Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Choso is your religion...just kneel and pray.

There is no name more fitting for the nonsense I’m about to write here.

Since I am obsessed with Choso and can’t help but return to his fanfictions from time to time, I decided to create a single collection of all the random things that come to mind, some of which are one-shots, others more elaborate, and some just fleeting fantasies.

So yes, if your JJK character is Choso, and like me, you can't help but dedicate at least one impure thought a day to him, feel free to indulge in reading these little creations of mine, rather stupid and childish, but I love sharing thoughts here.

I don’t take commissions, but if an interesting proposal comes up, I might consider it!

I will update the chapters with their respective titles and content.

Thanks in advance to anyone who dares to read!

INDEX

Chapter 1: INTRO

Chapter 2: Cursed Passion (Light smut, AU)

Chapter 3: Hyakki Yagyo (Light smut, narrative)

Chapter 4: Hyakki Yagyo p.2 (Shameless Smut)

Chapter 5: Cum Laude (Finger fucking, First time (ish), Soft but filthy)

Chapter Text

Cursed Passion

"Please, please, please, please!"

A pair of intense sapphire-like azure eyes stared up at you as Gojo Satoru, the leader of the band Death Paintings, clung desperately to your leg, begging you to be part of their latest music video.

"I'm beggggging you!" he wailed dramatically.

You had no idea why he was so insistent. Maybe the band was just so freaking cheap that they couldn’t afford a proper actress, but either way, you weren’t exactly convinced you were the right person for the job.

"Satoru, my acting skills are absolute garbage… you’re asking the worst person possible," you replied, rejecting him for the fifth time.

"If not for me, do it for Choso! He’d be thrilled to see you starring in the video for his song."

That gave you pause.

Choso, your best friend for… honestly, you didn’t even know how many years anymore, had written an autobiographical song, Cursed Passion. And, as per the band’s usual tradition, it was now his turn to play the main character in the music video, while the other members would appear in the background, either playing their instruments or performing along.

But still…

"Come on, Choso would be shocked by how god-awful my acting is. Just drop it already," you sighed.

"Please, please, please!"

And, well… in the end, you had never been able to say no to those damn puppy-dog eyes. Satoru was a cunning fox.

Which was why you now found yourself all dolled up in your own dressing room, while a team of frantic stylists and makeup artists worked tirelessly to prepare you for your big debut.

Dressing up like this wasn’t really your thing, but you had to admit—the gothic dress they had carefully selected for you was breathtaking.

The bodice hugged your chest, making it look far more noticeable than usual. The fitted waist flowed into a layered tulle-like skirt, while the sheer, billowy sleeves cascaded all the way down to your hands. And, as if that wasn’t enough, they had even dressed you in a matching lace bra and panties—because apparently, in a music video, your lingerie also needed to match the aesthetic.

Frankly, they probably cost more than your monthly grocery budget.

Not to mention the makeup—two long, false lashes framed your enormous eyes, accentuated by a dark line of eyeliner, while the lipstick on your lips was a deep red with black undertones.

A makeup worthy of the finest brands, perfectly in tune with the band’s style and the dark tones of the song. You never would’ve imagined looking this incredibly attractive, this seductive, given your constant lack of self-confidence.

"The hell?"

Meanwhile, in the band’s dressing room, Choso’s usual aloof facade had been replaced by an expression of disbelief and shock.

He knew he had to shoot a music video with someone, but he had expected some random actress—someone used to this kind of thing—not… you.

And to make matters worse, he absolutely hated surprises.

"Hey, hey, relax. Isn’t it better to do this with someone you know rather than a total stranger?" Geto Suguru—another member of the band—had a point.

But Choso wasn’t having it.

"No way I’m shooting that video with her!" he snapped, raising his voice.

"Oh, come on. She’s your best friend, isn’t she?"

Sukuna, sprawled lazily on the couch with his legs wide open, took a slow sip of his beer before flashing a devilish grin.

"Don’t play dumb," Choso gritted his teeth. "Of course she’s my best friend… my best friend… and my forever crush!"

His composure was crumbling.

"You should be thanking me!" Gojo chimed in smugly. "At the very least, this video gives you a chance to finally do something about it!"

"That is the WRONGEST way to go about this!" Choso barked, clearly exasperated. This kind of frustration was foreign to him—he was rarely ever this pissed off.

As mentioned, Cursed Passion was an autobiographical song.

Choso—the always unconquerable, ever-distant member of the band —had been surrounded by gorgeous women, one after the other, each of them honored to even breathe the same air as him. And yet, not a single one had ever lasted beyond the second date.

And Cursed Passion was about that very curse.

His inability to love. The fact that every single relationship—every fleeting touch, every night spent tangled in sheets—was nothing but sterile, carnal, empty sex. Because no woman, no matter how stunning, how sexy, how utterly irresistible, had ever been enough to quench his insatiable thirst.

Because the only woman he had ever truly wanted… the only one he dreamed of holding in his arms…

Was you.

"I am not shooting that video. You guys should’ve consulted me before pulling this bullshit," Choso growled, pacing back and forth in the dressing room like a caged animal, fists clenched, eyes shooting daggers at the rest of the band.

"Oh, come on… what’s the big deal? A little kiss… some light making out…"

Gojo was not helping.

"Like hell I’m making out with her! I’m not touching her—I can’t—holy shit! But… does she even know about this?"

"Yeah, so… she actually has no clue about the nature of the video," Gojo admitted, sticking out his tongue playfully.

"She is going to kill us."

Choso’s face went pale.

Because, yeah—this wasn’t just any music video. It was PG-18. The song’s content was… spicy.

The script involved a partially censored make-out scene.

Not that Choso minded—God knows how many times he had fantasized about pinning you against a wall, kissing you breathless, leaving bite marks down your neck…

But the idea of forcing his tongue into your mouth, even if it was technically just acting, sent a cold chill down his spine.

"No way I’m shooting that video," he repeated, voice firm.

Gojo sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin as his foot tapped against the floor in irritation.

"Well, tough luck, buddy. It’s too late to find someone else now. And honestly, I’m quite surprised to hear you’d rather shoot it with some random actress instead of her!"

"At least if it were someone else, I’d never have to see them again in my life. But Y/N…"

His voice dropped.

"Just shove your damn tongue in her mouth already!" Sukuna snickered, rolling a joint between his fingers. "Here, take a hit. Might loosen you up."

"I don’t need that shit," Choso snapped, pushing away the freshly rolled blunt.

"Five minutes till the shoot!"

A voice echoed from the hallway, tolling like a funeral bell.

Choso flinched, his guts twisting with anxiety.

"Give me that," he muttered, snatching the joint from Sukuna’s hand. He had never been this nervous before.

His bandmate let out a loud laugh as the carefully rolled blunt disappeared between Choso’s lips.

"Go all in—one deep hit. You’ll loosen up and actually enjoy it."

"Jesus, what the hell are you even saying?" Choso snapped, his ears flaring up a deep shade of magenta.

It’s just acting. Pure fiction.

He kept repeating it to himself, as if saying it enough times would make his body believe it.

Meanwhile, the band was already gathered on set, waiting for the director’s cue.

Sukuna, lazily stretching his arms, was busy checking out the dancers who would be performing in the background. Gojo, of course, was grinning ear to ear like he had just sealed the deal of the century. Suguru, ever the detached one, simply stood there, waiting for the shoot to begin.

