#just use your imagination for that necklace | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshigray · 2 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐆𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | s. gojō + k. nanami + h. higuruma

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Two demon hunters and a witch unite to take down a demon terrorizing the locals — sounds easy enough until the demon puts up a good fight and drags you three in for a night you’ll never forget…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: demon! Gojo + demon hunters! Nanami & Higuruma x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - fantasy! au - porn w/ plot - reader + Nanami (aged 27), Higuruma (36) + Gojo (???) - double penetration (anal & vaginal) - foursome (MFMM) - [anal] fingering! (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - handjobs - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - face-sitting + cowgirl positions - clitoral play (swiping and pinching) - biting/nibbling - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!!) - pet names (baby, cutie, cupcake, darling, [my] love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - usage of aphrodisiacs - bit of humor bc i'm [not] funny - mention of blood, drool/spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (i'm so sick...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: first fic of kintober, lessgooooo!! always wanted to write smthn with higunana, so I'm glad i can check that off my list now :333 my first foursome fic, I'm bout to end it all.

“—OWW!! Fuck…easy with the magic, witch!”

“Good work, sorceress; a good hit.”

“He went toward the abandoned mansion as planned; if we’re lucky, with that gash on his shoulder, he shouldn’t be going anywhere…Let’s stay close.”

You nod to the words, the pendant of your necklace shines. “Lead the way.”

Of course, it was a dark and rainy night befalling this day; the twilight light diminished hours within an hour, leaving the stars to scatter around as the waxing crescent dominated the black sky. The only light outside of these is the lantern harboring the flame as you tread under the forest’s trees with purpose, and heavy falling droplets coat your hood and mask the sounds of wet footsteps.

This isn’t the place to walk around during this time of night; the town is fifteen minutes away, the nearest bustle of civilization for its townspeople or passersby. For a night like this, you’d want to be as far away from the rain’s reach: hanging with neighbors or community within the local pubs, calling on a carriage that would service you to your way home, or already cuddled up on your bed and letting the hit of the rainfall hypnotize you to an easy slumber. This is what is expected of the regular townsman, away from the hands of trouble or danger.

However, you are not a townsman – nor are you ordinary – which is why you’re walking up a path that leads to the opened fenced gates of a deserted home.

“Blood on the ground leads us here,” you were not alone, as one hooded person comments while leading you past the gates forced open. He holds a lantern, the flame closeted by the glass being a light source aside from the periodic lightning that graces the dome above. Tiny bits of his blonde hair can be seen thanks to the glow.

“Just as you expected, Kento.” Another hooded man speaks before you in your company while tailing behind the other man. “There’s the old Gakuganji mansion…Sorceress, can you cast a veil to make sure the demon has no way to leave?”

You walk between them. “Please stand aside, hunters.” The men don’t move a foot as you distance yourself, leaving you with the space necessary to do what you need to. Because what you’re about to do is something no average man could do but imagine.

Again, that’s only possible because you are not an ordinary townsman…but, instead, a witch.

You raise a hand with your fore and middle finger to your lips. “Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness…” The shadow under your feet goes still, breaking its typical mandate and moving to swirl into a circle. “Purify that which is impure, impure that tarnishes the pure…” The dark circle increases, its massive size swallowing whatever is in its path. It sneaks under the feet of the two men behind you, their shadows unionizing with the giant shape and continuing to grow. Yet, the men remain silent as the darkness consumes the Earth. The grass, the mansion, the damaged fenced gates — the circle expands outward until it meets the trees of the woods. “May the shadows guard the light, keep the unseen from being seen…” Then, the shadowed shape spirals within its outline, picking itself while the foundations lay on the ground. Liquid matter encircles around as it rises, forming a dome-like profile until the dripping fragments atop piece together. “And may this viel cleanse its inhabitants and scene…Bounded Barrier: Curtain!”

The constructed umbra shields you three from the outside world, sheltering those below from the pattering hits and sounds of the thunderstorm. Knowing this, you discard your hood to the ground and let the cool air greet the skin of your cheeks; the two men behind you mimic and follow as you walk up to the old front doors of the mansion, which also, from inspection, is damaged. A massive hole is gashed onto the aged wooden frame, and lights aren’t on to greet you in the foyer.

The blonde man takes a few steps ahead of you. “His blood leads to the upstairs.” Now that his hood is off, the light from the lantern highlights more of his hair. “Higuruma-san, my blade.”

“Right here, Kento.” The other person, Hiromi Higuruma, is a brunet man with his hair pushed up, and the older hunter’s clothes is kept dry from the rainfall. Adorning an aloof expression, he pulls something out of his case and hands it to the blonde. “Be sure to stand on guard, you two. The curtain may keep things out and things in, but one wrong move and we’re in trouble.”

“Roger,” the fair-haired Kento Nanami is a younger huntsman despite his appearance. He takes the blunt sword sheathed with a black spotted cloth with one hand while the other scavengers through a pocket. “Sorceress, can you ensure the demon cannot leave this mansion?”

A curt nod is all you give before venturing a hand to the miniature bag that sits behind your back. You pull out multiple pieces of paper, talismans that you throw up in the air as you mutter words under your breath. They ignore the force of gravity and stay airborne, aligning themselves into a circle as they glow into a bluish-white halo. As you recite, your hands come up from the bell sleeves of your dress as if to hold the gleaming circle. But then, you snap your fingers, and the luminous papers immediately break from the circle and head in different directions. Some go outside the huge home while others scram around the inside, a trail following each as they travel up the stairs or down the vast halls.

“The talismans will go around to every window, door, or opening in this mansion,” you turn to utter a quick spell, and the broken door reconstructs itself back to its original standing with a big spell mark painted on its surface. It flares when you snap your fingers again. “Any contact he makes with them will subdue his powers temporarily. But I’m sure he knows that as well…”

“My thoughts exactly,” Higuruma agrees with you after pulling items from his case to pass to Nanami. He then claps his hands and enumerates a prayer under his lips, and something emerges from the shadows. A black body camouflaged with the dark shade with three stubby points and a face, eyes sewn shut and gritting its teeth. A shikigami, and it swims to where you three stand, curling to where the oldest is. “Better take care of him now while we have the upper hand. Let’s move.”

You and Nanami nod and let Higuruma steer the company to where the blood takes them, walking up the stairs and avoiding the darkness to take hold of their figures because of the lantern.

Walking in the woods and expediting in old, abandoned homes isn’t something you’d do regularly. But, for a case like this, it’s a routine you’re not unfamiliar with. It comes with being a leper of the woods, an outcast to those who don’t comprehend your routine. Endowed with advanced knowledge of magic and texts, you are the sole witch residing in these forests, practically knowing every way, sound, root, and print like the back of your palm and all the while staying enclosed to yourself, isolating away from the judgemental looks and discrimating words of the common folk.

Now, if you’re so looked down upon, what calls you here in what seems to be a chase for a demon? Well, for the past three months, the nearby municipality has been sprouting accounts of “supernatural” encounters. What started as something that only a handful of people would recollect turned into havoc brought upon the townspeople daily. The elderly are spooked to the point of shivers, children crying at the most bizarre sights of floating objects and beings, and even narratives that speak about being attacked — all of this from the same demon terrorizing this once peaceful community.

A demon is causing trouble; what does that have to deal with you? As far as you can tell, none of the people in that town even look your way or treat you with barely decent manners without you harboring a disguise — why should I care for them? That is the question you raised to the two hunters who traveled into the forest to find your hut and bring the issue to you. The same hunters you are silently searching through this mansion’s dusty halls and rooms.

Demon sightings and encounters typically go straight for the church, with experienced deacons and reverends coming together to ordain a jurisdiction on dealing with the wicked spirit based on their ancient teachings. Nonetheless, the church has admitted defeat in exorcising this particular demon. This robust, evil creature is gifted with abilities that have caused near-death for the most adept church members. Every failed attempt only fuels more despair for them and the citizens…which is the demon hunter guild sent two of their fairly newest yet most skilled to come to your abode and convince you to lend them your expertise.

At first, you watched as the two men tried to sway your resilience into giving them aid, yet your stubbornness was a solid obstacle for them to navigate. To you, helping a community that holds ill will towards you just because of your lifestyle to the point of outcasting yourself makes your stomach turn into the worst of knots — something both Higuruma and Nanami found validation in your sternness. But they inquired, you are a practitioner far from their customs, meaning your ridiculed ways have a different advantage and approach. To them, the combined powers of the hunting party and sorcery are necessary to bring down the same evil. Not to mention, you knew of this demon and his powers, so your intellect is profoundly essential – if not by the townspeople, then by the two comely huntsmen begging for your cooperation.

So, with a heavy sigh and a “…Fine,” you agree to work with the men on their mission on the condition that they capture the ghoul alive. And with two handshakes and a day to devise a plan, you’re now in this rusty place combing for the injured specimen that’s caused all this disturbance…

The inspection is done quietly so the three pairs of ears can catch any cue of noise or voice. No sentences are exchanged, and the three of you are on the same page and motioning around the halls not to have your position compromised for your enemy. Until a clash is heard in a room down the hall, you and the hunters swiftly appear at the door.

Before anything is done, you gently place your fingers on the wooden surface, and your eyes glare with the contact. The material before you turns transparent, the room’s contents visible to your naked eye. According to the layout, this is the second-floor living area with a fireplace, a couch set, and bookshelves on the far right side. And something - no, someone - writhing on the ground, clutching its left shoulder - or what’s left of it as there’s a massive chunk eviscerated off from the collar to the bicep — and bolts of lightning course around the seething figure until faded.

He tried to escape from the window; you note that the exact strings of bolts come from a giant closed windowsill, a talisman plastered outside on the glass. Your eyes return to normal, “I’m going in.” You move without an answer from the huntsmen, your hands grabbing the handles and pushing them to let you in. With your entrance to the cold room, the person is alerted and groans in agony as they change positions for battle despite the pain conveyed in their huffs. You snap your fingers and throw light to the fireplace, and you’re finally met with the being you’ve been tailing after.

White hair is the first thing that captures your eyes, followed by the bare chest exposed by the lack of a shirt—black hakama with intricate blue and white designs that skitter the bottom openings. Sky-blue tattoos decorate the milky skin from his wrist to his shoulders, pectorals, and streak back to his nape. Finally, the blue horns and tail confirm his non-humanness, and the six signature eyes that his face holds. Six cerulean orbs lock into your frame; the “normal” set has two eyes sitting beneath them, all shining cautiously.

“Gojo Satoru,” you speak first. “Good to see you again.”

He scoffs with a pained grimace. “Wish I could say the same to you, witch. But I didn’t know getting my shoulder murked was part of the greeting.” His right hand was coated with blood from the open wound, crimson spilling down his arm onto the carpeted ground.

“My apologies,” you say flatly with a step forward. Yet you halt at Gojo’s bloody hand, which forms a sign and points to you. “But you were given multiple chances to stop and still ran.”

“Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do when you’re being chased by a dark sorceress and two pushy demon hunters,” he spits blood to the side before averting his gaze to the door. “Whom I can sense hiding with a weapon and shikigami, by the way—not cool, Nanamin!”

“Not my name.” Nanami bluntly retorts before you continue.

“You know why we were chasing you down, Gojo. You’ve been frightening the townspeople for the past three moons, an issue that’s been troublesome enough for the church to seek my help.”

Six eyes roll with the click of the teeth. “Mch, traitor, outed by a fellow outcaster.”

“Know it wasn’t my initial choice. Besides,” you move the slit of your dress to open the bag of your thigh. Your forefinger and thumb pull out a green liquid tablet. “You should be thankful that I’m the one capturing you and not killing you here and now.”

You throw the tablet in the demon’s direction, who catches it with his tongue and gulps it down. Instantly, a grumble of stress and pain befalls Gojo, his hand returning to the wound you’re responsible for. This time, tissue muscle regenerates and stitches itself back into its earliest mode, rebuilding his shoulder until the skin morphs back and restores the tattoo that once sat there. “Haaahhh…how thoughtful of you.”

“Stand down now, Satoru,” you cross your arms and crouch. “Leave this place and return to the demon realm where you’ve agreed to stay.”

“No can do, witch. I ain’t going anywhere until I get what’s mine.” Now that his injury is sealed, he stands up to dust off his pants and stretches. “And seeing that you’ve finally crawled out of whatever hole you’ve been hiding for three months, looks like you’re ready to return it.”

A neutral expression remains. “I’m not giving it back.”

“Then I’m not going back — not like I have any interest to anyway; it’s sooooo boring there.”

“The last time I had to come after you and your antics was with Yaga half a year ago,” you caught the slight narrow of his eyes at the mention of the retired demon hunter. “And the only reason you still walk among the living is because you agreed to his conditions that you return to the demon realm and give me half of your Limitless and Infinity.”

“Agreed or getting hit by the old man until I said I would?” He jokes, but he points to his head where the former hunter had beaten the young ghoul with the sheath of his sword. “But I don’t sense him with you. Guess the geezer finally retired, and not many huntsmen are up to his level now,” Gojo spaces his feet to steady his stance, putting his fists up with a smirk. “Meaning it won’t be too hard getting the rest of my power back.”

You lift a brow. “You underestimate me.”

“Can’t help it,” all his eyes laminate to a brighter hue. “You might be a sorcerer, but you’re still human, flesh and bones that can break easily with or without my Limitless.”

“You think you can break me.”

Metallic nails sharpen with a flex, “Without a doubt.”

Silence shays between you two briefly before you stand right back up. “Then you’re just as foolish as any other human.”

At the final word, the huntsmen dash into the room and begin to charge Gojo’s way, running past your figure as you recite spells. However, the demon’s eyes shine expectantly, slashing his hand filled with energy to dart red crescent-like blades to the men. They dodge and go in opposite directions. Nanami uses his blade and aims for Gojo’s forearm—no damage, used as a shield with his Limitless.

“Nanami~n, how’ve ya been?” The monster asks with a chipper, nonchalantly pushing his arm to push the fair-haired man back. “It’s been a while; I haven’t seen you since you came to get me and Suguru from an old pub!”

“Yes, I remember,” Nanami voices with slight reluctance, sneaking a dagger into the abdomen only for his wrist to be caught by the demon’s tail. “I also remember my superiors warning you and Geto-san to quit causing trouble.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? Staying in the demon realm is dull and boring. But here,” Gojo puts Nanami on his back with a swift swipe of his leg, kicking him to the chest for a strained groan. “Here is not much of a buzzkill; humans flock to this planet like sheep, little playthings that never cease to entertain me.” He places his foot on the other’s chest, biting his lips after a lick. “…And sure tasty as hell.”

In a flash, the three-limbed shikigami lurks to headbutt Gojo off of Nanami, propelling him into the direction of Higuruma, who stands ready with a sword in position for a slash. Gojo notices him in his peripheral and maneuvers to land on the wall beside the older hunter at the last second. “Hm? Hey, you’re new.” The ghoul gives the dark-haired man a punch to the cheek. “How long have you been in the guild, big-nose?”

“Five months,” Higuruma admits airly as Gojo swerves from the lunges of the steel sword. “But I’ve heard quite a lot about you.”

“Ehhhh, who woulda thought I was that famous!…Huh?” Something emerges beneath Gojo’s shadow, pulling the demon in and swallowing his body halfway into the wall. “And a shikigami user at that? Heheh, demon hunters might be becoming interesting this time around…”

Higuruma backs up once Gojo is consumed wholly by his umbra and disappears into the wall. He turns to you, “Is that it? How are we supposed—“

You cut him off. “Get back!”

The spot where the shadow that was once plastered on the wall appears again; this time, the dark shape changes from its black shade into a radiating sky-blue hue. Then, Higuruma backs away, cracks from the glowing tone flourish around the wall, and the old paint withers with ash. “Stay ready,” you warn with your hands coated with energy for whatever comes your way.

A fist emerges from the wall, two hands pulling the spot apart to create a more prominent crater. The fire in the fireplace is sucked inside the glowing hole, and blue horns and silver hair poke out with the torso. “Haaah, being sucked inside your own shadow is suffocating, ya know.” Six mischievous locks on the older hunter responsible for such a sneak attack. “Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine, newbie.”

Nanami doesn’t give him a chance, throwing a dagger to penetrate Gojo’s Limitless and pierce his forehead. A cry of pain is expectant yet not given, the creature pulling and discarding the weapon to let the wound heal. With a chuckle, he licks the blood drizzling to his lips. “That wasn’t nice, Nanamin. Be patient and wait for your…turn!” Gojo darts out of the wall with inhumane speed, the sand-haired man barely ricocheting the nails, eager to carve into his skin. Rapid kicks guarded and calculating every move, Nanami does what he can to keep up. Until a punch to his face knocks his goggles off, and a kick to his gut has him projected to another side of the room.

You clap your hands together, the power within your fingertips emits spider-like strings intertwined, and Gojo stops moving. The right hand comes up and slowly goes down, and Gojo suddenly goes to his knees with his hands up above as if holding – or preventing – something from pushing him onto the floor. “So much for ‘breaking’ me, huh.”

“—Khhh, fuck…” He grouches, trying to writhe from whatever spell you’ve enacted, yet appears more difficult than he figured. “Give me my…powers back, witch!”

“Surrender, now, Gojo Saotru.” Higuruma appears from behind, hailing his sword down to stab the vulnerable target now that he’s under your control.

“F-Fat…fucking chance!”

…Not entirely, though, forgetting one thing that acts with a mind of its own: Gojo’s tail. The thing extends to wrap around Higuruma’s wrists, squeezing painfully hard to throttle him and the weapon to the floor. Then, pupils dim from the glow of Gojo’s Six Eyes, directing onto your frame and blinding you instantly. Fuck! Whether you open or close your eyes, all you can see is the blinding strains of blue eyes that block your vision, your hands coming to your face and undoing the spell.

“Sorceress!” Higuruma calls out to you, standing up to initiate combat with the demon. Yet, Gojo already appears from behind and hits his nape hard, and the huntsman has no choice but to submit to unconsciousness. But that’s not all; he then grabs the knocked-out man and throws him in your direction. An action you couldn’t foresee and unfortunately got caught up in, unable to enumerate the force of the throw that has both bodies break several walls that lead to an empty room.

Nothing but pain stimulates your senses, aside from the disorienting eyes obstructing your vision slowly fading. You blink frequently, your body aching so much every time you move as you turn to your left where Higuruma’s immobile body lays.

“Hiromi, wake up…Hiromi!” It’s no use; his name isn’t enough to wake him, nor the slaps you pepper on his cheek. “Ghh, of all times to nap…Wake u—“

You hear a sound from the front, your head turning instantly to find a body before you: teleportation! Two fingers press to your forehead, and you, too, become immobile before succumbing to an abrupt rush of sleep. And the last thing you saw was an annoying, insolent grin on the face of a man with horns.

Oh, shit…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Nmm….mmm…”

You awoke to the sound of groaning, eyelids straining to rise. Moving a single muscle in your arm hurts like a bitch, pain permeating throughout tissues and nerves connected. The ringing in your ears begins to disappear, yet nevertheless irksome.

A few blinks ease the bleary eyes, registering that you are not in a familiar setting. The ceiling is easy to make out, and some warm lighting picked up, too. Must be candles. Old paintings, a dresser, and a nightstand — without a doubt, you weren’t in the living area anymore. You are now stuck in what appears to be a bedroom.

“Ghh…! Ahh, shit…”

That noise again. Turning to your side sluggishly, you see Higuruma’s figure lying parallel to you. “Hiromi,” you whisper to him, his name heard as the man grouses again. You place a hand on his shoulder; his clothing is sullied after being thrown around like you. “Hunter, are you all right?”

“Nnmm, yeah, I’m okay.” He answers, head still processing what has transpired. “Fuck, that was a throw. My head hurts…”

“Yeah, I know, you were knocked cold.” Your head turns to the sides; to your left are the windows that lead to the outside, and a couch sits to your right. “This must be one of the bedrooms of this mansion.”

Higuruma finally opens his eyes. “We’ve been separated from Kento.”

“Yes, and I can’t seem to sense his energy anywhere. Same with yours…” Lips flatten. “Damn it, Satoru must’ve subdued me somehow.”

