crybaby
a/n: i’m obsessed with juwang’s eyes. that’s it.
contains: 0.5k words, crying….yay!, oral (m!receiving), kinda mean reader, established consent and relationship, and ummm ig cnc if you squint hard enough
juwang’s crying.
it’s simple as that, really, and he knows he’s pathetic for it.
he’s flushed red, cheeks the brightest shade while the tips of of his ears are a light pink. his eyes are bloodshot, glassy, and so incredibly sad.
he’s not sad though—no, far from it. he’s having the time of his life, honestly. he’s never felt better. somewhat.
because of you. it’s all because of you. the way you look at him, the way you talk to him—the way you’re lapping and swirling your tongue around the thick head of his dick even though he’s begged for you to stop, for no more, for mercy just once between orgasms.
but your cum-stained lips just curl into a cruel smile, shaking your head, silky hair in a lazy ponytail as you lean back down.
“you said you were horny,” you chide, hand pumping his spit-slicked, cum-covered cock languidly. “so take it.”
and those sweet little eyes, the puppy-dog, boba-like look as he sniffles and lets out a choked sob, pouting as his chin trembles and he tries not to cry even more—it’s almost enough to make you take pity upon him. to give him some reprieve from the harsh treatment you’re giving him. almost.
but you don’t. because you know, deep down, that he loves it. and you do too.
so your head dips back down, taking his shaft deep into your throat as you groan at the taste of him, while he throws his head back against the pillows, letting out a sound between a moan and a wail.
you take him deep, of course you do. deep, deep, deep, until the head of his aching dick is hitting the back of your throat, and all he can hear is the filthy noise of your head bobbing up and down, up and down. you’re making it filthy on purpose, he knows—the slurping, the sucking, the way your hand makes squelching noises as it pumps the length of him that you can’t fit in your mouth. it’s all on purpose, all to remind him of the position he’s in.
and then he feels that familiar sensation: his stomach drops, twists, hips bucking up into your mouth as you moan against his flesh because you know what comes next and so does he.
he cums with a gasp and a sob, tears spilling down his cheeks much like his release spills down your hungry throat.
“hurts, hurts!” he whines, the word all he can muster up with the way his brain has practically turned to mush. “no more, please, no more!”
“but you can take it, baby,” you mutter as you slide off his softening cock with a lewd pop, thumb toying with the slit of his weeping length, making more pre-cum spill out and coat your already sticky fingers.
he nods, then. for the first time tonight, he thinks it’s better to just agree with you. he knows he won’t get pity either way, so why try anymore?
“o-okay,” he whimpers, breathless, trying to suck in air in sharp gasps as he winces at the feeling of your lips back on him for the nth time tonight. “i can take it. i-i’ll take it. for you.”
he’ll take it, he really will. this time and the next, and however many other times there are. because he can be brave, right? even as he cries and pleads and shakes. he’ll take it.