And then there was Choso—chronically anxious, gripping his temples like he was about to be executed.

The stylists, pleased with their work, finally led you onto the main stage.

And that was when Choso forgot how to breathe.

"Oh, shit."

It was all he could manage—his voice trailing off—as his jaw dropped.

Because there you were, standing under the bright stage lights, your body wrapped in that sinfully gorgeous gothic dress.

And you looked absolutely breathtaking.

You glanced around until your eyes landed on the guys.

"Hey, guys!"

With a bright smile, you hurried over to them, bowing slightly in gratitude.

"Satoru, thank you so much… I apologize in advance for the terrible acting you’re about to witness."

Satoru grinned. He knew you were perfect for this role. And he also knew you weren’t going to hate it as much as you had previously claimed.

"I’m sure you’ll do great," he said smoothly, adjusting his signature dark sunglasses.

Then, your gaze fell on Choso.

His usually pale complexion was even paler than usual—except for the deep red dusting his cheeks.

"Choso…" Your voice snapped him out of his trance. "Are you okay? You look super pale… and your cheeks are burning up. Are you sick?"

Sick?

Sick was an understatement.

Choso’s number one struggle at that very moment was keeping his uncontrollable lower body in check.

God, you looked stunning in that dress.

The tulle skirt fell just high enough to reveal more of your legs than it probably should have. And your chest—fuck—that bra pushed you up so perfectly, making it impossible not to stare.

He wanted to curse every single one of his bandmates for this.

But deep down… maybe he should be thanking them.

"No, I’m fine," he forced out, clearing his throat. "I’m just… not used to shooting videos like this."

"Videos like this?" you repeated, tilting your head in confusion.

But before Choso could even attempt an explanation, the director’s booming voice cut through the air.

"Alright! I want sensuality and passion in this scene!"

Your brows furrowed.

"Choso, kiss her! And I mean kiss her—make it intense. Use that tongue!"

"The fuck?" you blurted out.

Choso, meanwhile, was going from ghostly pale to a progressively deeper shade of rouge.

The director, however, paid no mind to your outburst.

"Then, pick her up—pin her to the wall—kiss her neck, wherever you want… and then take her to the bed. Kiss down the dress, along her chest, I don’t know—look, you’re young, I assume you know how to fuck."

His words rang in your ears.

"I… I don’t think I heard that right."

You turned to Choso, tugging anxiously at his hoodie.

"Did I hear that right?" Your voice trembled slightly as it reached him.

Choso said nothing, eyes locked on the floor.

"We could… we could cut the erotic parts," he finally mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Gojo immediately interjected. "Dude, you wrote the song. Cutting all the spicy parts would make zero sense!"

"I wrote the song. I decide the video." Choso’s voice was low, controlled—but laced with tension.

"You’re such a fucking pussy, man." Sukuna’s irritated tone cut through the air.

"A video with a little spice will skyrocket the views. Quit being a pain in the ass and shoot the damn thing!"

Then, with a wicked smirk, he added, "Look at Y/N—she’s insanely hot. If you don’t wanna do it, I’ll gladly take your place."

Choso stepped forward immediately.

"Like hell you’re touching her."

But before things could escalate, you quickly intervened.

"Okay, everyone calm down," you said, raising your hands. "No one told me this was the direction we were going in…"

"Because if we had, you wouldn’t have agreed," Suguru cut in, his voice level and matter-of-fact.

You opened your mouth to argue—then shut it.

Because, well… he was right.

"Would you have agreed?" he pressed further.

You huffed. "No. Obviously not."

"Exactly." Suguru patted your shoulder with an infuriatingly calm smile. "Surprise effect works better."

Then, without warning, he pushed you forward. Straight into Choso.

Your embarrassed gaze met his wide, glossy eyes.

"Well…" You let out an awkward chuckle. "Choso… let's just do this. Quick and painless. Get it over with so we can go grab a drink or something…"

You were trying to ease the tension, to make him feel better.

But his face was still painfully stiff.

Because Choso felt so fucking guilty about this.

Or at least… he should have.

Since the guilt was blending into something darker, hotter, even  twisted.

Something hungry.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice fading into silence.

And then, with no further discussion, the two of you were ushered to the center of the stage—under the bright, blinding lights, surrounded by cameras rolling from every angle.

The set was ready—gloomy, dark, suffocatingly intimate.

The cold wall where you were supposed to be pinned. The bed waiting for the most intense scene.

You gulped, eyes scanning the space, wondering if you'd actually make it to the end of the day.

Beside you, Choso wasn’t faring any better. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Roll the music… aaaaand—ACTION!"

The moment the song began, both of you stood there.

Frozen.

Staring at each other like complete idiots.

A single bead of sweat trailed down Choso’s temple, while you fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, waiting for him to move.

But he didn't.

He just stood there, watching you.

Watching your embarrassed posture.

Your barely restrained nervousness.

Your lips, slightly parted, chest rising and falling faster than normal.

You looked so… submissive.

So devastatingly appetizing.

"What the hell is going on?" The director’s voice thundered across the set.

"You’re supposed to kiss her!" Gojo cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound.

"I know what I’m supposed to do…" Choso snapped back, but his voice caught in his throat.

He couldn’t move.

Not because he didn’t want to.

But because if he did—he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

"Restart the music, damn it!" Sukuna barked at the sound crew.

Choso turned back to you, voice so low it was barely a whisper.

"I’m sorry… They shouldn’t have dragged you into this…"

It wasn’t an apology for the scene.

It was a plea—begging you not to hate them.

Not to hate this.

Not to hate… him.

You let out a sigh.

"It’s okay, Choso. It’s just a video… though I do expect a cut of the profits." You tried to joke, hoping to lighten the tension.

And for a second—just a second—he smiled.

But the moment the music restarted; his lips fell back into their usual stoic line.

And this time…

He stepped forward.

Your shoulders were grabbed by trembling hands. A gentle pull toward him.

Choso’s face was drawing closer—slowly, irreversibly, dangerously.

Your breath hitched.

Instinctively, you shut your eyes, brows furrowing—as if you were bracing yourself for a slap rather than a kiss.

And then—

Soft.

His lips brushed against yours, featherlight, fleeting—so impossibly delicate it barely felt real.

You cracked your eyes open.

Choso’s were squeezed shut, his expression tense, his nose scrunching slightly.

Because he knew.

He knew this wasn’t enough.

He knew that chaste, innocent little peck would never meet the standards the scene required.

"What the hell was that supposed to be?" The director’s exasperated voice yelled at him, stopping the music.

"Are you kissing your grandmother or the woman you wanna fuck?" Sukuna’s voice followed immediately after, mocking, cutting.

A deep sigh. Gojo crossed his arms, shaking his head.

Choso had everything—the sex appeal, the natural magnetism, the deep, sultry voice that made girls melt—but the second it came to you…

He was completely and utterly useless.

A fucking pussy.

"Listen, pull that kind of bullshit again, and I swear I’m taking your place." Sukuna’s voice was a low, venomous hiss.

Choso shot him a murderous glare.

You, on the other hand, were still struggling to process what was happening—if this was real or if the blinding lights flashing in your face every time the scene was cut had somehow transported you into some kind of fever dream.

A fever dream where Choso…

Your best friend.

The man you had secretly loved for years.

—was kissing you.