“Hah, man. This is not how this was—“

“—Mmph! S-Stop, Gojo…!”

“Wh~y? You seem to be enjoying it.”

Two pairs of eyes shot wide at the familiar voices, catching the attention of you and the demon hunter’s eardrums. You two don’t move a single centimeter, allowing the room to respond to your suspicions, and more sounds and noises enter the fray—more…questionable sounds, at that.

You and Higuruma look to the couch, the source of where the voices were coming from, or rather behind it. Slow movements are taken to precaution, the two of you making your way to the furniture to creep and rest your knees away from the hard floor. Slowly lifting your heads, you two investigate what’s concealed by the couch’s camel back.

And what you see is beyond what you had envisaged.

There’s a bed that stands, and old canopy curtains draped along the wooden frame give it a luxurious appearance. Candles and lanterns are turned on by either bedside, basking a warm glow that goes with the tranquil safety of a bedroom. However, you weren’t alone; two occupants also keep the room company, and they’ve chosen the bed as the safest leisure spot.

What comes to mind when you think of a bed? Sleeping, of course. Possibly a place of rest whenever you come home from a long day’s work. And perhaps, maybe other explicit activities your mind can think of…But something as explicit as seeing a demon giving a demon huntman a blowjob? Hardly foreseeable.

There’s no mistaking it: the white-haired spirit’s head bobbing up and down was an easy catch, his tail waving from side to side as you picked up muffled moans that were somehow mute to you moments ago. Slurping noises are heard from a distance yet are too erotic of a sound for your ears to expect in this scenario, nonetheless. Nanami’s thighs spread for the ghoul, jerking and fighting to bounce with bitten lips, rosy cheeks, and golden-knitted eyebrows, an expression you never thought you’d seen from such a stoic man as the young man.

Nanami throws his head back, hitting the backboard of the bed. “Hnnmmmshit…Gojo, knock it–ahhaa!!-offff…!” His hands restrained to his back, probably from magic.

Gojo lifts his head and spits on the head of the human male’s cock. “You say that, but look how hard you’re getting,” he strokes the hunter with vigor, the human under his grasp arching his back to the touch. “Damn, who would’ve thought you had something this big; guess that’s expected of a demon hunter, huh.” His tongue laps around the pink glans, climbing to the urethra to tease; Nanami’s legs quiver more. “And look at all this precum…What’s got you all pent up?”

“—Tchhh, fuck, you!” Chocolate eyes hone onto the monster’s figure. “You are what, always giving me more shit to do…Mmmm, can’t stay still in one place…”

“Nope! You, of all people, should know that” he kisses the underside up before claiming the tip for a harsh suck, resulting in a yelp darting out of the blonde’s mouth — you covered your lips. “Besides, isn’t it my job to keep you on your toes, hmm? I’d be making your days pretty boring without me around.”

Nanami observes Gojo retreat his mouth off him, substituting with his hand to stroke the erection to maintain the warmth and friction. The evil spirit draws his face near the hunter’s, all six orbs of his flushed expression, and he scoffs humorlessly. “You call it ‘boring,’ but I’d say any day where I don’t have to deal with the carefree and annoying Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s prominent eyes narrow with an impish glint, and his milky nose brushes with the pink of Nanami’s. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy my company. Especially with this mood, Na-Na-Min.”

You could not believe what played out before you: Gojo Satoru, one of [if not] the strongest demons to roam, kissing with the phlegmatic, young yet swift hunter, Nanami Kento!?!? Has the stars gone in disarray all of a sudden? Was there some dark omen befalling this hour?? You had no idea, your thoughts going a million miles to reach an adequate conscience. Yet how could you when you’re seeing the two opposites melt into the kiss, transitioning from a sweet peck into a more sinister and indecorous one!? Tongues exchanged within each other’s mouths, moans becoming louder with the increasing pace of Gojo’s hand on the excited hard-on. Such an unintended turn of events, especially for Higuruma — big wide eyes witnessing his subordinate be used.

The older huntsman brings you down to hide; however, the couch is no shield from the auditory commotion. W-What in the—what is the meaning of this? The two were in combat not long ago; how do we switch from a battle to an intimate moment like this? How long was I asleep for? Could Satoru have used something to cause Nanami to act like this? No, he doesn’t use spells like that; that’s more my domain…Unless, could he ha—

Your train of thought is put to a stop when something heavy lands on your right shoulder. Higuruma surprises you unexpectedly, placing his forehead on your shoulder. “Hunter?” You whisper with concern, shaking him by his arm. “Hunter Hiromi, what’s the matter? Are you fe—“

Words stop when you hear a deep inhale, and a shaky exhale exits from Higuruma’s lips. And then another, he turns his face to face where your neck is.

……Did…Did he just sniff me?

That’s not the weird part, though; the older hunter creeps into an area exposed from your dress’ cold shoulder. Another airy breath steams your skin before you’re met with something cold and hot. He kisses your collarbone slowly; the sensation makes you jump and stiff.

D-Did he just kiss me?!

“Hiromi?” You probe again, shaking him more. “What’s gotten into—“

“Sorceress,” his voice low to not grab the attention of the other men busy with themselves, yet loud enough for you to notice a behavior change. “My head, it’s…pounding like crazy…”

“Your head? Why, what’s—“ His head goes deeper into the crook of your neck, and your heart nearly leaps out your throat from his lips, kissing you again with a light puff. The contact has you suppress a gasp; your nerves under his mouth are hypersensitive for whatever reason! Okay, what the fuck? “Wh-what’s wrong? Why is your head aching all of a sudden?”

“You…smell so good.”

Wow, that’s not an answer you prepared for, both in mind and body.

Speaking of body, Higuruma’s hands creep on your frame, his left glides to your shoulder to hold – the calloused pads of his fingertips send shivers up your spine – and his right comes to wrap your waist, pulling you closer to him. And he begins to pepper your reactive skin with more kisses, sucking the flesh with a pucker after a lick. The soft smacks of his lips get wetter, and heat from your cheeks is more complicated to avoid.

“Hunter Hiromi…! Snap out of i—Ohhmm!!” Your lips clench to halt the yelp, almost jumping out of your esophagus. Fuck, why am I so fucking sensitive!? Hushed complaints fell on deaf ears, Higuruma still latching his lips onto your warm skin to suck.

It was then you looked at your bag positioned at the exact spot you were unconscious with the huntsman, tiny valves you stored sprawled out of their organized system. Then, you notice one shattered, pink liquid exuding to the floor burns into gas that fades with the atmosphere. You’re familiar with the potion you see, and your confusion switches to utter dread.

Before leaving on this mission with the huntsmen, you specifically remember telling your witch-in-training, Miwa, to stock up on your mini potions within your bag for defense. Knowing how ditzy that young, blue-haired witchling can be, she probably thought you meant every glass you had — no wonder the shit was a little heavier than usual!

Finally, it all begins to click: the flush of Nanami’s cheeks, Gojo’s unexpected sexuality, Higuruma’s demeanor switch, and your nerves acute at every touch — you got to be fucking kidding me! That broken vial was an aphrodisiac harboring a musk so strong it could bring down a humongous orc within minutes, a spell you had crafted for a customer only for your witchling to misplace it. Now, you’re here reaping the consequences in the worst situation possible! How did it break in the first place?! It could be from when you were thrown through multiple walls and went tumbling to the ground, the effects taking fruition when Gojo knocked you out earlier.

And to make matters worse, you’re not the only one undergoing this; three men now act like absolute horndogs because of this mistake, taking this mission to a complete 180° turn. Just when you thought this task was difficult enough, a curveball such as this throws you off. Unbelievable!

“For crying out loud,” you curse under your breath. “Hiromi, try to fight it! This isn’t—“ he kisses up your neck to your chin, and your attempts to push him off are weaker the closer he inches. Muscles tense when the hand to your waist glides to the crevice of your bottom — and a twitch between your legs. “Stop! Now is not the ti—Mmnn!” He cusps the flesh of your asscheek, bringing the other hand down to grope your ass. Holy Christ, “N-N, wait! Don’t touch it like…Haahhh.” Fuck these damn aphrodisiac effects!

“Fuck, you smell so fucking good, sorceress,” Higuruma inhales your scent brazenly. “That perfume is driving me nuts.” His fingers are hungrier as they fondle your butt, forcing you to rock your hips with his rhythm. The huntsman comes to your ear; his hot breath brushing the lobe causes your skin to crawl. And then he gives it a lick, and you jump.

“F–For Christ’s sake!” Your heartbeat hammers your chest. “Don’t do that, I’m sensitive…!” He doesn’t listen, lathering your ear with more licks and kisses. It sounds so erotic; his groans up close to your propinquity that you don’t know what to think right now. The heat between your thighs gets intolerable, imbuing your lower region more and more. “Don’t lick iiit…Ahaah…”

The both of you mesh together in each other’s warmth, Higuruma’s touches growing bolder to prompt you to bite down and stop your moans from getting louder. Your hands are still on his chest, yet exhibit not that much of a push, allowing the man to do as he wishes to make your brain turn into mush. Before you know it, his hands find the slits of your dress and meet bare skin, and you gasp at his calloused fingers ravaging your pantie-covered butt. Fingernails dig as he roughly kneads your rear muscles, silent screams pulled out of your body.

“Ughh, I can’t,” he speaks softly. “I can’t stop. I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, but” before you know it, his weight adds onto you and forces you to lie on your back. Great, now you’re really stuck under him. “I just can’t…you smell way too good. And you taste so good, too,” he peppers your cheek with a smooch just centimeters away from the corner of your lips. “God, you taste too good; it’s like I’m addicted.”

“Hahh–H-Hunter, not here…We shouldn’t—“

“No, stop,” Higuruma finally lifts his face; your field of vision met with glassy, hooded eyes and furrowed brows. Strands of his onyx hair fell out of its pushed-back form and stuck to the beads of sweat on his forehead, and a flush of red cascaded from one ear to the other. He’s heaving so desperately — as composure stands out, he looks awful! “Keep calling me…by my name.”

Your breath hitches as his face draws closer. “Hi–Hiromi,” and closer. “Hiro—Ohh!—…miii.” His knee meets the area between your legs, pushing onto where your underwear guards your chasm. And the thought that a potential wet spot might be protruding is embarrassing to think about.

“Good girl,” he praises, lips hovering tantalizingly over yours. “Good girl…”

Finally, after many teases all over your body, Higuruma places his lips over yours to claim. The kiss ignites a fire, instantly combusting within your nervous system and leaving you hot. The heat inside your panties worsens and has you writhing under him, hands grabbing onto the back of his black undershirt as he pushes his face into you more.

He drinks your squeaks, and his tongue slithers on your bottom lip, nibbling on it to evoke more helpless whimpers. “So sweet,” he mummers. “You taste so sweet, baby…”

Baby!? You had to be dreaming, your heart beating way too fast under these conditions, and your cunt spasming involuntarily. I can’t give in to this potion, I can’t…!

You chant these words internally, yet you can’t stop the quirks of your inner walls as Higuruma pushes his tongue to your teeth. It wasn’t suspected, your mouth opening up in surprise, not knowing that was exactly what the older huntsman wanted for him to intrude into your oral cavity with his wet muscle. You gasp aloud, the sensation of his moist tongue swirling around your mouth and dancing with yours tightens the grip on his shirt.

At this point, everything is happening all at once. You don’t realize your resilience slipped as you whine underneath the man’s bow, heads turning to stay locked with each other’s lips as the pecks grow prurient by the second. Your hips sway to and fro on their own, alongside Higuruma’s, as his hips rock to your tempo. Your legs came around his waist to keep him close, too enamored by him sucking your tongue to even notice.

Then, all of a sudden, something sneaks inside your dress and ventures south and pushes the damp spot of your underwear into your leaking cunt. Electric shocks shoot to your head, and it takes everything in your power not to scream. “—Thhh!! F-Fffaahhh…!! Hi-Hiromi, what are you—“

“Holy shit, I didn’t know how wet you were down here,” A finger presses down into the area, and more liquids flood out of your opening and expand the dampness. “Damn. It’s so hot.”

“Noo, stop it, don’t touch—“ the forefinger swipes up and down and gets swallowed by your clothed outer labia. Your legs quiver, “I’m too sensitized right now! If you keep touching me, you’re gonna–Aahhh!” He brushes your clitoris; oh, this is very bad. “I’m gonna break…!”

“Oh? But I can feel you aching under my fingertips,” he adds his middle finger to circle your slit, the movements tortuous to endure. “Doesn’t it hurt if I leave you just hot and twitchy like this? Don’t you want me to ease it?” You can’t reply, too distracted from his digits, pushing your underwear aside for them to feel the raw flesh of your bareness. “I think you do; don’t you feel how crazy you’re wanting my fingers inside you right now?”

“Stop saying that! It’s embarrassing…! Mmoohh…” Higuruma skims around the split of your vagina, and your breathing gets heavier. “—Nnnmm, fuck, it’s so hooot…”

He kisses your cheek and the corner of your lips. “It’s okay, baby, I got you…” He speaks so low you could melt. “Just relax for me, okay?”

You only reply to him with another passionate kiss, being way more receptive than the last by shoving your tongue into his. The hunter takes this to advantage and patiently pushes his middle finger into your slit. You whine at the insertion, mouth agape as the entire digit nestles inside your warmth. Higuruma instantly greets you with scrapes against your inner texture, the blunt of his fingertip itching your walls to the point of your toes curling.

The haze increases, coherent thoughts turn into fog, and your senses are overwhelmed by the lower commotion. You suck on Higuruma’s tongue with a hum, descending to the wiggle of his finger migrating your insides. Jesus Christ, it felt so good. Was it real, or was it because of the effects of the aphrodisiac, making every fiber of your body hypersensitive? Regardless, you can’t deny how enrapturing it is to have him ease your itch.

Once he adds his ring finger into your wet cavern, you grab hold of his shoulders as both digits push into you until they’re knuckles deep. “Oohhh, ohhhmyG—Hiromi, Hiro!” His name is the only thing that feels easy to blubber out. “I can’t, it feels so good…Ohhh, right there, please…”

“Yeah, you like it when I do this?” He curls both fingers to graze your upper wall, and you jolt upward. “Or…this?” He stretches them apart in a scissor motion, and you nearly choke on your spit.

“Sh-Shtop it,” you croak. “I’ll cum, I’ll fucking cummm!!” The chuckle you hear from above is smooth like honey, unable to fight the twitch of your walls.

“Go on, cum on my fingers, sorceress,” he coaxes. “And then I’ll go right between your legs, strip that underwear off, and lick you down for making such a mess on me until you’re sore and want nothing but my dick.”Ho. Ly. Shit. “You hear me?” You nod hurriedly, earning another short laugh. “Then cum, sweetie.” Higuruma increases the flick of his fingers, shoving them inside you as deep and fast as he can to where you don’t know how to contain your choked sobs. He gives you his lips again to quiet and calm you down while he effortlessly caresses your velvety channel.

Nonstop motions prompt you to buck your hips and arch your back until you feel as though you’re falling from a peak. Inner muscles spasm erratically around the hunter’s digits, legs tensing up with tremors, and your wails taken by Higuruma, who moans lovingly along with you. Your frame jerks to him with every wave of your climax, and shocks clatter up to make you dizzy and foggy.

“Mm, there you go, darling,” Higuruma coos before placing a chaste peck on your forehead, removing his fingers from you to see them coated in the fresh slick you’ve gushed. “So good.”

“Wow, what a show!”

Suddenly, the lukewarm feelings soothed around your figure abruptly halt once a new voice shatters you and Higuruma back to reality. Your eyes leave each other and look up to find six on your close-knitted bodies, blue orbs glued onto you two as if to examine you exceptionally near.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Gojo waves a hand. “Please go on~.”Higuruma is the first to make a move, but a firm grip catches his wrist, throws him into the air fluidly, and lands on the bed with no grace. “Not what I meant, newbie.”

“Satoru!” You try to slap him, but he grabs your wrist as well. “What are you doing—“

“Uhh, shouldn’t I be asking you the same question, witch?” He brings his face close. “I never took you, so stoic and all business, for a bit of pervert. If I knew you sounded cute and desperate having your pussy teased with, I’d have you wrapped my finger a long time ago.”

“Tah, I’m the pervert? You seemed to enjoy stuffing your face with Kento’s dick. Quite good at it yourself; is that your favorite sport? Something you like to do when you’re not terrorizing towns?”

“What, don’t know what it looks like to have a good time? And not to point fingers, but let’s not forget your potion has us all like this.”

You grimace. “Maybe don’t throw people at about five walls, or something will break!”

“Maybe don’t bring such powerful erotic potions to a battle, and we wouldn’t have that problem! But don’t worry,” Gojo then lifts you off the couch in bridal style. “You’ll take responsibility.”Before you could argue back, the evil spirit teleports you two back to the bed where he primarily was. Now, four bodies lay on the huge old yet soft mattress, all under the potion’s spell, and share a mutual lustful atmosphere. “How long does this aphrodisiac last?”

“…Two hours max.”

“Well, you’ve been knocked out for nearly thirty minutes. So, while we still have the time,” he pushes you off him to where Higuruma lies. “Why don’t you help these two with your mishap?”

“It was an accident—“

“Aye, an accident that now has Mister Big-Nose over here hard as a rock.” You look down to where Gojo’s pointing and see a tent jutting out of Higuruma’s pants. Your lips flatten at the sight, same with the owner of the boner. “Why the faces? What happened to all that talk about eating them out?”

“T-That wasn’t what—“

“Oh c’mon, newbie, you sure ‘bout that? Look,” Gojo maneuvers to where you sit and picks up a leg, moving your dress out of the way and removing your panties to discard. And now, your wet and sticky cunt is out for the men to see. Good Lord, Satoru!! “Look at how wet you made them feel back there; they were really excited about how good you made them feel. And I’m sure they look forward to your handsome face sitting in between their juicy legs.”

Had the silence been longer than a few seconds, you would’ve told Gojo off and left the other be. But the sound of an unbuckled belt is heard as you observe Higuruma sliding his pants down and revealing the erect limb free. The sight of precum sliding down the angry pink tip down to his balls is brain-altering. He then loosens his shirt, letting his stomach breathe, and your eyes catch the raven-happy trail from above his lower abs down to his pubes. Holy absolute fuck.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Gojo pushes you further. “There’s a nice face waiting to be sat!”

“Shut up!” You wish to throw curses at him all you want. However, you crawl to where Higuruma’s face is crooked and sheepishly lift your dress to place your knees and align yourself. “Please…forgive me, Hiromi.”

“It’s okay, sweetpea,” your heart skips at the nickname and his hands finding your waist. “Nice and slow, okay?”

You listen to his command and slowly descend your hips to Higuruma’s face, toes quirking at the brush of his noise hitting your taint. A sharp gasp leaves your lips when his tongue greets your labia, swishing around to intake the nectar dripping out of it. “Ohhh, shit…” You hum as he groans, your hips having a mind of their own and swerving around, yet the man beneath doesn’t fail to latch his lips onto you, his hands now curling to your butt.

A hand finds its way to where his erection stands tall, your fingers circling the shaft before motioning up and down. More excessive cum escapes out the urethra to paint your fingernails and tips, veins pulsing against your palm as you jerk him off. He then laments when your free hand cups his balls to massage, kneading one of the testicles gingerly like rough dough.

From your peripheral, you spot Nanami coming into view, and you cry out when his peer sticks his tongue into your opening and slurps. “Kento.”

“Sorry,” the blonde man stands in front of you while fisting his cock. “Might need your help here…”

You titter, hearing him sigh heavily as you bend down and blow on his cockhead. “May I?” He nods to you and caresses your cheek, guiding your lips to take in his tip and gradually swallow his inches. You suck him in till your mouth is busy with his length, moving your tongue around the underside, which makes Nanami hiss.

“Hahhh, fuck, yes, love,” you hear him from up above, his hands coming to your head to maintain while he jerks his hips into your mouth. His balls meet your chin with every push, and his musk is all that attacks your nostrils. The fog in your head makes you dizzier and dizzier, humming on the dick you’re swallowing.

