been waiting for both of you all along.

[requested by @baddestnerd ]

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