Maybe it had been just a peck.

But for you, it wasn’t just a peck.

It was the kind of kiss that sent your heart spiraling, your stomach twisting, your skin tingling.

"I’m sorry," Choso whispered, his voice low and regretful, snapping you out of the stupor of your disbelief.

But before he could finish, you cut him off.

"I’d rather you make out with me like a damn savage than let that idiot Sukuna touch me. Just do it, okay? It’s only for show, right?"

Only for show.

Right?

…Damn no.

There was nothing fake about this.

Choso’s dark eyes locked onto yours, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

And you could see it.

The way his expression betrayed him, his face burning, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

This wasn’t acting.

"Rolling again!" the director shouted. "If you don’t do it right, we’re bringing Sukuna in!"

Sukuna grinned, arms crossed, watching like a predator waiting for an opening.

He wouldn’t mind throwing you around a little.

And whether it was the weed finally kicking in or the damn fear of seeing you at someone else's mercy, something inside Choso snapped.

Because the second the music hit, you swore, you saw something insanely demonic flicker in his eyes.

"Forgive me," he breathed—just a second before the director’s voice rang out:

"ACTION!"

And then—

His lips crashed onto yours.

But this time—

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It was voracious.

Devastating .

A sharp yank—

Your body slammed against his, flush, no space left between you—

And then, heat.

His mouth pried yours open, tongue diving deep, claiming, conquering, pushing you back, back, back…

Fuck.

He was practically shoving himself down your throat. Like he wanted to consume you whole. You swallowed hard, trying to push him back, just for a second, just to breathe.

But Choso was on you.

Ravaging you.

Devouring you like a starving animal tearing into its prey.

"OH—NOW THAT’S A KISS!"

The director’s voice boomed through the studio, echoing off the walls, but Choso didn’t even flinch.

Not when the other band members stared, speechless…

Not when Sukuna’s smirk widened…

Not when Gojo muttered, "Well, damn."

No—

Choso was too far gone.

"Proceed with the wall scene!" the director called out.

And oh shit—

He didn’t need to say it twice.

With his lips still fused to yours, tongue dancing with yours, your mouth so damn welcoming, Choso shrugged off his hoodie…

And you barely had time to process before…

Oh. Oh, God.

That black, skintight crop top.

His chiseled chest, muscles strained, tight against the fabric. His engorged biceps, thick, flexed, trembling with adrenaline.

You barely let out a gasp before he grabbed you!

Arms locking around your thighs, body lifting you effortlessly, pressing you high against the cold wall.

The impact made you shudder, your breath catching in your throat as his lips finally—finally—tore away from yours.

Only to drop.

Dragging down.

Down your jaw—

Down your neck—

Hot breath ghosting over your skin…

"Choso…" you gasped.

You tried to say something—anything.

Tried to remind him that you were still in a room full of people, that this was just a music video, that this was all supposed to be an act…

But all you got in response was…

A low, deep, utterly wrecked growl.

That growl... THAT growl, had you wet in an instant.

Your legs wrapped around him, your cunt clenching around nothing when he answered back, "Wanna fuck you for real." His voice gravelly, panting, so drunk on you.

And when he lifted his gaze to lock eyes with you, biting your lower lip, you felt the truth behind the act.

Months, years of self-restraint shattered in that single immoral scene.

Just as the script demanded, Choso yanked you off the wall, pulling you close, so damn close, while the weight of your body surrendered completely to him. His arms wrapped tightly around you, his lips never leaving your neck, sucking, feasting on it until it was marked properly.

Your hands grabbed his broad shoulders, gliding down his veiny arms, as he gently placed you on the bed, positioning himself over you, hovering—threatening.

And what could you do?

You’d be a fool if you didn’t submitted to that raw, lustful moment, as his needy eyes silently begged you not to resist, not to fight back.

So you let him stretch out over you, your hands tangling in his hair, his disheveled pigtail falling loose, hair cascading down his neck as he, unfazed, buried his face in the crook of your neck—kissing, biting, lapping.

One of his hands lingered on your face, caressing it, worshipping it, when suddenly, his thumb slid over your lips, only to be shoved unexpectedly into your mouth.

"Suck it..." His voice, hoarse, made the command feel almost inevitable.

You obeyed, sucking at his thumb, feeling it press against your greedy tongue, your cheeks caving in, allowing Choso to smear your lipstick across your mouth, down your chin.

"This is one hell of a scene!" the director praised.

But in the room, the band members had realized that this was no longer a farce... and perhaps it was time to tone things down a bit...

And it became clear the moment the scene, where Choso was supposed to kiss the hem of your dress near your chest, turned into a full-on erotic film.

As his left hand slid down, down, down along your dress, to your thigh, slipping under the fabric, the other hand suddenly and adventurously hooked into your bra, pulling, yanking until your bare chest popped out. Instinctively, Choso's free hand moved to cover your exposed breast - no way he was letting your nipples show to anyone else - as his mouth latched onto your other round, aching bud, sucking deeply.

"Choso..." Tears of pleasure started to form in your eyes, even though, out of dignity and because you were practically in front of cameras, you tried everything to bring him back to his senses.

But your taste—it was a drug Choso never wanted to detox from, and he was pulling out the best of himself... as he performed in the best way possible, according to every detail he had in mind, to give the best performance of his life... not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you.

The music blaring, the intoxicating scent of your skin, that damned gothic dress that made you so sensual—Choso’s teeth wrapped around your nipple as his hand began to venture along your lingerie... so damn... erotic...

Did he really want to fuck you in front of everyone?

As his restraint completely shattered, Choso detached himself from your breast, fondling it with one hand, the same hand that shamelessly traced down your dress, caressing your tulle skirt, and positioned itself suggestively on the waistband of his jeans.

Gosh, Gosh, Gosh, he was really working on the belt to loosen it, as his hips began grinding against your thigh, his succulent bulge pressing against you.

"Choso," you begged him... but for what?

To keep going, to take you audaciously in front of everyone... or to stop, for your dignity, for his... for both of you? It could still pass as some insane, real-life performance.

But lucky... or unlucky... just as the zipper of his jeans was pulled down, the music came to a halt.

"NAILED IT!" the director shouted, pumped up by the take.

Choso’s eyes shot wide open, pupils shrinking as the lights flared back on, locking onto you, his breath ragged as he scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. Snapping out of his trance, he quickly grabbed the zipper, realizing it was down and tried to hide the obvious bulge straining against his clothes.

His wild, untamed hair hid the intense flush of embarrassment spreading across his face, but the rosy hue of his cheeks was unmistakable to your eyes.

Still reeling from the confusion of the moment, you stayed on the bed.

Staring at him in shock, hair sprawled across the pillow, your lipstick and eyeliner smudged under his touch and the tears of ecstasy rolling down your cheeks.

His hand was still firmly placed between your legs, where it felt so right.

But then Choso suddenly jerked back, his body stiffening as he pulled away. His voice was frantic, his words tumbling out in a rush: “Sorry, sorry, sorry—damn, I’m so sorry!”

“Perfect! That’s the intensity I was looking for! You two were amazing!” The director was over the moon, thrilled with how the scene came together, perfectly in sync with the words echoing in Cursed Passion:

In your arms, I burn in paradise,
but your touch drags me down to hell.
Ride me through the dark, entering your gates where Heaven lies,
beyond the abyss, to Nirvana's desire,
where pleasure meets pain, and shadows vanish.
I enter your realm, as I lose control, we rise.
In this world of phantom banshees, you're my only light, my angel divine,
guiding me through this darkness, where our souls intertwine.