And you can’t forget the snow-haired person who brings his hand to your chest area and rips the seams open. Your breasts are now out and exposed to the open air, and a nipple finds its way onto the flat of a reptile-like tongue. “Awww, cupcake, you’ve been hiding these tits from me, too? Heh, not fair…”

The only sounds that you can pick up are all raunchy, squelching noises from between your legs, slopping wet cues as you slurp on cock, and Gojo’s moans as he sucks and plays with your breasts. If you thought things were overwhelming earlier, you’re sure as hell finding yourself drowning in your senses. Gojo nibbles on your nipples, his teeth grazing the buds, and have your thighs jolt. Meanwhile, Higuruma’s hands keep your asscheeks glued to him as he drinks up more of your essence while pushing his tongue into your slit, fucking your insides for more fluids to coat his tastebuds.

Nanami’s hip work dials up to a faster tempo, stuffing your face with more of his cock to the point that he hits the back of your throat frequently. Your eyes start to water as you begin to taste the salty precum lathering with your spit. Yet you slurp on him with a whine, sucking harshly onto the top, where you push your tongue to the split of his urethra to toy with.

The sand-haired man throws his head back. “—Khhfff, fuck,” his head pounding while you dance your wet muscle around the crown of his shaft and frenulum. “Ohhhh, Goddamn it…! Just like that, my love, like that…”You listen to Nanami’s requests and continue, your hand stroking faster onto Higuruma’s cock with vigor.

“Very good, you three, very good…” Gojo eggs you on, removing his face from your chest and tapping your cheek to release the girth. “Now it’s time to switch it up.”The ghoul then pushes Nanami onto his back; this time, you’re straddling him while Gojo urges Higuruma to straighten up. “Nanami’s been such a nice guy, huh? Why not reward him with a taste of what this newbie was feasting on, cutie?”

Your eyes travel down to where Nanami’s cock is pressed to your belly, and you lift your ass and grab him to kiss your folds with his glans. You both share a look and whimper aloud as his tip makes it inside your vagina, thanks to your come, and you leisurely drop your ass onto him. “Hoooh, fuck, feels so good…!” You shrill, and your hips begin to go to and fro.

“And as for you,” Higuruma groans as Gojo takes hold of him and aligns his glans to your ass. “Fuck them good here, got it?”

The raven-haired man’s hands meet your buttcheeks, and you go ahead and bend down for him to get the full view. “Damn,” he gulps. Before doing anything, Higuruma moistures his fore and middle fingers with his spit and circles around your asshole gently until they get past the puckered sphincter. You remind yourself to relax as he readies your ass, his fingertips pushing in and out to adjust the cavern for what’s to come. And after a minute, he pulls them out and substitutes them for his ready member, and you scream in mute as he pushes himself into your rear end. “Oh, fuck, fuck!” He swears with a bitten lip. “So tight…Hahhh…feel so good, darling.”

The two human men rock into your holes simultaneously, having your frame join with the cadence they inflict to follow. Both your holes are ravished, Nanami’s dick turning your insides into goo with every graze to your sweet spots, and you almost shut down from the occasion of surprise pokes of your cervix. The man behind you plows your butt with purpose, shoving his member deep into your rear channel and rubbing on the walls that have you unable to fight the drool escaping.

And last but not least, Gojo grabs your chin and pushes his tip to your puffy lips. “Hey, baby. Mind I have a turn with those lips of yours?”You roll your eyes with a smile before curling your tongue around his crown and taking it inside your lips. The demon sighs under your lips, bucking his hips impatiently for you to suck every inch of him. “Fucking—Nnnmm! Your tongue…Gggahh!!”

All three men go wild in your grasp. Nanami’s pace slips to an erratic fashion, rutting deep with accurate rubs to your G-spot that leave you mumbling onto Gojo’s dick. Higuruma nearly loses himself while pistoning his pelvis to your ass, his forehead coming to your shoulder to rest. “Christ, your ass is driving me crazy.” He kisses the space between your shoulder and neck and bites down. You cry and suck on Gojo’s cock harshly, making the demon hiss above you.

“—Uugghh, so tight!” Nanami grabs your waist with firm hands and drills himself upward faster. “Fuck it, I need to cumm…!!”

“Me too, Kento—shit—me too…” His older peer slurs, burrowing his face into your neck to lick and nibble on your skin. “Almost..there….!”

It isn’t long before all three men come at you with a unioned tempo, and you’re way too engrossed in the sensations to notice how wet you’re getting from the constant pleasures. Your frame is used as their plaything as they fuck your holes, borderline degrading, yet you can’t deny how good they feel for relieving the horny itch you’re feeling. Fuck! More, more, more!! Continuous rough ruts to your chasms and mouth have you numb, and your scream is muffled as Gojo grabs for your face to bury his cock deep into your throat as he dispenses his load into you.

Nanami and Higuruma aren’t far from joining him, too, the two climaxing simultaneously and filling you to the brim with their white, thick essence. Groans bounce off each other and the bedroom walls; three bodies pant heavily and heave above and beneath you, as they experience the peak of their crescendos. And after a few more thrusts and jerks, they soon allow themselves to slide down from their high.

The huntsmen from behind take his cock out of your ass, a string of his cum still linking to your puckered hole. Now, with him off, you swallow down the last of Gojo’s semen before withdrawing your face and raising your hips off of Nanami’s dick.

Gojo comes to you to place his forehead on your sweat one. “Holy shit, that was good,” he praises as he cups your cheeks to squish them. “That’s one way to take me down. But, are ya ready to let me fuck that pretty cunt of yours?”You don’t say anything, just grabbing his chin to lure him into a kiss, which he anticipates…

…However, he doesn’t meet your lips as expected. Instead, while he’s distracted, you sneak a hand to the chain that wrings around your neck. A locket that you open the pendant to grab for a tablet and quickly shove it inside Gojo’s mouth. Six eyes widen as you cover his mouth shut, forcing him to swallow whatever it is that’s inside his oral cavity.

And before he has the idea of pushing you off and overpowering you, Nanami is quick to grab hold of his arms and restrict them to his back. Higuruma takes his lesson from earlier and grabs Gojo’s tail before it goes around, making people fly off. It takes a group effort; however, the freakish devil’s strength weakens in seconds, and his eyes roll until the lids fall over. Slumber hits the creature, unconscious both in mind and body, as his figure slumps on Nanami’s chest. The blonde hunter gently places the white-haired being down as you all watch him fall into a deep sleep.

“Finally,” you exclaim and let your body fall to the mattress in exhaustion. And the other huntsmen do the same. “For God’s sake….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Thank you again for your help, demon hunters!”

“Yes, we don’t know what we could’ve done without you two.”

“You two make the demon hunter guild proud; may Yaga recognize the talent laid after his years!”

The rain was long gone, exchanging its grey clouds with the gleaming shine of the sun and the vibrant blue of the sky. Everyday life finds its way back into the swing of things now that things are not in turmoil. And to close a mission down on a sunny day seems like a reasonable bid for closure.

Coming from your lair deep into the woods – after scolding your witchling, Miwa, for that aphrodisiac potion accident of hers and cooking a contraceptive tea – you walked toward the town to appear before the demon guild. Eyes and leers of the common folk linger onto you as you make your steps amongst them, ignoring their unconcealed judgment. Of course, it makes you uncomfortable that discrimination follows you every which way, especially after lending aid to the demon problem they so desperately needed. But alas, you didn’t come here for recognition, so you continue to walk until you reach the wooden tavern-like building.

At the front, you find a pair of familiar faces — Nanami and Higuruma — conversing with a local townswoman who thanks the huntsmen for their service. Neither party seems to notice your appearance the moment you tread closer to the front. Which is fine; again, you’re not here for celebration or acknowledgment. You’re so used to being cast aside that it practically feels innate.

That is, until you spot something beside the woman, a smaller being glued to her hip. A child, you pick up: a little boy with raven spiky hair similar to a sea urchin and slim yet puffy cheeks signature to a toddler. And his blueish green eyes are honed in on you unmistakably. It’s a bit of a funny image to see a tiny human be bold enough to look at you yet still hide their presence behind the shadow of their guardian. Whims of a child, you suppose.

The woman bows to the men with gratitude before heading off in business, only to stop in her tracks once she sees you. And to your surprise, she beams a smile. She is undoubtedly the child’s mother – her unkept hair proving hereditary. “You must be the sorceress, right?” She inquires, and you answer with a silent nod. “Good, because I wanted to come express my thanks to you and the huntsmen for having to take down that demon for our sakes! I imagine it wasn’t easy, nor was it something you wished to be burdened with.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” you shook your head as the woman bowed to you. “The demon and I have had multiple encounters before, and I’m the nearest person outside of town who’s well-versed in the demon realm and beyond. So, it’s only natural that I’d be pulled in to help the cause somehow.”

The townswoman nods along to your explanation, her smile still present. “Regardless, you did save this small city of ours. I don’t know how to thank you properly for your service, but I hope you know I am sincerely grateful you lent your prowess along with the hunters.”

“Your gratitude is well-taken. I ask that you try to stay far from trouble and be safe and vigilant.”

“Yes, I understand…And you, Megumi,” you both turn to the child you sensed observing you during the entire conversation. “Don’t you have anything you wish to say to the sorceress who saved our home?”

Quiet, the vibe you get from the silent kid who keeps his eyes on you as if you’re a stranger. Typical behavior of a child. He slowly comes behind his mother and pulls something out of his pocket. With delicacy and steadiness, his balled fist points to where you stand, and you decide to crouch down and extend a hand to him to place something.

“…Is this for me?” You ask. In your palm lies a green four-leafed plant, a clover. Not crumpled or torn in any way, ideally in its original form, and you could tell it was treated with care—a gift.

Megumi gives a curt nod. “I went to the fields yesterday with my sister and found some four-leaf clovers. Mama said they give good luck and protection to those with them. I gave one each for the hunters, so I saved this one for you.”

You have to be honest: you’re not one to gift-give in your profession. Hell, you’re not even accustomed to being handed gifts, either! It’s a custom foreign to you as you’re deemed as an outcast in many eyes of this town. Gratitude or hospitality isn’t something you’d expect from anywhere…But it seems that is different in a child’s world, for you can tell his heart is in a genuine place.

With a smile, you bring the clover to where your necklace sits above your chest. Muttering an incantation, the plant glows and disintegrates itself and is absorbed by the pendant of your locket. “Now, I’ll be sure to have good luck wherever I go, thanks to you, little one.”The young boy’s eyes flashed with wonder from your minuscule display of magic, flashing an awkward yet confident smile as you stood upright and bowed to him and his mother. “Be safe and strong for your sister and mother, Megumi.”

The child nods to your words before you bid his mother farewell, and the two spiky-headed ones walk by to wherever they came from, leaving you to the matters you initially intended to take care of.

Speaking of matters, “Sorceress,” you turn to find the huntsmen walking to greet you. Nanami is the first to talk, “You came in just in time. He’s awake now but still experiencing some grogginess.”

Higuruma adds on. “And we made sure to call him up to appear today, so things should be going smooth this time around, as you said.”

“Good,” you reply. “Thank you for your cooperation on this mission, hunters. The townpeople can return sleeping soundly now that Gojo isn’t around to cause a ruckus.”

“No, we should be thanking you.” The sand-haired man interjects. “Yaga had spoken highly of you and your professionalism during the handful of times you two had worked together. Without you, dealing with Gojo would’ve been more of a hassle I’d want to deal with.”

“Kento’s right,” the dark-headed one agrees. “Weapons and shikigami aren’t enough to bring down a strong demon lord such as Gojo; we needed as much help as possible. And it was an honor to see you in action for myself.”

“I thank you, gentlemen,” you say with downcasted eyes. “However, I apologize that it was on my bad that the situation went to a more…ridiculous turn,” you peer to see that the two men avoid your gaze at the nuanced mention. “Nevertheless, we can put this behind us and not bring it up with anyone else. Agreed?”

The two men nod concurrently.

“And, perhaps…If the wind finds me at the right time and you two wish to work together again, I would…consider it a little more lenient the next time.” Maybe you shouldn’t have said that because now you can barely look at the two huntsmen in the eyes. For crying out loud, you’ve seen each other naked; how can you ever work with each other again after such unprofessional circumstances?

But you guess they don’t seem to find a problem with it, seeing as they both share a smile at you. “Thank you, sorceress.” The older male speaks for both of them. “We hope to see you again when requiring your assistance.”

The younger hunter nods with soft brown eyes. “It would be wise to lend you a helping hand just as our former leader did for you.”

And for the second time today, a tiny smile returns to curling your lips before you straighten yourself up.

“Well, until then, what should we do with you, Gojo Satoru?”

Although the expressions of thanks and appreciation served as a pleasant stratum to begin the day, a conflict still needed to be solved. That is why the three of you walked inside, deep into the demon hunter’s guild, past the many hunters who watched you make your way to the hall at the back of the building. Many rooms are stationed to the right side, yet only one harbors a recognizable aura for you to trot in front of and open the door when no one is looking.

Lo and behold, the sole being in this cell-like room is Gojo Satoru, the ghoul sitting on the dirty ground with chains restricting his feet and wrists. Talismans with small writing decorated his biceps, shoulders, and abdomen, the mark of your subjugation as his power isn’t as high as before. It is positioned at a level where it occasionally bursts until it returns to a low steady.

“You tell me, witch,” the demon answers your question. “We’ve had this dance a million times already, sending me back to the demon realm and supposedly ‘promising’ not to come back.”

“Well, you are being sent back this time,” Nanami crosses his arms. “Yet instead of ‘supposedly,’ we’re going to have to make that a definitive.”

Gojo cackles, bearing his canines to shine. “Oh, bullshit. Me staying in the realm ‘forever’ forever when I’m aware that half of my Limitless has been stripped from my possession? Don’t you know you should never touch what belongs to a demon; whatever is taken from me might be taken from you tenfold.”

“That’s why there are demon hunters in the first place,” Higuruma sighs and slumps on the door surface. “Your powers were taken under contract after the carnage you caused last time. Judging by how we handle you this time, you might lose the other half of your Limitless.”

“This has nothing to do with you, big-nose.” Gojo retorts. “If I weren’t chained up right now, you’d be the first to jump at.”

The hunter raises a brow. “Is that a threat?”

“Perhaps. Although…” devilish lips curl to a smirk. “After what happened last night, maybe I’ll have some fun with you and Nanamin one of these days if—“

“Satoru.” You cut him off, the conversation steering to where it’s not supposed to go. Higuruma takes the white-haired spirit’s words for thought and stands up straight with more alertness, his blonde subordinate fixing his glare on the same. “If it weren’t for your status and relations with this realm, your fate would’ve been handled differently. Be thankful that it was me and the hunter guild who had to deal with you this time; anyone else would have your head on a spike and your body torched.”

“Awww, what caring babysitters you guys are~,” Six blue eyes roll in one direction with a click of their teeth. “Oi, witch, you know it doesn’t matter what you do with me. I could be thrown off the grid, shackled to the demon realm, held in some dark supernatural prison, or even killed — no matter what, as long as you’re the holder of half my powers, I will find you. And I don’t care if it means ripping your pretty face to shred; I’m getting my Limitless and Infinity back.” Eyes gleam with a fury, like ocean waves in a wayward thunderstorm. “Believe that.”

“I do believe it. And I will wait for the day you learn to find me, not vice versa.”You take his threat with earnestness. “However, until that day comes, I will reprimand you for this case. Along with the help of an old friend of ours.”

He sucks his teeth. “And who would that be?”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!!

Gojo’s ears perked before the harsh bangs were put on the wooden door. You pan to Higuruma, who nods silently before he turns to unlock the locks and grip the handle. With the pull, a silhouette befalls into a vision of all four occupants in the room. A tall, muscular man who appears to be in his forties minimum, head-shaven except for the spiky top, adorning a wolf pet over his shoulders with leather slashes. Gojo’s six eyes widen when he sees the man’s face: the familiar thick eyebrows sitting above minor yet dominant eyes and a mustache and goatee adorned on the chin.

“W-Well, hello there, Yagaaa~,” the snow-haired being switches his demeanor to a chipper tune now that a new visitor has come to pay a visit. “What a lovely surprise to see you! You clean up nicely. Is that a ring I see on your finger—“

“Gojo Satoru.” A guttural voice puts a stop to the ramble. “Last time I saw you, I put you in a chokehold that had you screaming for your mama and promised I’d put you in another worse than that the next time I see you.”

You can sense the demon’s aura dwindle like a tiny flame, and you can’t help but find amusement; no one better to put the ghoul back into his place than Masamichi Yaga, the seasoned, skillful, and former commander of the demon guild. “Is…today the day?”

“Hmph.” The older man pulls up a chair to sit in front of Gojo. “Possibly, yet the sorceress pleaded for your case and told me to withhold until after our discussion.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Miss Sorceress!” Now he wants to shower you with affection; whatever happened to that threat he made a minute ago? “That’s nice to know because I have a lot I would like to get off my chest before you sta—BHROOOF!!” Gojo’s cut off from a swift kick to the chin Yaga inflicts, causing him to fly to hit his head on the wall and fall to his back. “OWWWW?!!!??!!! What was that for?!”

“For bringing me out of my retirement,” Yaga cracks his neck with a heavy sigh. “You little bastard.”

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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hoshifighting · 2 months ago

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famous poker player ! jeonghan x famous poker player ! reader

— Synopsis: Jeonghan, the untouchable poker legend, meets his match in you, that spent years watching his every move, studying his poker game, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, shattering his ego in and out of the bedroom. As you leave him wrecked and humiliated, he’s left questioning everything he thought he knew. The game’s no longer just about cards. — WC: 8.9k — WARNINGS: angst, smut, manipulation, gambling, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating, ego destruction, heartbreak (reader uses jeonghan's past heartbreak as a manipulation to win), rough sex, dirty talk, dom!reader + sub!jeonghan (his first time being a sub), power play, chocking, hair pulling, gagging, humiliation, degradation, oral (f. receiving), masturbation (m. receiving), body fluids (cum), cock riding, overstimulation, nipple play, jeonghan sucks your fingers and etc.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, fingers lazily curling around his glass of whiskey. He couldn’t help but scoff when the whispers about some new poker prodigy reached his ears. His lips twisted into a smirk, eyes rolling as he tipped the glass toward his mouth.

Really? Better than him? That’s what they were saying?

He glanced around his lavish apartment, the expensive art on the walls, the sleek black car parked downstairs, and the designer clothes hanging in his walk-in closet. Who the hell was this person, thinking they could come into his world and steal his crown?

He heard how you took the big names down one by one, storming through the tables like a tornado. Maybe they had a point. But better than him? He wasn’t convinced.

As he buttoned up his black shirt, leaving the top half undone, he thought about what they said. He liked his shirts that way, just enough to show off his chest, always a little provocative without trying too hard. The sunglasses perched on top of his head held back his long hair, and a Rolex gleamed on his wrist. He liked to dress like this—clean, sharp, unbothered.

The whiskey burned his lips as he sipped, plumping them slightly from the alcohol. His head tilted back, gaze narrowing at the ceiling before pushing out a breath. So, this sensation was gonna sit at his table tonight. Fine. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. He set the glass down and made his way to the poker room.

The place smelled of money and desperation, just the way he liked it.

— // —

You knew the moment you stepped into the room, all eyes would be on you. It wasn’t the dress, although it clung to your figure in a way that left little to the imagination despite its attempt at being ‘discreet.’ It wasn’t even the necklace, though anyone who knew their jewelry could tell the diamond hanging from it was worth a small fortune. No, it was the fact that you walked in with a purpose. Like you owned the damn room, because in your mind, you already did.

You’d been watching Jeonghan for a long time, standing in the shadows while your father pointed out the way he played—strategic, patient, never letting emotion cloud his judgment. You’d learned from the best. And now you were here to take it all. Just like he did, over and over again, watching others lose everything while he walked away with the spoils.

The poker room buzzed with energy as you made your entrance, the soft click of your heels barely audible over the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. And there he was, Jeonghan, sitting at the table with that lazy confidence that made him so irritatingly attractive. Black shirt half-buttoned, a glass of whiskey hanging from his fingers, his lips soft and plump from the drink. Sunglasses held his long hair back, giving him that laid-back, don’t-give-a-shit aura.