The timing of the scene was perfect, as the intense exchange of intimacy flowed seamlessly with the rhythm of the words.

The band members exchanged glances, letting out a collective sigh of relief, knowing the director was the only one oblivious to the fact that, soon enough, Choso would really get down to pounding into you relentlessly.

You slowly rose from the bed, your head still spinning from the lack of air.

Choso’s voice betrayed the panic he was feeling, and he couldn’t stop apologizing to you.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine... it’s okay... calm down.” Your voice was soothing and tender.

Choso's hands trembled, so shaky that he kept them in his lap, as if he was afraid of himself.

“Choso...” you whispered his name, gently caressing his jaw and lifting his chin.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

"EH?" He looked at you bewildered, completely unable to comprehend how what had just happened could possibly be okay with you.

But your moment was interrupted by Gojo’s voice. "What the—?".

Choso quickly turned his gaze, his eyes locking onto the opposite wall, away from the band leader.

Sukuna chimed in with a loud whistle. "Damn... at least get a room..." He laughed like an idiot, as usual.

"Wasn’t that... a little reckless?" Gojo asked, wrinkling his nose.

"It... maybe... was," Choso replied, trying to regain his usual aloof expression.

Meanwhile, Geto helped you to your feet. "Are you okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Without thinking, the words left your lips. "I couldn’t be better," you chuckled to yourself.

Your eyes once again landed on Choso, who met your gaze with a subtle, almost imperceptible smile.

"Well... at least the scene turned out well... can’t complain," the band leader’s blue eyes met yours.

"Maybe putting your hand under her skirt wasn’t necessary..." he scolded Choso, who lowered his head like a child in trouble.

"Thanks for your... work anyway," he turned to you.

"No problem," you replied, embarrassed. "It was... my pleasure."

Damn, if it had actually been your pleasure, right?

The group suppressed a laugh.

"We still need to shoot the rest of the scenes, though," Geto suggested.

As they rearranged themselves to figure out what to do next, you approached Choso, who still couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes.

He knew very well that his actions would lead to consequences, to awkward explanations.

"I think you and I need to talk..." you said, lowering your voice.

Of course, he looked down again. But what was there to say? The stoic, impassive Choso—the unreachable one in the band, who had dismissed all his shallow, insignificant relationships, waiting for his angel divine, as he had sung about in his song—had just delivered that flawless performance with you.

There was nothing more to explain.

"I think... what happened speaks for itself..." his words got stuck in his throat.

"If you're ready... once the video is finished, we can take some time to talk about it... I don’t mind what happened."

Choso’s cheeks turned crimson. He could no longer wait to rid himself of that weight on his chest. "It’s you..." he whispered. "You’re the protagonist of my song... the only breaking spell to that... cursed passion..."

The butterflies in your stomach did seven spins, and you could swear the hairs on your arms stood up at the sound of his confession.

"I desire you... with all of myself."

His pleading eyes begged for you, he was so mortified for what had happened. But if only you could give him a chance, you could ease the emptiness in his heart with your love...

"It’s never too late..." you whispered, wrapping your arms around his waist.

"If you need me so much, I can help you exorcise your curse."

There was a silent moment of exchanged glances, where your eyes spoke for themselves, conveying the unspoken answer that Choso had always wanted...

"I..." His voice faltered, struggling to find the words...

"Wait, wait, wait," the director’s voice pierced your ears, as he scrutinized the video playback on the camera, surrounded by the band members.

You and Choso turned to him, slightly disappointed by the interruption of the romantic moment.

"I don’t like how this part of the video turned out," the director pointed at some small details no one else seemed to grasp. "Mind shooting it again?"

Shooting it again...

If you hadn’t cared about what had just happened, then Choso sure as hell didn’t either.

A wide grin spread across his lips—no hesitation, no second thoughts.

In one swift motion, he pulled you back into the scene, his grip firm yet smooth.

Lust slowly eclipsed the last traces of regret in his eyes as his smirk deepened. "Damn, forget being sorry. If we’re doing this, let’s make it count."

He kissed you fiercely, parting only when the music started again.

"Let’s try that one more time—and this time, we’re finishing it in the dressing room," he murmured, a low chuckle slipping from his lips—only to be swallowed by another unstoppable kiss as the camera started rolling once again.

Chapter Text

Choso Kamo, the blood manipulator, loved you with a depth that words could hardly convey. Each day, he expressed his affection through heartfelt declarations and thoughtful actions. Now, a year after the events in Shibuya, you two had become a well-established couple. As his first and only girlfriend, you had been the one to lead him into the forbidden realms of sexuality, claiming his innocence and awakening his deepest desires.

Sex with Choso was always about making love—romantic, tender, and deeply passionate. He never took you from behind, as he found it rude and disrespectful. In intimacy, he always wanted to look into your eyes, to witness your ecstatic expression during orgasm, sealing your connection with the closeness of your bodies. He would whisper sweet nothings into your ear, his words dripping with adoration, always prioritizing your pleasure over his own. Usually, you were the dominant one, easily reducing him to a whiny, needy mess with the faintest touch. When the roles reversed, he often found himself apologizing afterward, burdened by guilt over what he perceived as taking advantage of you.

This had never been an issue for you; you knew his gentle nature well. His priority was always your comfort and care—he would never do anything to hurt you or make you feel uneasy. Still, you often found yourself wondering what it would be like to experience a rougher side of him, a moment where Choso would seize his true control, throwing you onto the bed and pounding into you mercilessly until you were begging for him to stop. Yet, you never pushed him, valuing his true self over a fleeting fantasy of your own.

Little did you know, though, that your twisted imagination would soon become reality.

Japanese mythology is teeming with demons, yokai, and cursed spirits, reflecting the immense complexity of the local psyche and culture; a way of confronting the occult and the unknown that has long intrigued humanity. This is why sorcery and curses manifest more frequently there than in other countries.

During the autumn season—especially in October—the malevolent energy of spirits in Japan grows incredibly strong. The peak of these supernatural manifestations occurs in the week leading up to one of Japan’s most terrifying folkloric events: the spine-chilling Hyakki Yagyo, the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, held annually on Taishogun-dori in Kyoto.

In the week leading up to the parade, curses roam the streets with heightened intensity, feeding on humanity’s deepest fears. It is for this very reason that you and Choso are assigned a mission: to keep the negative forces at bay and prevent them from wreaking havoc on the city during this delicate event.

And here's where it gets interesting: Choso Kamo, though he had embraced his human side, was still, at his core, a half-curse. Though he was aware of this ominous week, he didn’t fully understand the effect it could have on him. His ignorance stemmed from the fact that he had spent so little time around humans, and even less with anyone who genuinely cared for him, until he met you. In other words, no one had ever experienced such an event alongside him to warn him of what could happen.

To complicate matters further, this week coincided with your most fertile period...

Since your work had been carried out flawlessly up until that point, both of you had decided to stay in the city a bit longer to attend the upcoming parade together. You shared a room in a traditional ryokan near the city center, blending in as just another couple enjoying a well-deserved rest. But as the end of the week approached, things began to subtly shift.