The dealer froze, eyes flicking between you and the table. “We’re missing one,” she announced.

Jeonghan’s eyes finally darted your way, trailing up your form with a slow, deliberate sweep. You could practically feel his curiosity, maybe even a hint of amusement. You gave him a brief glance, then turned your attention to the chair that was waiting for you.

“Well,” Jeonghan drawled, “Guess we’re starting now.”

You slid into the chair, ignoring the stares from around the table. Emotion? Distraction? None of it touched you. You had one focus. Winning.

The game started slow, with each player eyeing the table as if the cards themselves could tell secrets. You already knew what Jeonghan was up to; you’d seen it a thousand times before. He was the type to play people, not just cards. He watched everyone, but he never let on how much he was paying attention. Those sharp eyes darting from one player to the next.

You glanced at the woman on the other side of the table, her mirrored glasses catching the shady light. Amateurs. You could see her cards in the reflection—oblivious, reckless. A snort almost left your lips, but you held it back. Instead, your brows furrowed, unable to comprehend how someone could be that careless.

Jeonghan noticed too. His eyes flicked toward the woman, then shifted back to you. He caught the disgust on your face and had to suppress a laugh, a short breath escaping his nose. It was barely noticeable, but you didn’t miss it.

That’s how he played—small reactions, little observations. He wasn’t just studying the cards. He was reading the room. But that’s where most people faltered. Poker wasn’t just about reading your opponent; it was about mastering yourself. Turning off every feeling, every twitch of emotion. You weren’t here to feel. You were here to win. And to win, you had to make choices that seemed heartless to everyone else. But for you, it was all part of the plan.

Jeonghan, on the other hand, was searching for something. His eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign, any crack in your composure. But there was nothing. Your expression was stone-cold, eyes devoid of the shine he’d seen in others. Where most people’s emotions played out on their faces—joy, fear, anger—you gave him nothing. Your gaze was lifeless, almost opaque, like you weren’t really there. You were present, but distant, your mind somewhere else entirely.

And for once, he couldn’t figure someone out.

In poker, most people give themselves away without even realizing it. The way their breath catches when they get a good hand, or how their fingers tap when they’re bluffing. Some people can’t hide a damn thing, spilling their favorite music, their past traumas, their entire soul with a single look. But you? Jeonghan couldn’t even tell if you were a real person sitting across from him. You were like a ghost—untouchable, unreadable.

He detested that.

Still, he didn’t let it show. He leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he raised the stakes. His movements were plotted, but you could tell his focus had shifted. He was no longer playing to win. He was playing to figure you out. Watching the way your fingers hovered over the chips, how you folded your cards with meticulous, emotionless care.

You saw it. The way he tried to bait you. He’d push, then pull back, testing the waters, throwing small bluffs, but never fully committing. That was his game—slow manipulation, never giving you too much, always keeping you on your toes.

But you’d already seen it. You’d watched him do it time and time again. You weren’t fooled by the charm, the calculated nonchalance. You knew exactly what he was trying to do. He wanted to get inside your head, unravel whatever mystery he thought you were hiding.

The game stretched on, cards dealt, chips thrown in. But as the final hands approached, something strange happened. Neither of you was winning.

Jeonghan was too wrapped up in his obsession with breaking you down, and you? You were too focused on figuring out his game—confirming every theory you’d ever had about how he played. His tells, his habits, the way his fingers always lingered a second too long on his cards when he was bluffing. You knew him. Inside and out.

But that didn’t help you win. Not tonight.

The dealer called the game. Neither of you took the pot.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a slow, lazy smirk curling on his lips. “Guess we’ll have to do this again sometime,” he said, though you could tell he wasn’t as calm as he wanted to appear.

You just looked at him, eyes still flat, still unreadable. “Maybe,” you replied, voice cold and detached. “But next time, focus on the cards.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, trying one last time to peel back the layers. But he couldn’t.

You are going to be a pain in his neck.

[...]

Jeonghan had been searching for you everywhere—tax records, statements, social media, anything that could give him a glimpse into who you were outside the poker room. But nothing.

And the irony of it all? You were right under his nose, standing behind his back in the past, unnoticed, more times than he could count. Just another face in the crowd, a "normal" girl, blending into the background while making small talk with the people who mattered. Someone important, someone worth impressing—but not you, not in his eyes. He never paid enough attention to connect the dots.

That was Jeonghan’s weakness. He could size up the players at the table, but in the real world? He let things slip. You remembered when you caught him, the moment he faltered at the table—a time he lacked patience, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was too sure of himself, but his fingers twitched when he was about to bluff too big. You’d hissed under your breath, watching him give himself away with that tiny tell. He was good, no doubt, but even the best had cracks.

There was also that time, years ago, when he had a girl by his side. A classic, picture-perfect trophy—long legs, expensive clothes, hair and nails done like she was auditioning for a role in some gangster flick. She was the stereotypical “pimp’s wife,” hanging off Jeonghan’s arm while he gazed at her with those stupid, love-drunk eyes.

You had rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck.

The entire casino buzzed with rumors about her—the way she’d swindled money under his nose, how she was there for the money, for the benefits. And Jeonghan? He didn’t even see it coming. Too wrapped up in the fantasy, too blind to notice how she played him. Eventually, she broke his heart in the most humiliating way possible, leaving him behind with nothing but those pathetic rumors, the gossip about his downfall trailing after him like perfume.

Tonight, though, things were different. This game wasn’t in the usual place. No, it was on a luxury cruise, far outside any regulations, outside the safety of controlled territory. Here, anything could happen, and everything was allowed. You made sure your presence was felt before you even sat down. A bigger diamond hung around your neck tonight, matching the heavy stones on your earrings and the glint of the ring on your finger. It was subtle, but anyone with half a brain could tell what you were signaling—wealth, power, danger. A quiet boast that you could bury anyone at this table if you wanted to.

As you sat down, you noticed the last game’s winner strategically choosing the seat next to yours, clearly hoping to ride the wave of luck or maybe get a read on you. A smile tugged at your lips. Not today, ma boy. He thought he had an advantage? Not even close. You glanced at him, knowing full well that every smile you gave, every tiny reaction, was another move in the game. But you were always three steps ahead of them all.

Across from you sat Jeonghan, his gaze as slutty as ever, eyes dragging over you with zero shame. You knew that look—he wasn’t even trying to hide his interest. But you didn’t bite. You didn’t act on impulse, never did. Every move you made was calculated, every risk weighed and measured long before you stepped into this room. That’s how you won. While everyone else was still trying to figure out the rules, you’d already written your own.

The game started, tension building as the cards hit the table. You could feel Jeonghan’s eyes on you, trying to catch something, anything, but you gave him nothing. He was good, but you were better, already mapping out his play. You watched his fingers, the way they tapped against his chips when he was thinking.

But what really caught your attention was the way he murmured under his breath, almost absentmindedly, when he was sizing up his opponents. It was like he was narrating his own game, whispering little clues while doing the opposite of what he wanted people to think.

He was messing with their heads, giving them false signals while slipping in moves they didn’t expect. You could see the way the other players were starting to falter, misreading his intentions, stumbling over their decisions as Jeonghan fed them just enough to confuse them.

But you weren’t fooled.

You knew his game too well, knew the way he liked to play with people’s minds. He was trying to throw you off, make you second-guess yourself. But every look, every murmur, every bluff was something you had already anticipated.

Jeonghan was talking too much.

He always did this when he was trying to manipulate people—narrating his moves, acting like it was just him thinking out loud. But tonight, it was getting under your skin in a way that made you want to roll your eyes so hard it hurt. Every word that spilled from his mouth, every cocky smirk, every calculated glance was just noise. Too much noise.

And you were done with it.

So, with a calmness that could make ice seem warm, you leaned back in your chair, eyes narrowing as you shuffled your chips between your fingers. Then, with a voice that cut through the air like a knife, you asked, “Mr. Yoon… how’s your ex?”

You didn’t miss the way the room collectively held its breath. Players around the table stilled, the soft murmurs from the crowd fading into a stunned silence. People thought it was just a curious, innocent question, maybe a playful jab at his famous love life. They didn’t know the weight of it, the way it pierced straight into him.

But he knew.

You had crossed a line. A very delicate one. And you did it with a smile, like it was nothing. Like stepping over the line was as easy as stepping over a crack in the sidewalk. And that’s what set it off.

Jeonghan froze, his hand hovering over his cards. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. It was as if your question had punched the air right out of his lungs. His cool, confident conduct cracked, just for a second, but enough for you to see the split.

That girlfriend. The one who crushed his heart into dust and didn’t even look back. She wasn’t just a sore subject—she was the wound he never let anyone touch. And you? You didn’t just touch it. You pressed down hard, twisting the knife until the pain reflected in his eyes.

“She… uh,” he stammered, trying to regain his footing, fingers twitching around his cards. His face didn’t show much at first—Jeonghan was too practiced for that. But it was in his hands. The way they fumbled for his chips, the way his thumb nervously tapped against the table.

His mind was unraveling, and you watched it happen in real time. The words you’d thrown at him weren’t just a blow—they were a ticking time bomb, going off in his head over and over again. He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t pull himself back together fast enough. You’d cracked something in him, and now all those emotions he usually buried deep were flooding to the surface.

"She’s good," he finally managed to mumble, forcing a shrug, his attempt at brushing it off. But it was too late. He had faltered, and everyone saw it.

You smiled, your eyes cold and sharp, watching as he tried to hide behind that stupid grin of his. But the damage was done. You had used his own tactics against him—poking and prodding at the weaknesses until he couldn’t help but crumble. Only this time, it was worse. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of this kind of mind game.

Jeonghan tried to refocus, pulling his attention back to the cards. But his hands were shaking now, and he made a mistake. He matched a bet he shouldn’t have. His stack of chips was dwindling, and everyone at the table could see it.

You caught the twitch in his fingers when he was about to bluff, the way his eyes darted to the side, just for a split second. He wasn’t even aware he was doing it, but you were. You watched every tiny movement, every subtle tell he gave away as the game went on. He was unraveling, and you were loving every second of it.

As the rounds continued, his frustration became more and more apparent. His jaw clenched, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his usual smooth talk started to falter. His voice was quieter now, unsure. Every time he looked at his cards, you could see the doubt in his eyes. He was playing on autopilot, too distracted by the question still gnawing at his brain.

How’s your ex?

The question echoed in his mind, louder than the crowd, louder than the sound of the cards being dealt. It was a constant hum, a reminder of his failure, both in love and in the game. The more he thought about it, the more mistakes he made. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t compartmentalize the way he usually did. You’d crawled under his skin, and now he was lost in his own head.

The more uncomfortable he became, the more the game tilted in your favor.

And then, it happened. His final misstep. Jeonghan threw in all his chips on a hand that he was convinced would win, but his bluff was too obvious, too desperate. You saw it from a mile away. With a slow, deliberate smirk, you laid your cards on the table.

Straight flush.

The room gasped. Jeonghan’s face went white, his jaw literally dropping as he stared at the cards in disbelief. His mouth hung open, but no words came out. His brain was still trying to catch up, still reeling from the question that had taken him out of the game long before the cards were even dealt.

You leaned forward, your smile turning into something sharper, more vicious as you pulled the massive pile of chips toward you, raking them in with your arms. “Better luck next time,” you said.

Jeonghan just sat there, stunned, watching as you claimed victory without even breaking a sweat. He wasn’t used to losing, especially not like this. Not when someone used his tactics and twisted them until they cut deeper than he ever intended. He tried to say something, anything, but all he could do was stare at you, his mind still spinning, still trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

But you already knew. You’d gotten inside his head, turned the tables on him, and left him gutted, just like his ex had done.

Jeonghan couldn’t stop. After that first loss, he played again. Then another game. And another. Each one worse than the last. Every time, he thought he could regain control, pull himself together, get back into his rhythm—but no. He was spiraling, his thoughts spinning out of control. His hands trembled with every bet, his bluffs grew weaker, and his confidence bled out with every chip that slipped through his fingers.

At one point, his friend—a familiar face, someone who’d watched him dominate this scene for years—touched his shoulder, giving him a sharp look. “Stop, Jeonghan. You’ve lost enough.”

But he couldn’t stop. He needed to win something. He needed to claw back even a shred of his dignity, anything to remind himself he was still Jeonghan, the legend. But the more he tried, the deeper he dug his own grave. Every hand was a humiliation.

By the time the final round ended, Jeonghan wasn’t even sitting anymore. He stood, arms crossed, shoulders tense as he watched the game from the side, a silent observer. He didn’t need to say it—the shame on his face was clear enough. He never had to stand and watch. It was beneath him. But tonight, he was left with no choice, stripped of everything he had worked for.

And you? You rose from your seat like it was nothing, your body language as casual as if you had just finished a friendly round at a small-stakes table. You didn’t even bother to look at him, didn’t care about the people whispering around you, the ones who were still buzzing over the fact that you had won every round. You walked out like the night didn’t matter. Like it was just another game.

For Jeonghan, though, it was devastating. His ego lay shattered, a million pieces scattered on the floor. The heartbreak from his ex? That pain had dulled over time. But you had ripped open that old wound, making it raw again, bringing back every piece of humiliation he had tried to bury. He felt himself fumbling, trying to grasp something solid, but everything was slipping through his fingers.

And then he saw you.

Like some kind of devil on his shoulder, you were there, watching him as you stood by the bar. You didn’t even need to say a word. The sight of you—so calm, so unbothered—made him feel sick. You ordered a drink, took it in hand, and with a quiet smirk on your lips, you started walking towards your room.

Jeonghan couldn’t let it go.

His feet moved before his brain even caught up. He followed you, his pulse pounding in his ears, that familiar swagger of his long gone. He didn’t even know what he wanted from you—answers, confrontation, something—but all he knew was that he needed to speak to you.

You walked into your room like you knew he’d be behind you, the door clicking shut behind him as he entered. There you were, standing by the window, holding your drink like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just ripped his ego to shreds in front of everyone.

Jeonghan's voice was low, strained, almost shaky. “What the hell was that?”

You turned, eyes cold, that same infuriating smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “What do you mean?” you asked, sipping your drink slowly.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he snapped, stepping closer, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “You knew exactly what you were doing, bringing her up like that.”

You shrugged, unfazed, as if his anger meant nothing to you. “It was just a question.”

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked. “You—you went there on purpose. You knew it would mess with me, and you did it anyway.”

Another sip. Another smile. You didn’t even blink as you watched him unrave. “Isn’t that what you do? Get inside people’s heads? Push their buttons until they break?” You leaned against the window, eyes gleaming with delight as you spoke. “I thought you’d appreciate the effort.”

Jeonghan let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “This was different. You crossed a line.”

You tilted your head, the smile widening. “Oh? And what line is that, Jeonghan? The one where you keep your emotions locked up and pretend they don’t exist? Or the one where you think you’re untouchable?”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. There was a heaviness in the atmosphere between you two, viscous with stress—anger, yes, but something else too. Something he didn’t want to admit was there. His eyes flicked to your lips for a split second, before he forced himself to look away.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “That wasn’t just about the game.”

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your drink again, taking your time. “No, Jeonghan. I get it more than you think.”

His frustration spiked, fingers twitching at his sides as he fought to keep his voice steady. “What is this? Huh?” He took a step closer, his body tense, looming over you. “What do you want from me?”

You didn’t back down, didn’t flinch. If anything, you seemed to enjoy the way he was coming undone in front of you. “Nothing,” you said, your voice soft. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? You want to matter, you want me to care, but you don’t. You’re just… there.”

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “You’re full of shit.”

“Maybe,” you said with a light chuckle, finishing your drink and placing the empty glass on the table beside you. “But you’re here, Jeonghan. Following me, like some lost puppy, hoping for… what? Closure? An apology?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanted to get inside my head, Jeonghan. But look at you. You’re the one who’s a mess. You’re the one who’s crumbling.”

You could see it in his eyes—the conflict, the way he was battling with himself. The fury, the frustration, the desperation. And underneath all of that? The craving. The way his gaze flickered to your lips again, the way his breathing hitched every time you moved just a little closer.

But you stayed cold, unfeeling, watching him with that same smirk on your face, enjoying every second of his discomfort.

“Go on,” you whispered. “Tell me how much you hate me. How much I’ve fucked with your head. Tell me I’m the problem.”

Jeonghan's lips parted, but no words came out. He was shaking with rage, with something else, his hands twitching as if he wanted to grab you, shake you, do something. But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because you had won. Again.

But through it all, there was one that kept circling back to the same question:

Who the hell are you?

“I don’t even know you,” he spat, his voice cracking. “I don’t know who you are, where you came from, or why the fuck you’re doing this to me.”

You raised an eyebrow, that infuriating smirk still playing on your lips. “Don’t you, though?” Your voice was calm, icy, as if his unraveling in front of you was nothing more than a spectacle for your amusement.

“No.” He shook his head, stepping closer, his face inches from yours now. “I don’t. You—” His words stumbled, caught in the whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t make sense of. “You show up out of nowhere, tear me apart in front of everyone, and then act like I’m supposed to—” His voice wavered, almost pleading. “I don’t even know your fucking name.”

You chuckled, a low sound that made him shiver. “That’s the thing with you, Jeonghan. You don’t know anyone, really. Not unless it benefits you. You see people as pawns, tools to get what you want. All these years, you’ve played your little game, always one step ahead of everyone else. But you never bothered to look around, did you? Never noticed the people who were watching you.”

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You leaned in just enough that your breath brushed his skin. “I was always there, Jeonghan. Watching. Learning. I’ve seen you win, lose, fake that stupid smile when things don’t go your way.” Your eyes darkened, voice dropping as your lips curled into a mocking smile. “But you? You never noticed me. Not once.”

Jeonghan’s breath hitched as your words sank in. His mind raced, trying to piece together fragments of memories, moments, faces in the background. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place you. “You’re lying,” he said, his voice shaking, though he wasn’t even sure who he was trying to convince anymore.

“I’m not.” Your voice was cold, cutting through his defenses with ease. “You were too wrapped up in your own world to notice anyone who didn’t directly serve you. That’s your problem, Jeonghan. You think the world revolves around you, and anyone outside your little bubble? They don’t exist. You never cared to look at anyone unless they were a threat to you. Unless they had something you wanted.”

His jaw clenched, anger flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know enough.” You stepped closer, your bodies barely an inch apart now. He could feel the heat radiating off you, the way your words slipped under his skin, pulling at every insecurity he had buried deep. “I know how you ignored the signs when your ex was using you. How you let her walk all over you because you were too blind to see her for what she really was. I know how you couldn’t keep your emotions in check tonight, how I got into your head so easily because you’re weak.”

Jeonghan’s breath came out in shallow bursts, his chest heaving with each one. He was crumbling, and he knew it. But he couldn’t stop himself from spiraling, not with the way you were tearing him apart piece by piece. “Shut up,” he whispered, voice barely audible—as if he was afraid of how much truth was in your words.

You didn’t stop. You pressed on, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “That’s why you don’t remember me. Because I didn’t matter to you. Because I wasn’t something you could use.”

Jeonghan's gaze flickered to your lips, the pressure between you two thickening with every word that passed. He wanted to hate you. He wanted to scream at you, push you away, do anything to get you out of his head. But he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself leaning in closer, drawn to the coldness in your eyes, the way you seemed to see right through him.

“And now?” he muttered, his voice hoarse, almost a growl. “What do you want now?”

You tilted your head, a wicked gleam in your eyes as you smiled, your voice dripping with condescension. “I already got what I wanted.” You reached up, your fingers ghosting along the side of his face, barely touching him, yet it sent a shock through his entire body. “You. Like this. Completely wrecked. Fucked, because of me.”

His breath hitched, and before he could think, his hands shot up to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. It was a desperate, reckless move, one born out of frustration, anger, and something else he didn’t want to name. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away.

Instead, you smirked up at him, your eyes glinting with something dark, and whispered, “You’re so predictable.”

“Shut up,” Jeonghan hissed again, but this time, his voice was strained, thick with something deeper than just anger. His fingers tightened around your waist, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go. He hated how much power you had over him, how every word out of your mouth only made him want you more.

You raised an eyebrow, that same infuriating smile still plastered on your face. “Make me.”

That was all it took for him to snap.

And then, he kissed you like he was trying to take back control, like he needed to prove something—to himself, to you, to anyone watching. But deep down, he knew it was a losing battle. Because you weren’t kissing him back with desperation. No, you kissed him like you had already won and this was just another part of the game.

His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as if he needed to ground himself, to feel something real in this moment. But even as he kissed you, even as he lost himself in the heat of the moment, that nagging thought stayed at the back of his mind.

You were still in control.

And that thought only made him kiss you harder, more fiercely, like he could erase it if he just tried harder.

“You’ll never figure me out,” you murmured against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “And that’s why you’ll always lose.”

He hated you. He wanted you. And he couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger.

His hand tightened in your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he yanked your head back hard. The hurried pull sent a harsh jolt of pain through your scalp, but instead of a wince, what came out of your mouth was a quiet, throaty laugh. “You—such a bitch,” he growled, but you could see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes, watching you—fucking laughing at the pain.

The corner of your mouth curled up, lips parted as you let out a quiet moan. “You think that hurts?” you taunted, maybe challenging. “Do it harder.”

Jeonghan’s grip tightened, a growl thundering from his chest as he yanked even harder, and this time your head jerked back, the pain shooting through you in a way that only made you smile wider. The way he watched you, eyes wide, mouth salivating, had you lit up inside.

His lips crashed down on yours again, rough and biting, teeth dragging across your bottom lip as if trying to draw blood. You hissed into his mouth, but he didn’t let up, kissing you harder.

But this wasn’t just some kiss. It was a battle, and he was losing.

Your hands gripped the back of his neck, nails digging in as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, swallowing the moan that escaped his throat. When he bit down hard on your lip, you cursed at him.

“Fucking do it right,” you spat between heavy breaths. “Or don’t do it at all.”

Jeonghan’s eyes dimmed, his jaw clenching as he pushed you back against the nearest surface—a column that was inside the room. His free hand sliding down to your thigh, roughly pulling it up to hook around his waist. “You think you can just order me around, huh?” By his tone… Yes, you think.

You smirked, breathless but still in control. “I know I can.”

He didn’t waste any more words. His lips moved to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, and you hissed, arching against him. His hand slid down between your legs, fingers brushing against the edge of your panties before yanking them aside, not giving a single fuck about being gentle.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as his fingers slid over your wetness, the folds doing a warm caress on his fingers, teasing you just enough to make your breath hitch. “Tell me.”

You didn’t answer him, but your body betrayed you, hips pushing toward his hand, craving more. He noticed, of course, because he always did. But this time, he wasn’t the one in control, and he knew it.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice rough, almost strained as his fingers barely grazed over you, enough to drive you insane but not enough to satisfy.

You let out a breathless laugh, your eyes meeting his, still cold but twinkling with fun. “I want you to shut the fuck up and make yourself useful.”

That did it. Jeonghan dropped to his knees, yanking your dress up as he settled between your legs, not wasting any time. His fingers dug into your thighs, spreading them as his mouth hovered just above your heat. His breath ghosted over your skin, and you could feel the tension in him, feel how much he wanted this, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of asking.

He pressed a hard, open-mouthed kiss just above your clit, his teeth grazing your skin before he moved lower, his tongue flicking out just enough to make you gasp. “Still want me to shut up?” he murmured against you, his voice full of smug.

But before you could answer, his mouth was on you, and any retort you had died in your throat. His tongue was merciless, moving over you making your legs tremble. You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to escape, but it was impossible. A low moan tore from your lips as his mouth worked you over, his tongue circling your clit before sucking it into his mouth with just the right amount of force.

Your hand instinctively shot to his hair, gripping it tight as you tried to control your trembling legs. But he wasn’t slowing down. His tongue moved faster, harder, sending wave after wave of pleasure through you until your whole body was quivering.

He bit down, just enough to make you hiss, your nails digging into his scalp as you cursed him under your breath. “Fuck—” you gasped, body arching toward him. “Don’t stop.”

Jeonghan didn’t need to be told twice. His hands gripped your thighs harder, holding you in place as his tongue moved faster. Every flick, every swirl was straightforward, designed to make you lose the command. And you were, piece by piece. The cold, detached front you’d kept up was slipping, crumbling under the warmth of his mouth, the way he devoured you like it was the only thing that mattered.

You could feel it, the edge approaching fast, and you let out a low moan, your hips moving against his face as you chased it. “Fucking hell, Jeonghan—” you gasped, your voice leaving like a whisper as the orgasm hit you hard. Your body tensed, legs trembling as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you breathless, your mind blank except for the overstimulating sensation of his mouth still on you.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until your body finally relaxed against him, spent and slaked. Only then did he pull back, his lips swollen and slippery with your arousal, his eyes meeting yours with triumph

You looked down at him, chest still heaving, but your smirk was back in full force. “You slacked at the table tonight, Jeonghan.” The words rolled off your tongue with conscious slowness, each one cutting him just a little deeper. “But down there… between my legs? You were such a good boy.”

He froze, still so close to your cunt. You could feel and see his breath hitch at your words, his whole body tensing, and that only made your smirk grow wider. As you lower down, you let your fingers lazily trail down his chest, feeling the way his muscles twitched under your touch.

“You know,” you continued, voice leaking with mock sweetness, “maybe if you put as much effort into the game as you do into this,” your hand moved lower, brushing over the waistband of his pants, “you wouldn’t have lost everything tonight.”

His face faltered for a split second, the confidence in his eyes flickering as he processed your words. You could see his jaw clench, his pride taking the hit. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You chuckled softly, your hand slipping further down, squeezing the bulge in his pants, feeling the tension there. “Look at you,” you whispered, “so obedient when it counts. Such a good boy.”

His lips parted, his breath coming out in shallow bursts, but he still didn’t say anything.

“Tell me,” you continued, eyes glinting as you applied a little more pressure, “was it worth it? Throwing away your pride at the table just so you could be on your knees for me?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to grab you or push you away. His ego was bruised—no, shattered—and here you were, rubbing salt into the wound, reminding him exactly how far he’d fallen.

Your hand tightens around Jeonghan's neck, your fingers pressing into the soft skin as he chokes, his breath cutting short. The sound that escapes him is desperate, needy, a cough that barely finds its way through the pressure you've applied. His body tenses, his muscles straining.

"Get up," you command.

He stumbles, one hand on the floor, the other grasping for something to steady himself as he rises to his feet, eyes lost, clouded over in a haze of confusion and submission that he’s trying so hard to fight.

Your grip on his throat loosens just enough for him to take in a sharp breath, but you don’t give him much relief. Instead, your fingers trail from his neck to his chin, tipping his face up so his eyes meet yours. His lips part instinctively, searching for air, but you take that as an invitation, sliding two fingers past them, pushing into his mouth without warning.

His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips wrap around your fingers, mouth warm and wet as he takes them in, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts through his nose.

"Suck," you command, voice sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.

He complies, but it's tentative, unsure, his tongue brushing over your fingers but lacking the enthusiasm you expect. You press your fingers deeper, feeling the resistance in his throat as he gags, eyes watering slightly.

“Do it right,” you growl, eyes narrowing as you press harder into his mouth, your fingers curling against his tongue. "Suck them right."

This time, he obeys. His lips tighten around your fingers, and his head bobs forward slowly, drawing you deeper into his mouth as he begins to suck properly. His cheeks hollow out as his tongue swirls around your fingers, slick and wet, saliva coating your skin as he works. His eyes, though filled with defiance, are beginning to show something more desperate, more submissive.

Your smirk widens as you watch him, completely captivated by the sight of him on the edge of breaking. You can feel the heat building inside you, the wetness pooling between your legs as you watch him, his mouth obediently working over your fingers, his body betraying the fight he's trying to put up.

"Good boy," you praise as you feel him sucking harder, as if the praise makes him crave more.

With your other hand, you move to his belt, your fingers working swiftly to unbuckle it, the metal clinking as you pull it loose. His body stiffens, but he doesn’t stop sucking, not even when you move to his zipper, yanking it down in one quick, sharp movement. The fabric of his jeans parts, revealing the hard line of his cock straining against the black briefs beneath.

You press your wet fingers deeper into his mouth, pushing them to the back of his throat as you slip your other hand inside his jeans, gripping the base of his cock. The contrast of sensations makes him jolt—your fingers choking him, while the other hand wraps around him, stroking slowly.

He gags around your fingers, eyes wide as he looks up at you, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But then he doesn’t. Instead, he adjusts, his throat contracting as he fights to keep sucking, his lips tight around your fingers as you press them deeper.

"That's it," you purr, your voice low and sultry, watching him struggle to keep up, to please you. "Take it all."

Your hand moves in rhythm with his sucking, your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly. He lets out a muffled moan, the sound vibrating around your fingers as his hips jerk forward slightly, desperate for more, but you keep the pace slow, torturous.

He’s trying so hard to hold onto his pride, to resist fully submitting, but you can feel the cracks widening, see the way his body reacts, how his mouth moves more eagerly over your fingers now, desperate to please. His cock twitches in your hand, and you can feel the tension building in him, the way he’s teetering on the edge of giving in completely.

You pull your fingers from his mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva still connecting them as you smirk down at him. His lips part as he gasps for breath, his chest heaving. You use your now-wet fingers to stroke his cock, the slickness making each movement smoother, more intense.

"Look at you," you tease as you watch his hips buck into your hand, his body betraying him completely. "So fucking desperate."

Jeonghan’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he struggles to hold on, but you don’t stop. Your hand moves faster, stroking him with purpose now, your wet fingers sliding over his length.

“Open your eyes,” you command sharply, your grip tightening around him. “Look at me.”

He obeys, his eyes snapping open, wide and desperate, his lips parted as soft gasps and whimpers escape him.

"Good boy," you murmur again, watching the way his cock twitches in response, how his breath catches in his throat. "Now, don’t stop until I tell you to."

Your hand moves faster, the slickness making each stroke more torturous. He lets out a broken moan, his hips jerking forward into your hand as his body trembles with the effort to hold back.

"You’re gonna finish when I say," you whisper, your lips brushing against his ear as your hand moves faster, your grip tightening. “Not a second before.”

Jeonghan’s breath is ragged, his body shaking with the effort to obey.

Your grip on his cock tightens as you pull him closer, dragging him by his phallus, his body stumbling into yours with a strangled moan. His head falls onto your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as his hand shoots out to grab your arm, desperate to steady himself—like you’re about to knock him out.

You guide him toward the bed. “Can’t even walk straight Jeonghan?”

He lets out a weak sound, something between a moan and a groan, as you push him onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets. His eyes are glazed over, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cock standing stiff and red, twitching. You smirk as you climb onto the bed, straddling him, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips.

You hover over him for a moment, savoring the sight of him laid out beneath you, completely at your mercy. His hands twitch as if he wants to touch you, but you pin them down with your knees, shaking your head with a wicked grin.

“Don’t even think about it,” you say. “You don’t get to touch until I say so.”

Jeonghan lets out a soft whimper, his lips parted as he struggles to control himself, his body aching for more.

You reach down, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up, just enough to expose his chest. His skin is flushed, his nipples hard, and you let out a low chuckle as you pinch one between your fingers. He jerks beneath you, a strangled moan escaping his lips as his back arches slightly off the bed.

“Sensitive here too, hm?” you tease, giving his nipple another sharp pinch. His hips buck up into you, desperate for friction, but you press him back down with a firm hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

His breath is coming in short, shallow bursts, his cock twitching against your thigh as you tease him, dragging the moment out, savoring every second of his desperation.

Finally, you lift your hips, positioning yourself over him. You guide his cock to your entrance, lowering yourself just enough for his tip to slip inside, the stretch slow and torturous. He gasps, his hips jerking up instinctively, but you slam them back down with a firm grip on his waist.

“Don’t. Move,” you command, your voice sharp.

He bites his lip, his head falling back onto the pillow, chest heaving as you sink down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. The way he fills you completely, the feeling of him trembling beneath you as you take him in, slowly, savoring every second.

You stop halfway, smirking as you grind your hips in slow circles, teasing him with the promise of more. His eyes snap open, his lips parting in a desperate gasp as he looks up at you, pleading.

“Please,” he groans. “Please, I can’t… I need it.”

You chuckle softly, your fingers trailing down his chest, pinching his nipples again just to watch him squirm. Without warning, you slam down the rest of the way, taking him fully inside you. His mouth falls open in a silent scream, his body jerking beneath you as the pleasure hits him all at once. You bite your lip, your own breath catching as the sensation washes over you, the fullness, the stretch, the way his cock throbs inside you.

You start moving, riding him hard and fast, your hips slamming down onto his with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. His hands shoot up to your hips, but you slap them away, pinning them above his head as you fuck him, using him for your own pleasure.

“You feel that?” you hiss, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s what it feels like to be used.”

Jeonghan can only moan in response. You lean back, riding him harder, faster, your hands gripping his wrists, grinding down on him with every thrust, feeling the tension building inside both of you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his head tossing back, his eyes squeezing shut as he bites down on his lip, trying desperately to hold on. But you know he’s close. You can feel it.

Jeonghan’s breath hitches, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, wide and desperate, before they squeeze shut again, his body trembling violently beneath you.

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, “Cum for me.”

And with that, he breaks. His body tenses, his back arching off the bed as he lets out a strangled moan, his cock twitching violently inside you as he comes, the pleasure hitting him like a freight train. You ride him through it, grinding down on him as you chase your own release.

You lean forward, your body pressing down as your clit grinds against his pelvis. Jeonghan's cock is still deep inside you, and you can feel every inch of him twitching, overstimulated and helpless beneath you. His eyes roll back, lips parted in a messy gasp, his hair splayed out on the mattress like a fallen angel. The way his face twists, dumb with pleasure, is almost enough to push you over the edge by itself. His eyebrows furrow in a compound of pain and ecstasy, and the moans slipping from his throat—whiny, breathless, and downright filthy—send a rush of heat pooling in your belly.

You can feel it building, that pressure inside you, tighter and tighter with every grind of your hips. You’re losing control too, your moans spilling out, desperate and raw, betraying the power you’ve held this whole time. It doesn’t even sound like you’re the one in control anymore. You’re chasing that release, grinding harder, faster, your slickness making it a mess between your legs, each movement slippery, loud. The wet sounds of your bodies sliding together are filthy, and the sensation of the mess you’ve made splashing against your thighs only adds to the intensity building inside you.

Jeonghan’s eyes flutter open just as you're on the edge. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide, as though he's watching a divine vision unfold in front of him. The sight of his ruined expression—those parted lips, the way his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath—sends you crashing over the edge.

You let out a broken moan, hips jerking forward as the orgasm tears through you. Your body trembles, thighs clenching around him as you ride out every pulse of pleasure, the mess between your legs gushing onto him, soaking his skin, your breath coming in desperate gasps. You grind down on him one last time, milking every second of it as you feel his cock twitching inside you, overstimulated beyond belief.

“Fuck…” Jeonghan whimpers, his voice raw as his body jerks beneath you, unable to handle any more. His belly caves in, the muscles trembling under your relentless pressure.

After what feels like forever, you slowly lift yourself off him, his cock slipping out with a wet sound, leaving him twitching and trembling. His body is sprawled out on the bed, his chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead, completely undone. You stand up, your legs weak but steady enough as you smooth down your dress, the fabric hugging your curves again as if nothing happened. You fix your hair, eyes never leaving his limp, exhausted form.

Jeonghan’s gaze follows you, his breath shallow, and his face still slack from the overwhelming high. His eyes are half-lidded, but there’s a glimmer of curiosity, or maybe disbelief, flickering behind them.

"Has anyone ever dominated you like that before?" you ask casually, as if this is a normal conversation after completely ruining him.

He shakes his head, still too breathless to form words. No.

You smirk, tilting your head as you adjust the straps of your dress. “Thought so.”

You step closer to him, leaning down just enough so he can see the wicked gleam in your eyes. “Next time, maybe try not to let your guard down so easily. You’re a mess, Jeonghan.”

He blinks up at you, lips parted, still trying to process everything that just happened. You give him one last amused glance, standing tall and smoothing your dress again before turning on your heel.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” you say with a mocking sweetness, smirking as you walk toward the door. Just before leaving, you look over your shoulder, adding, "I’ll be at the party if you ever want to lose again.”

1K notes · View notes

euthymiya · 6 months ago

Note

Thoughts on pervert ayato please………:

dear wife, dear husband ft. kamisato ayato

synopsis: your husband is doting, regardless of whether your marriage is one of duty or of love. but unbeknownst to you, ayato craves you much more than you might have initially believed him to

contains: 3.1k word count ; fem reader ; arranged marriages ; reader has parents and is of a respected clan ; reader is described as quiet, shy, obedient, and pliant ; reader is also described to have a mole on her chest ; male masturbation ; panty (and clothes in general) thief ayato ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; implied cunnilingus + fingering + nipple play ; make no mistake: ayato is perverted but he’s still madly in love

Ayato is a man of reputation, of class. He holds certain status and sophistication that he’s fought tooth and nail to keep perfectly intact for the Kamisato clan ever since his parents passed away.

It started since he was young, when people expected him to behave messy. What they saw was a simple, inexperienced, uninformed, and ill-suited young man who’s been handed the mantle. It was too big a responsibility for a boy his age to take, being the clan head—too ruthless and unforgiving of a position. They thought him too naive, too easy to crush.

So, of course, he has to keep his image up to standards.

He doesn’t let himself be seen with a woman for years. Scandalous habits are hardly favorable for forming ties, and the Kamisato clan could certainly use at least a few allies. A young Ayato was not opposed to a marriage of convenience, either, if that’s what it would have taken to secure his clan’s former glory. More importantly, doesn’t trust too many people. Sleeping around makes him open, vulnerable, less susceptible to seeing through deception and any attempts at sabotaging him from within.

So he stays alone for many, many years. He does just fine that way—but underneath it all, he’s less than proper. He’s starved. Starved of touch, of intimacy, of a raw, carnal desire that a man can only stave off for so long. It develops into something far too insatiable to be normal. At first, he’s a bit ashamed of it. A man of his prestige, of his reputation shouldn’t be so…shameless in his own mind.

Later, he accepts it. It’s only natural, he tells himself.

Then he marries you—and, of course, it is that marriage of convenience he’d resigned himself to years ago. It happens later than he thought, but it happens all the same. He specifically chose you, too.

You’re not like other women. You’re quiet, pliant and obedient under your father’s watchful gaze. Your father tells you to sit beside him, and you do. So sweet and dependent on that guiding figure to tell you what to do. You’ve been trained so well, so wonderfully to do what you’re expected to do.

Ayato raises Ayaka to be free. People have much to say about it, of course. His sister is a precious jewel among the clan, and he can’t fathom caging her like a bird, can’t imagine keeping her sweet chirps locked away from the sky to hear. But you, you’re far too beautiful to risk. The sky is dangerous, and the world is too.

He appreciates your obedience. Revels in it.

It’s a slow progression, really. You’re wedding is a quiet affair, and apart from it being a known fact across Inazuma that your clans are to join, there is not a lot of flashiness regarding the actual ceremony.

Ayato is, of course, ever the doting husband regardless of marriage by love or by duty. He gifts you well—two beautiful pieces of jewelry from his family’s collection. His mother’s ring and his grandmother’s necklace. Expensive attire for the wedding itself that doesn’t seem to phase you. (Your father spoiled you well, he notes. He’ll have to keep up to those standards).

The first night, as a dutiful wife should, you offer yourself up to him. Kneel in front of his legs as he’s sat on the bed, slowly pushing your kimono down your shoulders, revealing more and more skin. There’s a mole on your chest—it reminds him of his own by his lip. Celestia, he thinks, must have written you as his from birth. Even the marks on your skin suggest it.

He could burst in his pants at the thought alone.

But he’s kind. Respectful as he’s always appeared. He gently reaches over and traces your cheek with a delicate finger, chuckling as he murmurs, “there is time for that once we’ve become better acquainted, don’t you think, dear wife?”

“I am happy to complete the marriage whenever you please, my lord,” you reply. So sweet. So polite. So good.