In the preceding days, Choso had experienced occasional mood swings—anxiety, restlessness, bad temper—but thanks to his incredible self-control, he kept his emotions hidden. That night, however, his sleep was particularly disturbed. The half-curse, lying beside you, suddenly woke in the middle of the night, his body drenched in sweat. You were curled up next to him, your fingers gripping his shirt. The soft moonlight gently illuminated the room, casting a glow over the two of you, highlighting your peaceful, sleeping face.

His nostrils flared as he caught a sweet, intoxicating aroma, like caramel and vanilla. It was the subtle, penetrating scent of your body during your fertile period— How could a human exude such a natural fragrance?  He leaned in closer, inhaling the heady perfume from your hair, his hand instinctively tightening around your hip. Unexpectedly, Choso’s body had responded long before his mind, and now, confined by the fabric of his boxers, he felt a growing discomfort that urged him to act.

As for you, you appeared so innocent, eyes closed, face relaxed, a serene expression framed by loose hair, a sweet smile lingering on your lips as though you were lost in pure bliss. Nothing more needed to be said; you were the perfect image of defenseless prey. Choso pulled back slightly, allowing your head to rest gently on the pillow. He was feeling strange, as if his very soul was detached from his body. And while the tension between his legs became increasingly unbearable, he felt his self-control slipping away, replaced by the surging impulse to release the agonizing pression building in his lower abdomen.

He crawled over your figure like a predator stalking its target, a werewolf awakened by the full moon, his lean and muscular body eerily outlined by the dim light of the night. An imposing presence above you, his arms planted on either side of your head while you slept peacefully beneath him. His uneven breaths fanned across your neck, growing heavier with each passing second. His hungry gaze trailed over your body, filled with a deep, almost animalistic desire. Choso licked at his lower lip, his fingers unconsciously moving to his crotch as he adjusted the prominent bulge in his pants, his face hovering mere inches from yours.

The shift in weight beside you, the heat of his body so close, finally stirred you. You murmured his name, “Choso,” your voice thick with sleep. Slowly, you opened your eyes, meeting the darkness of his stare as you realized he was looming over you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d woken up to find his gaze on you, often, he’d tenderly caress your hair while you slept, watching you with that caring, almost angelic look you’d grown so used to. But this time, his eyes weren’t those of the gentle man you knew. They were dark, predatory—glossy, vacant orbits fixed on you, as if they could pierce through your skull.

The moment your sleepy gaze met his, Choso snapped out of his trance. He jerked back, as if suddenly realizing the impurity of the act he was about to commit. His body tensed, guilt consuming him as he tried to retreat, his breath catching in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, his words nearly a scream, before dropping to his knees in desperation. His forehead pressed against the straw-covered floor, tears streaming down his face.

You stared at him, shocked—more by this sudden display of submission than by the tension of the moments before.

Yet, before you could speak, he sprang to his feet, bowed deeply, and hastily muttered that he was going for a walk. Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared, slamming the door behind him.

"What the hell…?"

And that was where it all began.

So, for the following days up the parade your beloved Choso didn’t have any other choice than avoid you, trying to hide is massive, engorged cock tenting behind his loose trousers, tormenting him for hours on end. His only moment of relief was found merely in the solitude of the room, when you weren’t around, or in the bathroom, where he would furiously fuck his own hand, to the point of pain, while his mind was filled with lewd thoughts about you. Not that Choso didn't desire you every single moment of his life, despite being calm and composed, those lustful thoughts always lingered in his mind, but they never erupted with such intensity or dominance. He felt hungry, yearning, while he envisioned you pressed against the wall, ass in the air as he fucked you balls-deep, or riding him fiercely, impaled on his hardened shaft, your mouth drooling as you screamed his name in ecstasy.

"No, no, no," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

He was utterly disgusted with himself, repulsed by the sinful fantasies he harbored about you. Why did he feel such a feral need to ravage his beloved, his pure, innocent Y/N? Why did this uncontrollable desire burn within him, urging him to devour you like a savage beast? This couldn’t possibly be him—or could it?

And yet, oh, how this curse craved you, craving to hear you scream and writhe beneath his otherworldly touch. Yes, despite his revulsion, part of him felt an undeniable pull to show you how deeply rooted his desire was.

Yet, fortunately, Choso was a man of honor. He would much rather shut himself in a room and paint his own hand with his white, thick cum than forcefully take you, consumed by his urges like an untamed animal.

As for you, Choso’s strange behavior had begun to stir feelings of concern. He was always so affectionate and present, and ideally, these days were meant to be spent enjoying each other’s company. So why was he suddenly so distant? Why did he disappear from you at night?

You couldn’t help but wonder if he had lost interest in you, if he had grown tired of you. But being a rather reserved person yourself, you hadn’t found the courage to bring it up, fearing you might overwhelm him with your thoughts.

That evening, however, the long-awaited night of the Hyakki Yagyo parade had finally arrived. As planned, you were set to attend the festivities along Taishogun-dori, excited to experience one of the celebrations that had captivated your interest for so long. After strolling through the beautifully adorned streets, observing the festival preparations, and admiring the lanterns, you decided to head back to the ryokan where you were staying.

However, when you stepped inside, carefully removing your shoes to slip into some comfortable zori, and walked through the hallway leading to your room, to your surprise, the door was locked. How weird. But there was a reason for it!

All damn afternoon, Choso had done nothing but pace back and forth in the room like a caged tiger. His chest felt heavy, his breath labored, and his hands sweaty. For hours, he had clenched and released his fists, desperately trying to maintain control over his thoughts, determined to keep his promise and be at your side during the festivities. He could never bear the thought of disappointing you; you were the thing he cared about most. You two should have enjoyed the evening—watching the marvelous yet frightening parade of spirits, drinking together, buying cotton candy, and playing games at the stalls that were already being set up for the event. But no! That insatiable, uncontrollable, sex-drunk part of him had taken over again and again, no matter how many times he tried to end his embarrassing erections—whether by stroking himself or dedicating himself to meticulous meditation and self-control exercises…The idea of savoring the sweetness of your fertile essence, kissing and biting your skin, jackhammering into you as if there were no tomorrow, resurfaced in his mind every time he tried to calm himself down and took the initiative to lower that stupid door handle to step outside.

Nothing to do with his candid idea of making love; if he had managed to get his hands on you in that state, it would have been a shocking and gruesome sexual carnage!

"Fuck!" he screamed, stopping abruptly, right foot slamming against the floor, fist striking the nearby wall. Disheveled hair framed his face, twisted with rage and self-disappointment.

"Choso?" Your voice, clearly upset by his unusual outburst, overheard by accident, drifted softly from the door, reaching him with gentle clarity, the echo of his name in the room making him flinch.

"Y/N?" he asked, to confirm your identity, though he knew perfectly well it was you.

"Choso, could you open the door, please? We should get ready for tonight… unless you don’t want to go anymore," you added, your final words trailing off painfully, expressing the fears that had been tormenting you lately.

Your soft, pleading tone hit Choso like a blade of a katana, cutting through him with sharp precision. It was never his intention to neglect you, but he knew deep down that the best thing to do tonight was to let it pass and encourage you to go alone.

"Y/N, please... go without me. I'm not feeling well. I'd rather stay here” his words falling flat and failing to mask the unease in his voice.

"Choso…What's wrong? You've been avoiding me these days. Did I do something wrong?"

No, absolutely not. What could you possibly have done? Since the moment you two became involved, everything you did had been flawless in his eyes.

"Please, I love you… let me understand what’s bothering you."

That pleading voice of yours, so vulnerable, so fragile, divine incantation pulling at the very core of Choso's heart, yet unfortunately it had the opposite effect of what you intended as it further ignited the predatory tension within him.

He stepped back, cursed blood surging through his body as he felt unexpectedly aroused by your submissive tone. A sacrificial offering laid bare, at the mercy of his most sinful, unspoken desires.

His back hit the desk against the wall, and he gasped, his control slipping.

"Why the fuck are you so perfect? So – goddamn - fucking - filthy - tempting?

Was that him speaking? The question slipped through gritted teeth, vulgar, profane, each word punctuated by a short, jagged pause. He never swore around you, never dared to sully the space with words or dirty talk like that. Yet here they were, spilling out uncontrollably. His hands dug into the edge of the desk, white-knuckled with the effort to hold himself together. It was pure, excruciating agony, fighting against himself.

Choso, open the door," you pleaded again, this time with more firmness in your voice.

Were you challenging him? Were you truly so eager to face the worst version of himself?

Pulling away from the desk, he leaned forward, step after step, thud after thud, closing the distance between him and the entrance, until his palm collided with the wooden door, the force of it echoing through the hallway with deafening force.

"I want you to be my slut tonight."

Slurred, pained, words tumbled from his lips, his outrageous confession mercifully drowned out by the loud crash of his fist hitting the wood. Choso pressed his forehead against the surface, the heat of his desire radiating through it, while his rational mind fought desperately to maintain control, as if he were possessed.

"Choso, open the door. I don’t know what you're going through, but we can fix this together."

As his logical side, stubbornly determined not to hurt you, fought to keep you away and protect you, you heard the weakest, most haphazard excuse he could muster. "The keys are lost..."

"You’re locked inside? How is that even possible? You locked yourself in and lost the keys?" you asked, still alarmed but unable to suppress a chuckle.

Choso’s heart raced as he fixated on the door, breath quick and shallow, his teeth piercing his lower lip. His right hand, trembling, hovered near the door handle, dangerously threatening to annihilate the last defense that separated you two.

"It’s complicated..." He wanted to say more but held back. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him as a bloodthirsty... well, no, a sex-crazed monster, actually. If the night passed, there’d be no consequences.

"Choso Kamo," your voice suddenly turned serious and determined, the last ounce of your patience gradually slipping away. "I’m going to count to three, and I swear, if you don’t open this door, I’ll kick it down."

Choso froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. His body instinctively pulled back, weighing his options in the silence.

"One..." you began, your tone unwavering.

Well, challenging a half-curse on the night of Hyakki Yagyo wasn’t exactly a brilliant idea, but how could you know that? The defiant edge in your voice cut deep, striking a nerve in your usually mild boyfriend, and as the words left your mouth, Choso’s darker side surfaced, responding instinctively to the provocation. It triggered that final, fatal shift, rippling through him and bound to awaken the hellish creature within.

How could a reckless little bitch like you dare defy the most powerful blood manipulator alive?

"Two..." you continued, your voice steady, each number ringing with authority.

But before you could reach three, before the words had even fully left your lips, Choso swung the door open with inhuman strength, slamming it against the wall.

"Oh, finally… Onii-chan… what’s hap…?"  Your words were caught in your throat.

Standing before you, Choso was a threatening figure— Ever tall and broad, the distance between you now felt even more pronounced. His presence swallowed the room, every inch of him radiating an overpowering dominance. The flickering light cast shadows across his chiseled features, accentuating the tension in his jaw and the fierce intensity in his gaze. His eyes—those eyes that were once so affectionate and loving— were now freezing cold, soulless… an abyss of unfathomable void.
You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as a deep, unshakable unease slithered up your spine. Something was horribly, irreversibly wrong. The Choso you knew felt so distant, as if consumed by something far darker, something demonic.

"So, now that the door is open... what are you going to do?" His voice was low, mocking, laced with cruel amusement. His lips curled into a mischievous smirk, eyes wild, consumed by madness.

Chapter Text

"WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE THAT?" you asked, your voice trembling crushed under the suffocating sense of discomfort that washed over you. "We’re supposed to be going to the parade right now, we were supposed to enjoy this time together... why are you behaving like this?"

Choso listened, his expression indifferent, though a disturbing grin slowly spread across his face. "Do you have the slightest idea what the Hyakki Yagyo is really about?"

"Yes, I know—Japanese folklore, curses, monsters, spirits..."

"Right... curses," he interrupted, his voice colder now, eyes narrowing. "Which is what I’m supposed to be. This isn’t just some playful tradition tonight, you know?" His gaze darkened further, the tension in the room growing thicker.

"Curses reach the peak of their power during this time," he continued, his voice dropping into an ominous tone. "They wander among humans, unleashing their desires." He lingered on the last word longer than necessary, enunciating it almost like a hiss. The cursed half of Choso seemed fully aware of why it had suddenly surfaced, as if the energy of the night had summoned his true nature from the depths.

You stood in utter disbelief at his words, grappling with the realization that the man before you was still Choso, yet not entirely him. You had dealt with curses before, being a sorceress yourself, but the idea of your boyfriend being consumed by his darker half was indisputably unsettling.

Stepping back cautiously, you attempted to probe the situation. "So... are you telling me that Choso is somewhere else, and his evil side has come out tonight?" you asked, trying to gauge the gravity of the transformation.

Choso didn’t answer, his eerie gaze still locked on you, piercing and unyielding.

It was clear. The person standing before you wasn’t fully himself. Now, you understood why he had been avoiding you all this time: he had been trying to protect you from the version of himself he could no longer control. Yet, despite the danger, you couldn’t ignore the effect his stern, menacing expression had on you. This darker side of him was utterly terrifying, and yet there was something lecherously alluring about it.

Aware that staying would be both pointless and unwise, you attempted to take your leave…

But apparently, you had miscalculated.

"I’ll be going then… I’ll head to the parade," you said. "I’ll see you tomorrow… under better circumstances, I hope."

You turned your back on him, every instinct screaming to leave the room as quickly as possible. But before you could take even a single step, you felt yourself yanked backward, swallowed by the darkness of the room. Your heart raced uncontrollably as the heavy slam of the door reverberated through the walls, the frame trembling under the sheer, unnatural force.

You turned, your trembling gaze meeting Choso's piercing eyes. He stood between you and freedom, an immovable shadow blocking your escape.

Panic surged within you. Desperation gave you strength as you lunged for the door, shoving him aside to reach the handle. Your fingers fumbled against the cool metal, clawing to reopen it, but Choso’s strength was undeniable, his hand pressing the door shut effortlessly.

"Open this door," you demanded, your voice shaking as you focused on the door, refusing to meet his piercing irises.

Choso didn’t answer. Instead, with calm deliberation he reached for the key still resting in the lock. Holding the door shut with one hand, he turned the key with the other, the faint click of the lock echoing like a death knell.

Your stomach dropped. You were trapped.

"Choso..." you began, your voice quivering. "Let me out."

Utterly ignoring your words, he moved closer, his body pressing against yours from behind. Your hands rested against the cold, rigid surface of the door as you tried to steady yourself, his warmth enveloping you completely. His breath was hot against your ear, as his low, velvety voice whispered:

"You’re not going anywhere tonight."