“Ayato,” he corrects, “call my Ayato.”

“As you wish,” you nod.

That night, when you sleep peacefully on your side of the bed, he fucks his fist in the bathroom, flashes of his mothers ring on your finger and his grandmother’s necklace around your neck pushing him to his climax. He suppresses the sounds he wishes he didn’t have to hide, one hand clasping over his mouth as the other squeezes around his aching, pulsing cock. His cum paints the floor, the last drops dribbling onto the tile as he shudders, thinking about the beautiful mole on your chest.

It’s wasted release, he thinks regretfully when he’s done, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at his mess. It would have looked so beautiful on your face, across those breasts he didn’t get to see tonight, perhaps even down your throat.

The latter makes his cock twitch again. He groans, feeling himself harden in his hand once more. His sweet, unsuspecting wife. So kind as to give up the left side of the bed for him because that is what he’s used to, even if it’s her habitual side as well. His precious, angelic wife, who gets along so well with his darling sister after only a few brief meetings.

He should feel bad, doing such filthy things at the thought of such innocence. But he can’t help it. The drag of his palm across his cock is not the same as before, not when thoughts of you heighten the pleasure so much.

He chokes, gripping the edge of the sink as he stands, hot, heavy breaths that are labored escaping his lips as he feels his second orgasm approach.

And then the knock is on the door. A quiet, “my lor—Ayato? Is everything alright?”

You’re outside the door. Every fiber of him aches to slam the door open and take you against this sink right now. Watch your breasts spill over the neckline of that nightgown he gifted you, decorated by the necklace hanging over them around your neck. He’d watch your face twist through the mirror, watching his thick, hard cock fuck in and out of your slick hole.

Would your pussy greedily suck him in? Would be witness the puffiness of your clit? Would the slick of your cunt drip along your thighs? Surely, you’d be just as fascinated by the sight of his glistening length bullying in and out of your walls.

So filthy. So messy. So dirty. Yet, in his mind, so perfectly beautiful.

But he doesn’t let himself have that, not yet. He can’t taint you so quickly, not when you think so highly of him.

“I’m fine,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut as he bites his lips and suppresses a grunt.

“Are you sure? You sound hoarse.”

He does end up groaning at that—at your concern and your precious little voice. The sound of you makes his cock do that familiar twitch before he’s tense and still, the shocks of an even more devastating orgasm coursing through ever nerve of his body. He lets out a desperate grunt, hissing as his palm drags along his sensitive length, so sticky and coated with hot cum.

“I’m…I’m fine,” he pants, voice strained, “I believe I’ve just unfortunately become ill with food poisoning. Perhaps I got too carried away at the wedding.”

You hum in concern through the door, murmuring a soft, “shall I fetch someone? Thoma perhaps, if you don’t want me to see you like this?”

He smiles. So thoughtful, so sincere. You’re too bright for this dark, cruel world. For a filthy, disgusting man like him. He doesn’t even know you, hasn’t even taken the opportunity to learn of your interests or your goals, yet here he is. Dreaming of spreading your folds open and getting an eye full of them.

He chuckles, breathy and tired as he stares down at the cum coating his hands. Oh, if that door wasn’t separating the two of you, he’d smear the remnants of his pleasure across your beautiful lips. The same ones where such gentle words spill from.

“No, it’s alright,” he replies. “Give me but a moment, I’ll be out. My wife will be sufficient enough. No need to disturb Thoma.”

“Oh,” you breathe. He can imagine the slightly shy look on your face perfectly. Picture it clearly. It almost makes him want to stroke himself a third time—but he retires for the night, quickly cleaning himself and the floor off before opening the door and facing you.

You’re concerned the moment he steps out, a warm hand rushing to press against his cheek and then forehead, feeling his temperature as you gasp, “oh you’re heating up! And your skin is flushed. Come lay down.”

He enjoys the way you dote on him that night. Pressing cool rags to his forehead, brushing hair from his face, spoon feeding him the soup you asked a maid to make.

He enjoys it. He enjoys you. He turns that night when you finally lay beside him, tucked under the sheets, reaching over to grab your hand and give it a lingering kiss right where his mother’s ring lays.

“Thank you, my beloved wife,” he says softly, “I am, what seems, the luckiest man in all of Inazuma. Such a doting spouse to have graced me.”

“Oh, you mustn’t make me sound like such a saint,” you say bashfully, “I’ve only done the bare minimum.”

“Then I shall be the most spoiled man, too,” he hums, “if this is considered the minimum.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand that night, sleeping with your fingers entwined.

When he wakes up, there’s a familiar ache between his legs, the morning air cold against your warm bodies. He rises, strokes your cheek gently and smiles before he heads to the bathroom.

The sound of the running water from his shower drowns out the pleased sounds he makes as he fists his cock once more.

It’s a slow, slow build up over the first few months of your marriage. Ayato dotes on you with thoughtful presents and honeyed words. You reciprocate with tender care as you look after him.

You bring him tea when he’s at his desk too long. You brush his hair and tie it back when he complains of headaches. You ice his sore calluses after long days of sword training with Ayaka.

He craves your touch. Uses every excuse to find it, remembers every detail of it to help him release the pent up tension in his body in secrecy.

He fucks his fist to you more times than he can count. Sometimes, he steals something of yours. The robes you wore the night before. The panties in the laundry pile. Once, even just the handkerchief you used to wipe your sweat on the walk you both took together.

Anything that reminds him of you, that might smell like you. He clutches it one hand, stroking himself with the other. Always when you’re not around, always without you to know of his lewdness to even your most mundane actions.

He finally breaks the night you bear yourself to him.

It’s a long night of paperwork. Ayato is tired. Extra stressed from the tricommission duties he’s stuck. The shogun herself will be making an appearance to this event, and Ayato has worked himself to the bone preparing.

You don’t see him as often as either of you would like. By now, it’s evident you’re as fond of him as he is of you. He took careful consideration to make sure you see him in such a positive light. Your sweet, respectful husband. Your dependable, generous husband. He’s so gentle with you, so patient and kind and takes such great care of you.

You’re endeared by him. So much so, that this particular night alone makes you restless.

He can tell as soon as he walks in.

“There you are,” you breathe, “I was just debating checking on you.”

“You’re still awake,” he says in surprise. He slowly undresses himself—by now, you’re used to a shirtless Ayato in bed. You often lay on his bare chest, trace careful shapes into the surface of his skin if your lucky.

On some nights, you connect his moles. He fights the strain in his boxers when that happens.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say shyly, “not without you. I’m afraid…I’m afraid I’ve grown too used to your warmth.”

“Is that right?” He chuckles, eyes crinkling fondly. “How inconsiderate of me. A dutiful husband should never abandon his precious wife alone in bed, especially not cold without the presence of his warmth to shield her from such harsh coldness.”

“Oh don’t be silly,” you giggle, waving him off. So enamored by him—he can see it in your eyes. Such light and brightness reserved only for him.

You think so highly of him. If only you knew his true nature.

He climbs into bed, moving to pull you close against his side when you stop him—he pauses when he notices the hesitance in your eyes as you swallow thickly.

“What’s wrong?” He frowns, “if I’ve upset you, there is no need to feel guilty about sharing your concerns. I shall make sure to never—”

“It’s not that,” you breathe, “it’s…I just…”

“What is it?” He asks kindly.

You can’t seem to get the words right, mulling over them for a moment before sighing and deciding to forego the words altogether.

Your lips are on his before he can comprehend. Your hands tug him close, pulling him to hover over you as his eyes widen. He melts into the kiss, of course, but not without the shock.

“Please, Ayato,” you breathe, “I’ve waited enough. Make me yours.”

Oh. Oh, how you should have thought over your words—because you could you insinuate you’re not already his? You belonged to him, him alone in his mind as soon as the first day he saw you. Since that day you sat so close to your father, shy and meek and nervous to be in his presence.

You are his—and now is his perfect opportunity to teach you that.

“If…” you speak, breaking him from his thoughts, “if you’d like to, at least. I am more than willing to wait longer if—”

“Oh my dear, precious wife,” he chuckles, “have you not the slightest idea how much I crave you? How ardently I desire every part of you?”

The night it all snaps. His desires, his needs, his purely, filthy carnal instinct.

He takes you over and over. Tastes you, first before he feels you with his fingers. Inspects you carefully, spreading your folds and looking into the slick walls of your tight hole. He ogles your breasts for the first time, too—takes his time to kiss from the jewel from the necklace he gave you around your neck to that mole he saw that first day, all the way to your pebbles nipples. He kisses and sucks at them for far longer than you can handle—finally breaking away when you whine at him to please, please put it in, Ayato.

His cock is painful by then. Rock hard between his legs, strained against his boxers from his still clothed crotch. He doesn’t even take them off properly, simply tugs them down enough to reveal himself to you, slapping against his abs with a drooling tip of pre cum.

Hard. Red. Swollen. But still so beautiful in that way Ayato always is.

His cock nudges past your folds, but not before he drags his tip along your slit to collect the slick dripping from your soaked cunt. Not to tease you, but simply to be coated in you. Simply to have your mess on him. Simply to feel every part of you mix with every part of him.

“Do you love me, my dear wife?” He asks you in between thrusts, nudging the fat tip of his cock against your sweet spot perfectly.

“Yes,” you wail, “yes, yes. I love you. Love you, Yato.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by a nickname. He smiles wide, pearly white teeth that glint sharp and predatory.

“Will you always love me? Do you promise to never stop?”

“Y-yes,” you moan, whimpering when his thumb catches over your clit. A jewel crowning your body, he thinks, as he stares at it. So beautiful, so rare.

“Then shall I confess something?” He murmurs into your skin, pecking along your breasts until he kisses that mole he’s sure was made to match his own.

He could cum at the sight of it alone—he holds off just for you, though. For what is a doting husband if he does not wait until his beloved wife as felt the thralls of pleasure before himself?

“C-confess?” You furrow your brows, gasping between harsh rolls of his hips, trying to keep your eyes open to stare at him while he chuckles in amusement at your effort.

“This cock,” he breathes, whispering the words against your ear, “it has come for you far too many times before now. Did you know that?”

“W-hat—oh, Ayato,” you cut yourself off with a mewl of his name from a sharp thrust, any question you want to ask him dying on your tongue.

“That first night of our wedding,” he drawls, kissing beneath your ear, I was not ill from the food. I was ill from you. You have possessed my mind since the first time I’ve laid eyes on you.”

“Please,” you whimper. You seem to clench around him at his words, earning a groan from him as you babble, “please, please—m’close.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “so you like it, do you? Does it excite you to know that I’m unable to concentrate on anything? That I’ve spent so much time away from my duties coming undone to the thought of you? Answer me, sweet wife.”

“Yes,” you sob, nodding fervently, “yes—it does.”

“How fascinating,” he marvels, staring at you with pure awe. His eye twinkles with mischief as he murmurs, “It seems you’re just as filthy as I am. Good. Then I shall never waste another drop of seed on my hand or that tiresome bathroom floor of ours again—this beautiful cunt is more than willing to take me, isn’t it.”

You nod—and just as you do, you fall apart on his cock, spasming around him with tight walls that send him into his own orgasm.

He cums harder than he ever has before. And then he’ll cum again, he thinks. And again. And when he’ll pull his spent cock out, and he’ll notice the beautiful way his release leaks from your cunt, he’ll paint the rest of your body with his release too.

Ayato is a man of reputation, of class—that’s outside your chambers, though. Behind the closed doors, he’s a lustful, shameless man.

And you, his precious, giving wife, allow him to fulfill his ever insatiable desire.

Ok it’s 4 am and I didn’t mean for this to become this long it was genuinely supposed to be a 1-2 paragraph REPLY to an ask. Not a whole written work. But anyway. PREVERTEDLY ROMANTIC AYATO………

#writing tag #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #ayato x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #ayato smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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changbunnies · 3 months ago

Text

Hopelessly Devoted To You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Greaser!Bang Chan x fem!Reader

♡ Genre: grease inspired 50s au, some angst and fluff, this was supposed to be a long full length fic but it somehow became just porn with plot lol

♡ Word Count: 11.2k

♡ Summary: You were so excited to see him again– the guy you'd spent your entire summer with, entagled in a fleeting but explosively sweet romance. But the Chris you meet again isn't the one you remember, and now if he wants to win you back he's going to have to prove just how devoted to you he really is.

♡ Warnings: chan is referred to as chris, smoking (cigarettes), some misogyny + toxic masculinity + fuck boy behavior, some 50s references and lingo, 1 instance of reader shoving chan in a fit of anger / sadness, jealous and mildly possessive chan, minor appearances from felix, changbin, minho, and hyunjin (who goes by sam)

♡ Smut Warnings: 1 reference to reader losing their virginity to chan, references / flashbacks to other smut scenes before the main scene, light dom/sub dynamics, switch!chan, pet names (doll, sugar, baby), public sex, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f rec, referenced m rec), fingering (f rec), nipple play, daddy kink, panty stealing (kind of), squirting, 1 mention of reader having pubic hair, maybe a lil breeding kink??, protected piv

♡ Notes: i've had this sitting in my drafts since december and finally got around to finishing it gfdhgfh this is incredibly self indulgent as grease is one of my fave movies ever and chan as danny zuko is constantly rattling around in my brain. the build up is pretty short (by my usual standards) as i moved the plot along a lot quicker than i normally would so idk if it's my best work but hopefully you enjoy it!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

You remember well the first time you met Chris. Lounging aimlessly at the beach with the sunset on the horizon, his feet in the sand with a silver dog tag necklace hanging low over his bare chest, a cigarette from his previously discarded jeans held between his lips. Fresh from the ocean with beads of water still dripping off his toned body, slicking back his damp hair before fumbling through a different pocket for his lighter.

You watched him bring it up to his face after successfully digging it out, cupping his other hand around it to protect the flame as he lit the cigarette in his mouth. You watched him take a long drag, watched him blow the smoke out from the corners of his mouth, watched him sigh before deciding to towel dry his legs enough to wrangle his jeans back on.

The beach had been quickly growing sparse by the time you spotted him. Groups of friends clearing out to make it to the local diner before all the tables were filled, parents wanting to get their kids to bed before the moon fully rose in the sky, couples on double dates bunching up in one car as they decide to hit the drive-in together.

You yourself were in no rush to leave– you came alone, tired of your parents bickering during what was supposed to be a fun family vacation. You’d stay as long as you could, you’d decided– really soak in the peace the sea brings before returning to your aunt’s beach house, where you were all staying for the summer.

But safe to say, the sight of him enraptured you. He was handsome, devastatingly so– you never expected to see a man with a visage to rival even that of James Dean himself with your own eyes, but there he was before you; and your heart stuttered when he glanced over in your direction.

He had just finished pulling his jeans up and over his haunches when he noticed you, cocking a brow when your eyes met– and you could tell in an instant that he knew you’d been staring at him. His smile made your breath hitch, pretty dimples peeking out on his cheeks as he acknowledged you with a playful wave.

Hesitantly, you lifted your hand and waved back, and he grinned, eyes still locked on yours as he pulled up the zipper of his jeans. He turned back to his belongings on the ground, shook the sand out of his white tee before pulling it on. He grabbed his leather jacket, slung it over his shoulder before turning to look at you once more.

You swallowed, face running hot from his gaze alone– you hoped, as he began walking towards you, that you could play it off as having not put on enough sunscreen before coming here. You were sitting on a towel, legs to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, but you lowered them as he approached you.

He tossed his cigarette to the the side once he was close, letting its flame fizzle out in the sand. He looked you up and down when you stood up, introducing himself with a charismatic smile that made your heart race faster. You stuttered when speaking, and his smile widened, one of his hands going to rest in the pocket of his jeans while the other kept his leather jacket in place over his shoulder.

Chris was the most, to say the least– and when he asked if he’d see you again tomorrow, you promised him he would. You watched him walk over to a beat up, old top down cadillac, throwing his jacket into the car before jumping in– literally jumping in, hand on top of the closed car door as he hopped over it into the driver's seat.

He gave you another glance after starting the ignition, and you smiled meekly as you offered him another wave. Chris grinned, raising his hand to say goodbye before putting it back on the wheel and burning rubber out of the parking lot.

You spent nearly every summer day with him after that. Days at the beach spent splashing each other in the water while you giggled, hopping in his cadillac to go catch whatever new flick was showing, or sharing a milkshake at his favorite diner. He’d hold your hand as you walked through the sand, giggled with you over silly inside jokes while eating burgers and fries, hugged you tight after you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek at the end of the night.

Chris gave you dimes to pick tunes on the jukebox, and would sing along to your selections with the prettiest voice you’d ever heard. He took you to the county fair, would shoot you goofy grins after kissing you with lips sticky from cotton candy, got on the ferris wheel with you and squeezed your hand when the height made you dizzy, kissing away your nerves when you reached the very top.

He won you a teddy bear from the soda toss, put his leather jacket over your shoulders when the sun set and the air began to chill, wrapped his arm around your shoulder while you were waiting in line to buy some popcorn. He’d lean down to whisper a joke in your ear, and you’d slap his arm with a giggle while he squeezed you closer.

You watched him soup up the engine of his car, and he’d take your hand after a long day of working on it, pull you in to dance with him while the radio blared the hippest tunes. When he was satisfied with the restoration of his cadillac, he started taking you out on long drives, wind whipping through your hair as he drove fast through the back streets of the city.

He’d drive you to secluded hills overlooking the city, where you’d make out until he had to drive you home in time for curfew. He’d park his car far down the street, away from where your family could see him dropping you off– because Lord knows your mother's heart would give out if she saw you spending your vacation with a guy that looked like him.

And through it all, days spent back at the beach where you first met him were always your favorite. You would let Chris lay you down on a towel in the sand and kiss you over and over, until you were both heaving and hot. You lost your virginity to him like that– alone on the beach, towels laid down and moon high in the sky after having snuck out of the window of your guest bedroom to meet him.

He’d whisper sweet words in your ear, make you fall apart with deft fingers and an equally deft tongue. Sometimes, instead of sneaking out to see him, he’d be the one showing up at your guest room's window, grinning at you as you opened it to let him in. He’d fuck you there, in the bed with his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of pleasure, lest your family discover what it is you’re really up to while "alone" in your room.

Chris would crawl over to you in the passenger seat at the drive-in, sink to his knees and dip his head underneath your long poodle skirt, the flick on screen long forgotten as he pulled your panties to the side to kiss and lick your dripping pussy. Sometimes he’d fuck you there too, parked all the way in back with the windows and hood of the car up to hide what you were doing (as if the rocking didn’t give it away to anyone who happened to look.)

Sometimes, when he parked up the street to drop you off after sharing ice cream at the drive thru malt shop, you’d lean over the gear shift, taking his cock out of his jeans and sucking him off right there, with not nearly enough care for who could possibly see you. He’d give you the sweetest kiss before helping you out of the car, promising he’d see you tomorrow too, and the day after, and the day after that, until eventually your family’s summer vacation had to come to an end.

Chris was a dreamboat that day, as he always was– hair greased back with a few curly strands left over his forehead, loose black tee tucked into his jeans, leather jacket on with its collar ever so slightly popped, his dog tag necklace sparkling when the sun hit it just right. He was leaning against the door of his newly souped up cadillac with a lit cigarette resting between his lips, though he promptly threw it to the ground when he saw you walking over.

“There’s my girl! And ain’t she a doll,” he grinned as he pulled you to his body, kissing you sweetly as you blushed. You weren’t wearing anything he hadn’t seen you in before– just one of your usual white blouses and pretty pink skirts, but he always made sure to tell you that he thought you were the absolute most.

He walked around to the other side of the car, opened the door for you and closed it shut behind you when you got in. He hopped into the driver’s seat after, starting the ignition and turning to you with that beaming smile that made your stomach flip. “What’s the plan today, sugar?” he asked, throwing his arm around you while leaving one hand on the steering wheel.

In the end, you spent the day as you had many times before– driving through the city, hitting up the diner to split a strawberry milkshake, and watching the sunset at the beach; the same beach where you met him, and where the house you were staying in lied just a couple hundred yards away. You were sitting on the rocks, his leather jacket off and resting behind you, his arm curled around your waist.

His jeans were filthy with sand, as was your skirt, but neither of you cared– you just stayed there together, watching the sun sink lower and the waves crash against the shore. Chris kissed you when you looked up at him with watery eyes, agonized over the idea of never seeing him again. He’d given you the best summer of your entire life, and all you wanted was to stay– but you couldn’t. And though he comforted you the best he could, you both knew it was the end.

Chris held your hand to help you off the rocks, gave you a kiss before you turned away to make the walk to your aunt’s beach house. And you both knew it was the end– but not just yet. He came to your window later that night, and you let him in, bringing your hands to his face and eagerly pressing your lips to his.

He walked you back to the bed as you kissed him, laid you back gently and crawled between your legs. He made you cum on his fingers before reaching into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a condom and tearing it open with his teeth. He rolled it easily down his cock, his jeans having fallen down his legs just enough to let him fuck you.

You reached your hands underneath his shirt, hungrily tracing your hands over every inch of his skin. Your nightgown was bunched above your thighs, legs spread wide to accommodate him. He eventually pulled the top of it down too, exposing your chest to him and leaving your stomach as the only covered part of your body.

Sweat dripped from his brow, his normally perfectly slicked hair tousled from your fingers sliding through it– and you didn't care that the pomade in his hair dirtied your fingers; in fact, it made it feel nicer when you brought your hand to one of your breasts, and rolled your nipples between them. Your stomach flipped when he grinned and called you a dirty girl, running a hand through his hair to grease up his fingers too and tweak the other nipple not being played with by your own.

He kissed you to muffle your moans and desperate whines, and it was nowhere near as effective as when it was his hand clamped over your mouth, but it was better. He had to slow down when fucking you fast unintentionally made your bedframe slam against the wall, and you gasped, praying no one woke up from the sound.

Thankfully, no one came knocking on your door– and though you were both desperate, clinging to one another hard and sliding your tongues around each other’s with fervor, he fucked you slow and deep after that. "Chris, daddy, please– 'm gonna cum," you moaned when he brought his slicked up fingers to your clit.

Chris groaned before kissing you again, and you came with a muffled cry, your nails digging desperately into his biceps. He kept rolling his hips into you through it, your body trembling with sensitivity until he eventually came too, all his cum spilling into the condom.

He stayed for a while after that, holding you close and wiping tears from your eyes with his thumbs. He snuck out in the middle of the night, promised you despite it all that it wasn’t the end– you’d see each other again someday, he just knew it; he wanted you to believe it too.

You got a couple of hours of sleep before morning, and gave your family the best smile you could manage as you tossed your luggage in the trunk of your dad's chevy bel air. You slouched in the back seat, trying not to cry and wishing more than anything you were in Chris’ old cadillac instead.

The Chris you reunited with wasn’t yours, and if it was, then fate was cruel for bringing you back to him.

The Chris you knew wouldn’t have looked at you like that– like you’re a desperate and fast girl, or an overly smitten near stranger hoping to get her kicks from him one last time while his friends snickered behind him. The Chris you knew wouldn’t join in on their snickering, tilting his head with an amused expression, tongue poking his cheek as he combs his fingers through his slicked back hair.

The Chris you reunited with wasn't yours, and the realization that you didn't really know him the way you thought you did utterly broke your heart.

You were back in the city– your parents, after having settled whatever marital disputes they were having, decided to settle down here. They loved their time together in the city when all their little tiffs were said and done, and they could tell you loved it here too.

They thought it’d benefit everyone to set up shop somewhere new, where everyone could reset. Plus, your mom wanted to be close to her sister again– and you certainly wouldn’t complain about spending more time at your aunt’s beach house.

You desperately wanted to see Chris again, and you knew it’d only be a matter of time before you did– unlike you, he grew up in the city, lived here his entire life. And while it’d been months since you parted at the end of summer considering your parents had to do a lot of work to shift the family business to a new location while also looking for a decent house up for sale, it would happen eventually– you were certain of it.

And soon enough you did see him, knew in an instant it was him even at a distance– because you’d recognize his restored cadillac anywhere. He was leaning against the car door like usual, cigarette in his mouth and leather jacket on his back, with a circle of friends around him. You never met his friends– he told you they were pigs, said that you wouldn’t like them much.

Besides, you were only going to be in town a few short months– why waste your precious few days hanging around with other people when you could be alone? That’s what he always told you– and as you tentatively began to walk up the street closer to them, you could tell they certainly did talk more vulgarly than you were used to hearing.

“C’mon man, you gotta let me borrow her,” one of his friends begged in reference to his car, “she’s a real pussy wagon. My chick’ll cream if I pick her up in it.” “Get your own wheels, bozo,” Chris shoved him with a laugh, “I ain’t lettin’ you take my girl on any joyrides.”

“What if you come too? Make it a double date, you know– and nobody’s got bigger tits than Annette. I got dibs, but she’ll be real nice eye candy for you,” his friend persuaded and Chris hummed, as if seriously considering it. Would he really go?

“Mm, maybe,” he grinned, tossing his cigarette to the ground and digging it into the gravel with his foot, “You do got a point. Tell her to bring a pretty friend, and I’ll think about it.” You blinked, stopped walking and simply stared at him. Had he moved on already? It’d only been a few months, but maybe you fell for him harder than he fell for you; the thought of it made your heart sink to your stomach.

His friend cheered and hugged him tight, and Chris pushed him away with another laugh, running a hand through his hair to fix it up as he characteristically did whenever it got even the slightest bit out of shape. In that same moment is when he glanced over in your direction, catching sight of you by pure coincidence.

His eyes widened when he saw you, mouth gaping open for a split second before he called your name in a mix of utter shock and joy. That was more like the Chris you knew– and it gave you hope. You ran up to him, and he to you, bringing his hands to your shoulders and touching you up and down your arms– truly, he couldn’t believe you were here, and he had to touch you to be certain it was real.

“What– what are you doing here? I-I thought you went back home with your folks, I thought–” he was smiling, entirely giddy as he looked you up and down. “We moved! I’m here to stay,” you told him excitedly, bouncing on your heels as you stared up at him.

It made you so, so happy; to the point that the contents of his prior conversation entirely lifted from your mind. It pains you thinking back to how naive and lovesick for him you were– you wish you'd have known better.

“I can’t believe it! I–” he started to exclaim, but then realized his friends followed him, crowding around his back while shooting him inquisitive looks, and he quickly took his hands off you.

He cleared his throat, tucked his hands in his pockets in a gesture meant to bring him back to his aloof state of being, and he grinned– not that pretty grin that made your heart flutter, but a wicked one. “I mean– that’s cool, baby.”

You didn’t like it, your brows furrowing at the change in his demeanor. “Christopher–” you started, but one of his friends spoke up before you could talk much more. “Who’s the chick?” he asked as he looked you up and down, and Chris hesitated. “Oh, uh–”

“Oh, I know!” the friend suddenly exclaimed, hit by an epiphany, “the one from the beach you wouldn’t let us meet– the one who puts out. This her? It is, isn’t it?”

Your face burned red, unpleasant heat crawling over your body as the rest of his friends snickered. He told them you put out? Why would he do that? Your expression crumbled, body trembling with embarrassment and grief, but Chris kept his own cool.

“Don’t worry, doll, I didn’t tell them all the horny details,” he smirked, and his friends' snickers erupted into full on laughs as they slapped his back in amusement. Your body burned hot with indignation, eyes welling with tears as your frustration and anguish boiled over. You shoved him as hard as you could, though it hardly even caused him to take a step back.

“I wish I’d never laid eyes on you, you– you creep!” you cried before turning away, ready to run back home to throw the teddy bear he won you in the trash and sob into your pillows. “That’s not all she laid on him,” one of his friends commented under his breath, the rest laughing and hooting as you sprinted away from them, back down the street.

Chris just watched, body tense and face sullen, heart twisting in his chest. He watched you turn the corner, wiping tears from your eyes before you disappeared entirely out of view, his friends still laughing and giving him pats on the back.

But when he turned to them, he put the smirk back on, and they all hopped into his car to hit the drive-in as if he didn't care about what just happened with you, as if the guilt wasn't going to eat away at him every night.

The next time Chris sees you is weeks later, at a new mom-and-pop shop freshly opened on the edge of the city. He’s there with his friends, all of them jumping out his cadillac before he’s even fully parked, rushing inside to grab a good table.

And when he walks in, it’s not his friends that he sees first but you– sitting at a booth with another guy across from you. There's an empty plate with tiny remnants of ketchup still left behind that he just knows you used for your french fries, and a milkshake between you with two straws stuck in it.

Part of him is relieved you aren’t sharing a single straw with the man like you would’ve done with him, but his gut still twists from the sight regardless. And when you giggle at something indiscernible the guy says, Chris feels liquid hot envy boil in his blood, jaw tightening and fists clenching as he cracks his neck.

“Chris, over here!” his best pal, Felix, calls from across the shop, and that’s when you see him too. You can’t help but look when you hear his name called, eyes widening when they land on him. He tenses, eyes lingering on you for a few seconds longer before he inevitably joins his friends at the table they scouted out in the middle of the room.

He can't focus on anything his friends are saying– the only thing he vaguely hears through the fog in his brain is Changbin begging the others for spare nickels so he can afford the dog-sled delight. It all becomes tuned out noise, because all he can think about is how much he missed you, and how much it pisses him off that you're here with someone else.

It's Chris' own fault, he knows that, and that makes the feeling even worse– like bile in his throat that he can't swallow down. It doesn’t take Minho, the most perceptive of his friend group, to notice that he’s staring at you and to comment on it.

“What, you still hung up on that chick?” he questions, and Chris scoffs as he snaps out of his fog, leaning back in his chair and acting as aloof as he can bring himself to. “What? No, of course not,” he says, but his eyes still linger on you, fingers twitching with irritation when he hears you laugh again, and watches you playfully slap the man’s arm like you would do to his.

Eventually, you hold out your palm to your date, and he watches the guy dig through his pockets to give you something. Chris knows immediately what's happening– you’re waiting to be given a dime or two, and you’ll saunter off to the jukebox to pick a new tune once they’re in hand.

He watches you rise from the booth, waits until you’ve made the walk over to rise from his table, muttering to his friends that he needs to hit the can real quick. He takes a few steps in the direction of the bathroom, and then immediately turns, going straight to you instead.

He props an arm on the jukebox after he approaches, leans against it and looks down at you as you cycle through the record choices. “Hey baby,” he tries, but you ignore him, don’t even spare him a glance as you continue to give the jukebox your full attention.

“Listen– I’m sorry,” he tries again, and you just hum in acknowledgement, still not turning your gaze to look at him. He swallows, glances back at his friends who are perfectly oblivious to what he’s doing, and then back to you. “I just– you know how it is, right? The guys, they expect me to act a certain way, and–”

“That’s why I’m so glad I met Sam,” you interrupt, turning around to look at your date and offer him a sweet wave. Chris hates it, but at least you’re talking to him now– he’ll take what he can get. He still ends up scowling however when your date waves back, and you turn back to the jukebox, still without glancing up at Chris himself.

“What, you like that square?” he scoffs as he looks your date up and down. He’s smartly dressed; pristine khaki slacks and a brown sweater vest pulled over his white button up, his hair in a neatly styled, respectable crew cut– but that’s not your type.

At least, he hopes it's not; because that would make Chris the outlier, and that’s not what he wants to be. He’ll also be damned if he ends up losing you to a goody two shoes like that.

“He’s sweet to me. And I don’t have to question what his intentions are, unlike with you,” you reply, and the emphasis put on 'you' makes his heart sink. While he certainly deserves to hear it, it doesn’t make him any less upset– not with you, but with himself. He really let his pride and reputation get in the way, and he knows he fucked up. But he wants you, and surely you know that, right?

You finally settle on a tune; Those Magic Changes– the one he knows is your absolute favorite. The one he even used to serenade you with once whilst dancing, you giggling away with a cute blush on your cheeks whilst he twirled you around. He sang it more exaggeratedly towards the end, purposely putting on a goofy voice to make you laugh harder as he dipped you down.

He kissed you before lifting you back up, and then again when you were completely upright, your hand on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, your other free hands intertwined. The way you looked at him when he pulled back from the kiss made his heart pound, but he played it cool– shot you that grin that always made your legs feel like jelly, kissing your cheeks when it made your blush deepen.

Chris liked feeling the heat of your blush against his lips, liked having your hands on him even when it was in the purest of ways, liked the way you giggled and smiled at him when he playfully winked at you. The memory strikes him hard when you press the play button to start the song, and he takes a step back from the jukebox, fists clenched at his side.

You look at him then– really look at him. Instantly he feels small, your gaze that once held so much love for him now meeting him with the utmost scrutiny. He fucked up, he knows he did– but what does he do now? He can’t even trust himself to say something without fucking it up even worse.

And the pain of it all hits you too– he can see it in your eyes just before you steel your expression, and do your best to act unaffected. "See you around, Christopher," you mutter as you turn away from him and the jukebox.

You walk back to the booth where Sam awaits your return with a smile, while Chris just stands there, your favorite song blaring painfully loud in his ears as he stares at your back. "..begs you please, come back to me, please return to me, don't go away again," the lyrics mock him harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, but he knows he has to do something, anything, to show you he’s sincerely sorry. He needs to show you he still wants you, needs you to give him another chance– more than he’s ever needed anything.

The next time Chris sees you is once again by coincidence, while he’s sitting alone in the parking lot of the sock hop his little sister just begged him to take her to. He was trying to decide what to do with his time– if he left, he’d have to come back in a couple hours to pick her up, but surely it was better than sitting around outside, bored out of his mind while he waited for her.

He could go in, but sock hops aren’t really his thing– the only time he ever danced was with you, and he didn’t plan on changing that. All he’d do inside is stand on the edge of the room and watch his sister dance, and he didn’t much feel like doing that either. Besides, his little sister was a good girl, and she didn’t need, nor want, his constant supervision.

And he’s just about to turn the key in his ignition and burn rubber when he sees you, arm linked with stupid fucking Sam as he opens the door for you with his free hand. And fuck, he doesn't even care that he's about to crash your date– he just needs to talk you. He jumps out of his car in a rush, pulling open the door to the building and heading straight to the line leading to the dance floor.

Chris’ jaw tenses when he sees you– Sam is leaning down to whisper something in your ear while you wait in the line, and you cover your mouth as you giggle. He hates how similar it is to the days he spent with you at the fair, waiting in line for rides and popcorn. The envy bubbling in his gut makes him feel sick, and he has to take a breath to calm himself down before he approaches you.

He steps to where you are in the line when he feels mellowed out enough, you and your date turning around curiously when they hear his voice call your name. Your eyes widen when you see it's him, but you’re quick to correct your expression before your date notices anything off about you. “Can I talk to you?” Chris asks, not at all acknowledging Sam’s presence beside you.

Even when you divert your gaze to glance at your date’s reaction, Chris’ eyes stay firmly on you, awaiting your answer. “Please?” he follows up, and it makes you swallow. It’s the first time he’s ever taken a pleading, desperate tone with you, and he can tell rejecting him isn’t going to come easily to you– it gives him hope that you'll finally hear him out, maybe even take him back.

“I–” you hesitate a moment, and just as Chris’ new, shiny hope begins to dim, you unlink your arm from your date. “I’ll be right back, just stay in the line,” you tell Sam before shooting Chris a look and walking past him. He follows you back outside, and you cross your arms as you stand against the cold brick of the exterior.

“What do you want?” you cut straight to the point. There’s a million things he wants to say, but his built up jealousy causes him to ask the stupid, burning question first and foremost. “Since when do you go to sock hops?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh– he’s unbelievable, breaking your heart like that and then pulling stunts like this.

“Since nice boys ask me to go with them. Why, you jealous?” you accuse him and he scoffs, trying once again to play off what he feels. “Me? Jealous? Don’t make me laugh,” he says, unable to help the instinctive reaction to being called out. And he instantly regrets it, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if I go back inside then?” you ask as you step away from the wall, starting to walk past Chris and back to the doors. He grabs your arm to stop you, and you look up at him expectantly. “Don’t, I–” he grits his teeth, hesitates for a moment, but ultimately decides to be honest, “I am, okay? So don’t.”

He lets your arm go, and his admission thankfully proves enough to make you stay. You settle back against the brick wall, but you don’t look at him after– instead you look down at the ground, staring at your sleek, black and white saddle shoes instead of meeting his gaze.

It’s silent for a moment, with Chris wracking his brain as he tries to figure out the right thing to say to you. “What you did was terrible, you know,” you end up breaking the silence first, your voice soft.

“I know, I– I meant it when I said I was sorry,” Chris says while moving a step closer to you, and still you hesitate to look at him. “I didn’t believe you. Still don’t,” you reply, and honestly, he can’t blame you– he should’ve been more sincere when he approached you.

But he was being a fucking idiot, still trying to play it cool even though it was just the two of you standing there by the jukebox. And who gave a fuck if his friends happened to look over and saw him talking to you? Why should he care? Is it really so wrong for him to be whipped for you?

Even the first time he saw you again, he should've done all the things he really wanted to do. He should've kissed you and hugged you tight, should've told you how happy he was to know you’re here to stay, should’ve flipped his friends the bird and told them to fuck off if they questioned him. But he didn’t– he cracked under the expectations, and you suffered for it.

There’s a lot he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it– he’s never been vulnerable about his feelings before you, but he wants to try. Even if he screws up over and over again, he’ll keep trying– because you deserve it. And he should apologize again, sincerely, but there’s another question burning in his blood that he has to ask.

“Do you really like that guy? You’re not, like– going steady, are you?” Chris questions and you shrug, finally looking up from the ground to meet his eyes. “That depends,” you tell him, peeling your back away from the wall to stand directly in front of him, holding your hands behind your back.

“On what?” he follows up, and you smile– a small one, but it’s enough for him. “On you,” you answer, and the hope flares back up, drowning out the envy and shame in veins and replacing it with pure, unfiltered glee.

“Yeah?” he grins as he tilts his head, and your smile grows the tiniest bit more as you nod. You may still have your doubts about his sincerity, but the fact that you’re willing to give him a chance is all he needs– he’ll use the time you give him to prove it to you, to make sure you’re left with no doubts that you’re the one that he wants, to promise that he'll never break your heart again.

“Come with me then, back inside– you’re gonna be my date,” he says as he holds out his hand to you. Sock hops may not have been his style before, but they can be for you. “What about Sam?” you question, but still take his hand regardless.

“He can stag it the rest of the night for all I care. You’re mine, sugar,” Chris replies, and it sends butterflies sweeping through your stomach as you giggle in delight. “And your friends?” you ask next, knowing it’s very well possible he’ll crack under the expectations of his rep with them again if they see you together.

“Fuck ‘em,” he replies easily; and you’re both sure it’ll be easier said than done for him to not give a shit what they think, but he’ll do his best. He doesn’t want to do anything to make you regret giving him another chance. “Let’s dance, baby,” he grins at you, pulling you along with him as he steps back inside the building with you in tow.

There’s a thought in Chris’ head that he never before thought he’d ever have– the sock hop was perfect. And well, maybe it’s not the sock hop itself necessarily that he enjoyed, but you– yes, it was most certainly you. The time spent with you was everything he’d been missing, everything he could’ve ever hoped for following your departure from the city and his subsequent abysmal fuck up.

He knew he didn’t deserve any of it– and he was certain you were going to share a more serious talk about it all later, but he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt walking back into the building and seeing Sam utterly bewildered that his date was now clinging to his own arm instead.

And he won’t shirk his responsibility to do better by you– he’ll own up to his mistakes, he’ll change, be someone deserving of you. It may take a lot of time and effort to unlearn all the dumb shit he’s taken in over the years, but he swears he’ll try– tonight is just the start of a lifetime of proving to you that he’ll do anything to keep you.

All night, you’ve been positively radiant– and truly, Chris has never felt luckier in all his life. He delighted in the way you smiled at him while dancing, enjoyed the way you squealed in excitement and bounced on your heels when the live band decided to play a cover of your favorite tune, couldn’t help the way a goofy grin spread over his face when you pecked him on the cheek following a slow dance.