"Open... this... damn... door," you repeated, the words shaky but resolute.

Your boyfriend chuckled darkly, the sound low and almost inhuman. "Come on," he murmured, his tone drenched with dark amusement. "I know you want this too..."

His rough, calloused hand slid under the sleeve of your blouse, trailing softly over your arm.

"Want what?" you snapped, your words sharp, defensive. "All I want is to see that damn parade—that’s it!"

He laughed gloomily, the sound chilling and far too entertained by your resistance. “Be honest with yourself,” he murmured, his voice growing softer, more teasing, as his lips brushed against your ear. “You want it just as much as I do...”

His teeth grazed the delicate curve of your ear, a lascivious nibble that made you stiffen as his voice dropped even lower, dangerously seductive.

“To be filled to the brim. To come undone on me while I fuck you shamelessly. That’s what you really want…” his last word got stuck in his throat as he already savored his aching arousal.

How shameful, how utterly shameful…

As humiliating as it was, you couldn’t deny it. You had never encountered this dark side of him before, and for such a reason your underwear had been damp from the very moment his hunger-laced eyes locked onto you, and now the evidence was unmistakable.

Lust.

That was the only way to describe the fire burning in his stare. Pure, raw lust, a primal urge to breed you, unmistakably reflected in his dilated pupils, silently revealing itself as his hardness brushed against your thigh.

"Choso..." you whispered defenselessly, "I don't want to do anything with you in such a state."

Liar.

You were a liar, and you both knew it. But Choso wouldn’t be fooled by such hollow words; curse or not, he knew you too well.

"Oh, really?" he drawled, voice low, teasing.

Pinned against the door by his body, you failed to notice his hand creeping down your side, inching toward your plush flesh with deliberate slowness.

In one swift, practiced motion, Choso’s fingers slipped beneath the cute skirt you’d chosen for the evening. Without hesitation, he pushed your underwear aside, his calloused fingers gliding effortlessly into your drenched core.

"Liar… you’re already so fucking wet," his voice was deep as usual, teetering on the edge of hysteria.

Yes, you were a liar. And a foolish one at that, if you ever thought he’d believe your protests when your needy, ravenous little pussy was already dripping with excitement.

You gasped at the sudden intrusion, your body betraying your mind as pleasure coursed through you. “Choso, stop... please,” your plea wasn’t even remotely convincing.

Your boyfriend leaned forward to lick along your neck. “You’ll excuse me if this time, I’ll be rougher than usual,” he smirked, playfully apologizing while his fingers buried deeper into your slick, gummy folds.

You didn’t answer; instead, you mewled out his name again. Your silent and feeble pleas were swallowed by a moan as he began to pick up the pace, his fingers moving with fierce urgency. “Please, I...”

“Please what?” he taunted, “Do you want me to stop? Or do you want more?”

Wrong, wrong—this was so wrong.

And what was even worse was that you seemed utterly willing. In your pathetic attempt to feign aversion, you knew damn well that the mere thought of his pulsing cock buried deep inside your cunt was enough to make your eyes roll back.

Without warning, Choso withdrew his fingers from your entrance, bringing them to his lips and licking them clean with a swift swipe of his tongue. He indulged in the taste of your heat, the lingering wetness of your tightness after his ministrations...your underwear now completely ruined.

It took barely a moment for Choso to lift your skirt up to your back, exposing your bare thighs, and in one smooth motion, he yanked your underwear down to your ankles. The vision of your pulsing cunt, clenched around nothing, made him growl, and his erotic sound was followed by the inevitable release of his massive cock from his underwear. Your boyfriend was well-endowed, but at that point, his dimension had evidently increased. His red, angry tip throbbed once freed from his confines, and he pressed it against your ass, enjoying the friction of his length stroking between your cheeks.

"You’re so hot," he rasped, grinding against you with calculated slowness. His pre-cum covered shaft caressed your thirsty entrance, lubricating with your juices to fulfill this carnal act.

With a teasing thrust, he slipped his glistening head against your slick folds, coaxing a desperate moan from your lips.

“Time to have fun," he shouted and as his hand landed loudly on your right cheek with the intent of leaving a clear, painful mark, he aggressively thrusted his cock into your hole, pushing deep until he reached your cervix in one swift movement.

Your numb body was smashed against the door, and luckily, your reflexes kicked in as your palms slapped on the wooden surface, echoing alongside your sensual scream.

Thomp, thomp, thomp, your hands knocked at the door in rhythm with his rams, nails scratching the surface in an attempt to release all the tension building in your belly. Pleasure and pain intertwined as he filled you completely, anchoring you in place as he drove into you with relentless fervor.

"Fuck… yes, yes, yes…"

His grunts became more feral, more desperate, vibrating right against your ear as he rammed into you without pause, his massive cock stretching you to the brink, the tip hammering mercilessly against your cervix, grinding, pressing, stimulating every nerve-ending inside you.

“Cho…” His name slipped from your lips, but it was swallowed by the haze of lust clouding your mind.

Fingers digging deeper into your hips, grip tightening as Choso’s pace became almost brutal, each stroke leaving you gasping, sending waves of unbearable pleasure shooting straight through your core.

Then, all at once, his teeth sank into your shoulder. The sharp sting, though startling, ripped through your body, melting into a delicious contrast to the heat pooling between your legs. He was marking you, claiming you, leaving behind the imprint of his possession as his breathless rumbles vibrated against your skin.

He was ferally breeding you.

But then, his hand left your hip, slipping lower, lower, until his fingers found your swollen clit.

A sharp, precise tap, then another. PAT. PAT. PAT.

A whimper escaped your lips, your body reacting instantly to the added stimulation, your thighs trembling as he circled the sensitive bud with practiced ease, teasing, pressing, coaxing you toward the inevitable.

One, two, three thrusts—your release slammed into you like a cursed surge of raw energy.

A broken cry tore from your throat as your walls clenched around him like a vice, your juices spilling over his cock, soaking him completely, dripping down onto his balls, onto the floor beneath you.

"Fuck."

Choso pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty, throbbing, dazed. And before you could even catch your breath, he dropped to his knees.

The sound of his weight hitting the floor was loud, sudden, making you jolt as your belly still pulsed from the aftermath.

Though the aching solitude of your exposed pussy was soon relieved by the arrival of his mouth—latching onto your skin within seconds, thirsty and merciless.

His tongue trailed up the crevice between your cheeks then sunk deeper to lick a long, slow stripe from your abused core up to your clit, lapping up every trace of your release, savoring you, as if you were the sweetest fucking nectar on earth.

He was feasting on you, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting even a single drop go to waste.

"Oh, fuck, where do you even keep all of this?" he groaned, his voice raw with disbelief as his tongue meticulously traced its way along your trembling thigh.

You looked down, your gaze locking onto his, glassy, feverish. You could hardly believe what was happening.

And yet, his cock was still there.

Hard.

Pulsing.

Insatiable.

Impatient.

With no hesitation, he tore you away from the door, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, bridal-style, his cursed eyes never once leaving your lips, your breasts, your sweat-slicked skin.

He let himself fall onto a nearby armchair, dead weight, pulling you onto his lap with reckless force—your back pressed against his chest as he yanked you down, impaling you on his fat shaft.