You’re the only one in the world who’s ever seen it, you know– the only one who gets to see his dimples, or to hear him giggle. The only one he’s ever sung to and danced with, the only one he’s ever wanted to stay up all night talking on the phone with, the only one he’s ever taken out for more than a quick and simple joyride in his car.

He could feel the inquisitive, disbelieving stares too– Chris has lived here his entire life, and everyone knows the kind of guy he is. And maybe he’s simply lucky– he knows he’s nothing but a delinquent, knows his reputation precedes him, knows he doesn’t deserve the affection of a good girl like you.

Regardless of it all, you love him– enough to give him another chance even when he hasn’t yet done enough to earn it. And effortlessly, you unlock the soft part of him– the part of him that desires and yearns and wants. He burns for you, the only girl in the world his heart has ever raced for, the only who knew who he was beyond the rough surface he projected to the rest of the world.

Now you’re outside tentatively standing next to Chris’ car, waiting for him to come back from confirming with his sister that she’ll hitch a ride home from her friends instead of him. It embarrasses him how she grills him with questions about you– and he answers in the vaguest of terms, having to promise that he’ll fill her in on it all in more detail later, but to please just let him go be alone with his girl.

He’s certain that no one else would believe it if he told them, but his intentions to be alone with you are entirely pure. Now that he’s close to having you as his again, he wants to do right by you– take it slow, kiss you soft and tender, touch you light and chaste, respectfully, sweetly. He wants to take you on dates again, wants to save up all his quarters to buy you something special, wants to devote his every moment to showing you how sincerely he loves you.

He wants you to meet his friends properly (after he gives them a stern warning to be gentlemen in front of you), wants you to meet his parents, and he wants to meet yours in turn. He wants to stop playing it cool and aloof and confident when he feels something– doesn’t want to keep pretending that the way you look at him doesn’t drive him wild, not just with lust but with adoration.

And certainly, you know that Chris is softer than he outwardly appears– you’re not blind to the way his cheeks and ears burn when you kiss him sweet and call him that name that makes his heart skip a beat. And unlike you, Chris knew what he was doing– so it was natural for him to always be the one leading your little song and dance, even when on the inside he felt like he was going to positively combust from the way your eyes sparkled at him.

There’s something you’ve been wanting to try– something that you couldn’t before, because your summer together passed by in a blink, and there was so much you didn’t know when your relationship first began. And Chris has taught you a lot in your time together– maybe more than he even realizes.

He may not know it, but he’s made you into a real insatiable minx. And now that you know he’s willing to beg and plead and grovel for you to take him back, oh how it makes your heart race with the possibilities. How far can you take it? How far is he willing to go for you, to prove that he’s devoted to you entirely? Would he really do anything to keep you?

Chris told you, just a few moments ago as the sock hop was coming to an end, that he’ll do anything and everything to make sure you don’t regret giving him another chance with him. He looked you straight in the eyes, vulnerable and entirely sincere, squeezed your hands in his as countless promises left his lips.

Could he be manipulating you? Is he nothing but a dirty liar? It’s certainly possible– but you’d like to believe the Chris you knew last summer is the truest version of himself. You’d like to believe that the Chris you saw tonight isn’t an act to keep stringing you along. So you want to try something– something bold, something the you of last summer would’ve never thought to do.

You don’t think your shyness will ever entirely evaporate given that Chris is such an utter dreamboat, but he does well enough at playing it cool, so who's to say you can’t do it too? You can be playful and enticing, can play it coy and innocent while you flutter your lashes at him, can smile and pout at him in a way that makes desire spread through his veins like explosive, hot fireworks.

When Chris walks back out of the building you have to make a conscious effort to ignore the butterflies in your stomach– you’ve decided you’re a woman on a mission tonight, after all. The parking lot is sparse now, and the last stragglers from the sock hop all shuffle to their cars, his sister and her group of friends being among them.

Though you only met her briefly, you offer her a pleasant wave goodbye, and she smiles at you as she returns it– though you don’t miss the way she shoots her older brother a look after. A look that says “don’t fuck this up for yourself.” It almost makes you giggle– you like having his sister on your side; you get the impression she’ll chew him out if he doesn’t shape up the way he’s promised to.

Chris doesn’t turn to you until after his sister and her friends have peeled out of the parking lot– you’re not sure if it’s because he wanted to make sure she was going to be safe, or if it’s because he felt like she’d gotten enough of an eyeful of him being affection with you, and he’d be embarrassed if she saw anymore. You like either answer.

“Hi baby,” he says, soft and sweet as he smiles, and it makes your heart once again skip a beat. Even after hours of dancing, he still looks utterly perfect– not a single piece of his greased up hair out of place. You hope you’re faring the same– you didn’t really get a chance to look at yourself in the mirror at the end of the night to know for certain, but you want Chris to think you look divine.

“Am I taking you straight home?” he asks; it’s dark out now, but you still have a fair amount of time before you’re expected back home. And while he’d love to spend more time with you, he isn’t going to assume– this is a trial period, after all; he still has to earn that, he’s sure.

Calling you his earlier was more hope on his end than confidence– he wants you to be his, but he knows he has to earn your trust back first. And he’s going to be a gentleman– any boundary you have, he’ll adhere to, no matter what. He refuses to fuck up with you again.

“No,” you answer short and simple, smiling up at him as you do. But before he can ask you what you want to do until curfew, you’re speaking again. “My shoe's untied,” you pout, leaning back against his car while gently lifting your foot from the ground to show him, “can you fix it for me, please?”

“You want me to tie it for you, baby?” he laughs a little as he tilts his head to the side, thinking you’re just oh so cute when you keep up the pout as you nod. He gets down on one knee easily, and you put your foot right on his knee, watching as he ties your laces back together. When he’s finished, you don’t put your foot back on the ground– you press it right to the middle of his chest.

“Baby?” Chris looks up at you curiously– and there’s a twinkle in your eye he’s never seen before. He almost thinks you’re going to kick him back on his behind, but you don’t– you take your skirt into your hands, and start to pull it up. Slowly, it rises above your calf, your knee, your thigh, until he can see your pretty white panties, with its precious little pink bow in the center.

“S-Sugar, what– what are you–” he stammers, struggling to form words in a way he never has before. You’ve never exposed yourself to him like this– just out in the open, with no barrier between you and the rest of the world. You aren’t in your bedroom, you aren’t inside the car with the windows and hood up– you’re out, in the middle of the fucking parking lot where anyone could see.

Fuck, even the times at the beach, when he made love to you in the sand, were much, much more secluded than this– because those excursions were isolated, close to your aunt’s beach house and happening in the dead of night. And this is very much not– it’s barely even 9 o’clock, and you’re at a public venue; anyone could come by, and for any reason.

“I need your help with something else too, daddy,” you say as you pout some more, clearly acting coy, and he swallows as he stares up at you. “Can you do it, daddy? Can you help me?” You take as much of your skirt's fabric into one hand as you can, keeping it lifted above your thigh while you move your other hand between your legs, pulling your panties to the side to show him your pussy.

The action sends all of Chris’ blood careening to his cock– he can’t believe you’re really doing this right now. “Right– right here? N-Now?” he gulps, taking a quick glance around the parking lot. You’re alone now, but still– he never thought you’d do something so bold. Even just fooling around in the back seat of the cadillac with as much privacy as he could give you made you impossibly shy.

“Yes, here, now,” you tell him, keeping your panties hooked to the side with two fingers, while using the other two to spread your folds apart for him the best you can. You’re trying to entice him, and fuck, is it working. He never thought he’d see you this way, and it’s making him feel so utterly electric– he’s a fucking live wire, and he’ll pour his current straight into you.

Anything you want from him, it’s yours– he doesn’t need any convincing, he’s already impossibly ensnared by the rope that is your desire for him. And fuck, he said he wouldn't do this, said he'd be a gentleman, take things slow and build back up to intimacy with you– but if you're practically begging him for it, how can he resist?

Chris takes your foot into his hand, carefully lifts it from his chest and throws your leg over his shoulder before he crawls closer to you. The concrete of the parking lot ground is brutal against his knees, but he doesn’t give a shit– you need him, and that’s all that matters.

He replaces your hand, keeps your panties shoved aside with his own. Now that your hand is free you use it to hold onto the car door and give yourself some extra support as he starts placing kisses to your clit. His lips always feel so perfect– especially when he licks them first, gets them nice and wet for you; the sensation draws out a pleasant sigh, but you both know it isn’t really enough.

Chris likes to tease you, make you wait until you’re squirming and trembling from all his repeated kisses, gets you so worked up you could beg and cry before he finally gives you his tongue. But tonight is about getting what you want, when you want it– so as much as you enjoy his soft little kisses, you’re not going to let him work you up.

He’ll be the one fraying at the edges, the one desperate and pleading, the one who feels like his brain is filled with cotton, looking up at you from down on his knees with glassy eyes full of need. You let go of the car door, bring your hand to his head and thread your fingers through his hair. You pull back just enough to have his head tilting away from your pussy, making his eyes land straight up at you.

“Baby–” he gasps, and again you meet his gaze with that sinfully deceitful pout. “You said you’d do anything for me, daddy,” you say as you shoot him your best doe eyed look, “Did you mean it? Will you do anything for me?” Fuck, you’ve got him throbbing– you can see his erection straining against his jeans, and it nearly makes you grin in delight.

Still, you don’t crack– Chris always does well at only showing you the version of himself he wants you to see, and you will too. You won’t give him your meek looks or timid declarations of desire for more of his touch– he’ll only see a new you; a confident you who knows exactly what she wants. You’ve learned from the best, after all.

“Well?” you demand when he doesn’t immediately answer, and you watch him swallow, swearing you can see the shiver that spreads down his spine and throughout the rest of his body. “Y-Yeah baby, I meant it. I’d do anything for you,” he tells you, hoping you can’t see how red his face and ears are getting in the low light.

“Prove it– prove you want me, prove you’re good for something,” you say, and again he shivers, breath catching in his throat. “Eat it, make me cum.” Fuck, Chris is reeling– he still can’t even believe it’s really you talking to him this way. His brain feels like a faulty circuit board, all his synapses sparking dangerously as they fire off, ready to ignite his blood and engulf him in an uncontrollable flame of desire.

When you let go of his hair, he wastes no time diving right into your pussy, eating you out like a man starved. He brings his free hand to your ass, squeezes and holds you in place while he shakes his head to get more of you on his tongue, his nose bumping your clit and making your legs quiver.

You bite your lip, doing your best to suppress the loud moan he brings out of you by sucking on your clit. His plush lips wrapped around it, the flicks of his tongue, how expertly he sucks– it’s already so overwhelming, in the best way possible. Chris does his best to sink lower, tries to lick at your hole and get his tongue inside, but it’s hard like this– he’s not sure if he can.

“B-Baby, doll, let me lay you down, in the car, let me–” he pulls away from your dripping center to look up at you, and fuck, he looks ruined in the prettiest way imaginable. His eyes are hazy and pleading, glistening with your arousal from the tip of his nose all the way down to his chin, sweat dripping down his brow. “Need to spread you out, I– please? Gotta taste more of you.”

Shit, you can’t deny you want it– especially not when he’s begging like this. You nod, and he smiles at you in appreciation, a smile that makes your knees even weaker than they already are. You take your leg off his shoulder, and he quickly rises to his feet, giving you a messy kiss before he ushers you away from the car door to open it for you.

You crawl into the back seat, and he follows, slamming the door shut behind him. He waits until you get comfortable, not acting until you're lying propped against the opposite door of the car. Chris hooks your panties in his fingers, pulls them down your legs and tosses them aside into the footwell; it'll be a sweet treat for him when he finds them again later.

He'll keep them, he thinks– stuff ‘em in his pocket and take them back to his room, where they'll lie safe and protected under his pillow. It's a dirty thought, one that'd otherwise fill his gut with shame, but right now all he feels is need– need for you to cum on his tongue, need to give you everything you want and more.

He settles on his stomach between your legs, and it’s certainly not easy, but he manages well enough. One of your legs ends up over his shoulder again while the other stays spread out with the help of his hand holding you under the knee. And finally, his tongue dips into your hole, and it’s pure bliss– maybe even more so for him than you. He’s hungry, utterly ravenous; all he can think, breath, and taste is you, you, you.

“Chris– your fingers, need your fingers,” you whine more shamelessly than you would've otherwise liked, but you know he enjoys it. He separates from you long enough to run his fingers between your folds, making sure they’re nice and slick for you before he presses them to your hole.

He slides one finger in first, bringing his mouth back to your clit while you adjust to the feeling. Your legs are already trembling by the time he adds another finger, and when he starts curling his fingers to hit your most sensitive spot while flicking his tongue against your clit you can hardly even breathe– it’s just so, so good.

Your stomach is clenching, thighs and legs shaking hard, your release building up with an intensity you’ve never felt before. “Oh, fuck, Chris–” you cry when he presses the tips of his fingers into your spot harder. You’re certain that if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re still wearing your shoes, your toes would be curling from the pleasure.

Your pussy sounds so sloppy and messy, and Chris himself isn’t making it any better– he’s drooling so much, his saliva drenching you just as much as your own dripping arousal. You’re breathing hard, and even your hands are shaking as they continue to hold up your skirt to watch him devour you.

“Oh my god, ‘m gonna cum, I’m gonna– fuck, gonna cum for you daddy, please don’t stop,” you’re crying loud– and you know you should at least try to be quieter considering how out in the open you are, but you’re too far gone to care. With your head thrown back, you whimper and moan, high pitched and loud, eyes rolling back as your orgasm takes you.

It feels like it’s endless, the waves of pleasure ceaselessly jolting your body as your vision blurs white; and you feel wet; so, so wet. It’s only when you finally come down from the high and lift your head back up from where it thunked against the car door to look at Chris that you realize why you feel so drenched.

It’s not just your thighs that are dampened– it’s your skirt, Chris’ face and shirt, the leather of his seats; all of it is soaked with your cum. Your face starts to burn hot, and you swallow as Chris stares at you, almost bewildered. “Baby– did you just..?” You squirted for him, because of him– he doesn’t even fucking care how much of a nightmare it’s going to be to clean his car, all he can think about is how fucking sexy it is.

You simply nod, because it’s all you can think to do– you really weren’t expecting this to happen. “Oh my god, baby, you have to do it again, please, you have to,” he practically whines, and his enthusiasm over it makes you giggle. You honestly feel more than a little shy about it, but Chris’s apparent elation makes it worth the tinge of embarrassment.

You reach out for him, take the necklace dangling from his neck into your hands and pull, urging him to come closer to you. He crawls up your body, and you kiss him, sliping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself all over him. “Fuck, you’re so dirty baby,” he groans when you pull away, “what are we going to do, huh?”

It makes you giggle again, a soft thing full of mischievous delight. He basks in it, giggles with you before he kisses you again. “Need your cock now,” you tell him when he pulls away, and shit, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking hard he is whilst wrapped up in pleasuring you. He can feel it straining against his jeans, desperate for stimulation of its own.

“Yeah? Want my cock baby?” he asks, grinning at you the way he always had before; you tug on his silver chain again in response. “Don’t forget, you’re giving me everything I want. Everything, okay?” you say once his face is mere inches from yours again, making him look you closely in the eyes. Chris swallows as he nods, the smile you offer him once again making his brain feel fuzzy and floaty.

He looks you over once more, really takes it all in before he scrambles over the front seat, reaching for the glove box where he still has some spares from your time together over the summer. Condom in hand, he settles back over you, and you help him with his jeans while he tears the package open. He spreads it quickly down his length, and you take your legs in hand, holding them under your knees to keep yourself open for him.

The sight of you like that is dizzying– legs open, skirt bunched up all the way to your stomach, pussy wet and glistening, with the hair there matting from how wet you are; you’re perfect. So fucking perfect. He moans as he pushes into you, so slick that you take him with ease. You take his face in one of your hands and pull him down to kiss you, a desperate one that makes pleasure lick over every inch of his skin.

Chris rolls his hips into you slowly to start, while you let go of the leg you're still holding to wrap your limbs around him, keeping him pressed close. He grabs onto the car door, uses it to keep himself steady when he starts to pick up the pace of his hips, harsh breaths and low moans leaving him freely. Neither of you are trying to be quiet, the street lights are burning bright, the hood of his car and the windows are down, anyone could hear you or see you– and the excitement of it all makes the pleasure he feels all the more intense.

“Baby, your tits– let me see ‘em, please, can I see ‘em?” he asks between labored breaths– he needs to see them, has missed them more than is probably allowed. You quickly do as he asks, fumbling with the top few buttons of your blouse to expose yourself to him. You tug down your bra so he can see your breasts bare, and again he groans, bringing his free hand to one of them to brush his thumb over your hardened nipple.

“Oh, you’re so pretty– so, so pretty baby,” he says, groaning when the words make you clench harder around him. It doesn’t take long for the car to start rocking with the motion of his thrusts, his rhythm quickly growing sloppier. He’s been so worked up, and believe it or not, he hasn’t actually fucked anyone since you– he feels so high strung and on edge, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

He just hopes he can make you cum again before he does, or at least make you cum with him– he needs you to be happy with him. You can feel his cock twitching and throbbing, you can tell that he’s already impossibly close– so, like the little minx you are, you talk dirty to him, wanting to see him utterly unravel at the seams. “You gonna fill me up, daddy? Make this pussy all yours?”

Chris gasps and shudders, goosebumps erupting all over his impossibly hot skin. He knows he can’t actually– all he’s going to really fill up with his cum is the condom, but fuck, the thought of it is making his head swim. “Y-Yeah, gonna fill you up baby, daddy’s gonna make you so full,” he breathes, and God, that really does it for you.

You bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick, practiced circles. Even through the condom he can feel you gushing and soaking his cock, and it sends him over the edge– as do the sounds of your incredibly pretty whimpers and moans of pleasure. His hips still when he cums, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as his eyes roll back, head thrown back in utmost bliss.

It takes Chris a few moments to recollect himself and catch his breath, and he slowly slips out of you when does. He tucks his softening length back in his jeans before he helps you fix your bra, and smoothes your skirt out over your legs while you button your blouse back up. “You feeling okay, baby?” he asks, wiping messy strands of hair out of your face.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, faces flushed and hot, hair utterly a mess– it’s obvious, even with your clothes fixed up, what you’ve been doing. “Mhm, are you?” you ask, and he smiles, giving you a quick peck on the lips. “I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” he replies and you giggle, kissing him once more.

He looks at himself in his rearview mirror when he pulls away, does his best to fix his messy hair while you lift yourself up from your propped position and stretch out your aching limbs. He then takes another glance around the parking lot, and notes that you’re still the only ones here– thank God. He was too enraptured by you to check earlier, and he’s grateful that no one else has showed up.

“Should probably get you home now, yeah?” Chris asks, looking at the clock on his dashboard and noticing it’s now getting dangerously close to your 10 o’clock curfew. He helps you get into the passenger seat when you nod, and you smile at him when he settles in beside you. He turns the key in the ignition, one hand resting on your thigh while the other stays on the wheel, and he drives you home.

Chris parks up the street, like he did all those times at your aunt’s beach house. He watches you walk over to your house, and he smiles when you turn around to blow him a kiss. At 11 he leaves his car, walks up the street to your home, and approaches the only window with a light still on– the window to your new bedroom. And you smile as you open it for him, letting him crawl his way inside.

He sees the teddy bear he won you at the fair sitting right in the middle of your bed, nestled against your pillows, and he smiles, delighted that you still kept it even after he broke your heart. “I love you, baby,” he tells you in a whisper after a sweet kiss, “never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, mister. Or I might just have to make you jealous again,” you warn and tease him with a cheeky little smile. He strips out of his jeans and tee shirt as you turn off your lamp, lies down beside you after you settle into your bed, runs his hand up and down your back as you press yourself against him. Head on his chest, with your arm and leg tossed over him, he kisses your head and smiles once more– because as he promised, this is just the start of a lifetime.

network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet

#ksmutsociety #skzstarnet #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #skz fanfic #bang chan fanfic #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune #don't ask me how many times i rewatched the movie while in the process of writing this. (the answer is 10 DFSGDGFG)

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