You choked out a breath, the sensation was devastating. Every pulsing vein along his thick length dragged against your walls, stretching you open, filling you completely.

"Mine, mine, mine… my slut… my whore… this is what…you are." His voice cracked, fractured by the sharp intensity of his pelvis slamming against your ass, the ceaseless force driving into you as he pistoned deep, over and over.

You didn’t need to move, his raw strength alone did it for you. With effortless power, he lifted you up and down on his cock, his hips jackhammering mercilessly, plunging deep to reach the furthest point, ruining your body as if you were weightless.

Your bouncing breasts were gripped and fondled, squeezed, twisted, molded to his hands as if they belonged to him, as if every inch of you was his to claim. All the while, his cock, still impossibly hard, kept stretching your clenching walls, forcing them to open wider for him, while his swollen tip slammed repeatedly against your G-spot.

Your eager cunt squeezed him uncontrollably, milking him, trying to keep him buried deep inside.

"So… damn… tight… for me." You could feel the eerie snarl creeping onto his lips, each word punctuated by the harsh motion of his waist.

"You really love being used like a sex toy, don’t you?" His voice was cruel, taunting, filled with a brazen arrogance you'd never heard from him before, and yet, it turned you on even more.

And as your exhausted body began surrendering completely to the waves of pleasure, he was inflicting upon you, you felt it—the familiar, unmistakable twitch of his cock deep within you, signaling that his orgasm was rapidly approaching.

"—I'm close…" It slipped out as a choked, muffled sob—so dirty, so raw… but suddenly, just as he made his declaration, he stopped.

In one rough motion, you were lifted off his throbbing cock, the sudden emptiness wrenching a frustrated cry from your lips as his nails dug sharply into your wrists, holding you firmly in place.

"Kneel," Choso instructed, his voice firm, authoritative.

There was no need for him to repeat himself—you lowered yourself before him, prostrating at his feet, your thighs still slick from the previous penetration.

Choso's view from below was breathtaking as always. His plump cock hung just inches from your face, his chiseled abdomen leading up to a sculpted chest, like a Greek god come to life.

He tightened his grip on his cock, guiding it toward your face. His eyes burned as he stared down at you, his mischievous smirk, a blend of dominance and desire.

"Open wide," he commended, brushing the swollen tip against your trembling mouth.

You complied instantly, mouth welcoming him as he eased inside. His gaze never wavered, dark and possessive, as he pushed further. "That’s it," he groaned, a hand moving to the back of your head, urging you to take him deeper.

The stretch made your eyes water, but you adjusted, hollowing your cheeks, taking him in slowly, as he savored every inch of your submission.

His breaths grew heavier, his pelvis bucking slightly as he set a steady pace, forcing more of himself down your throat.

"You like that?" he teased, that damn naughty grin returning to his lips as he watched you struggle to accommodate his size while the drool dripping from the corners of your mouth, mixing with his precum, and the wet, obscene sounds only spurred him on. He gripped your hair tighter, pulling your head forward and thrusting harder, the tip of his cock plunging into your mouth repeatedly.

"Take it all," he ordered roughly, his voice low and throaty, eyes blazing as he claimed your mouth. Each thrust became more desperate, his cock twitching as he used you, his breaths ragged, pushing you to the edge of your limits.

Your throat constricted around him, making him groan loudly. "Shit," he growled, the vulgarity slipping from his lips as he pounded deeper, fully relishing the sight of you gagging on him.

The vision of your lips wrapped tightly around his cock, slurping him from the reddened tip down to the base, where his balls brushed against your chin, was his undoing.  

Every wet, obscene sound you made was so mesmerizing to lead him directly to the edge of his ecstasy, pressure coiling in his abdomen, pleasure mounting too fast, too intense.

He couldn't tear his eyes away, the way your tongue swirled around him, the slickness of your mouth driving him insane. His cock throbbed as you worked him over, your lips stretching wide to take as much of him as possible.

"Keep going," he demanded, fisting your hair, as he praised your filthy talents, fucking your mouth with reckless abandon.

The tension in his muscles became unbearable, his cock twitching violently as he neared his breaking point.

You could have passed out just from the sight of him, his eyes rolling back, his parted lips gasping for air, his breath growing heavier, his expression utterly dazed as he was completely sucked in, dragged under, swallowed whole by the sensation of your mouth wrapped around him. But you kept up your exquisite work, pushing him further, feeding his pleasure, feeding your own—your pussy still dripping, aching, pitiful.

And finally, with one last brutal thrust, he buried himself deep.

"I'm gonna cum..." he warned through gritted teeth, voice ragged, strained—yet instead of spilling into your mouth, he pulled back, seizing his cock and aiming it right at your face.

“Gonna cum… on YOUR. PRETTY. FACE.”

His breath hitched as he pumped himself furiously, his hand still wet from your saliva, stroking his throbbing length with persistent urgency. His chest heaved, his head fell back in pleasure, his mouth hung open in raw, unfiltered satisfaction.

And within moments—he burst.

Thick, hot streams of cum shot out, splattering across your face—slick, heavy ropes of his release coating your mouth, your nose, your cheeks. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest as he watched, entranced, the way his seed painted your skin, mixing with the saltiness of your sweat. Each pulse of his cock sent load after load across you, warm and sticky, until your face was a dripping mess.

His dark, hooded eyes remained fixed on you, on the masterpiece he had painted across your face, thick streaks of his essence dripping like the final strokes of a depraved artist lost in his own creation.

"Oh, look at you," he rasped, his voice low and breathless, eyes roaming over your face, admiring how his cum glistened. You lay there in silence, your expression fragile and pitiful, almost mortified by how vulnerable you looked. But deep inside, you wanted this so badly.

Who cared about the shame when the man you loved was fulfilling your darkest fantasies?

If he wanted you to be his whore, then you would gladly be the best one for him.

Choso’s ravenous gaze lingered on your flushed expression, his mouth twitching as he considered his next move.

Slowly, deliberately, he brought a hand to your face, fingers trailing along your cheek, collecting the sticky remnants of his carnal wreckage. His touch was possessive, almost reverent, as he reached your lips, smearing them with the translucent sweetness of his cum.

Without warning, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, forcing a startled gulp from your throat. His gaze was piercing, alight with hunger as he snarled, "Swallow."

You pressed your lips around his fingertips, sucking slowly, basking in the taste of his aphrodisiac juice lingering on your tastebuds.

Your not-so-dear Choso withdrew his hand, watching with feverish fascination as you trailed your tongue along your upper lip, lapping up every last drop, determined to relish his gift to the very end.

"Greedy little whore," he exhaled, almost admiringly.

There couldn’t have been a better ending, a more delectable conclusion to your deepest, most sinful fantasies… or so you thought.

Because, without realizing it, the intricate shapes of his tattoos began to shift, a telltale sign that the half-curse was channeling his cursed energy through his Blood Manipulation technique, pumping even more blood to his lower abdomen.

You felt yourself crumble under the hellish spark glistening in his eyes as his cock engorged once more—bigger, thicker “I don’t think we’re finished for tonight,” he hissed, as he grabbed you by the shoulder. One large hand cupped your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks with just enough force to make your lips part, while your eyes locked onto his once more, trapped in the abyss of his voracity.

You were thrown on the futon, your chest pressed against the sheets as your ass raised in the air in good display.

You didn’t even have time to process what was happening before—spank.

His palm came down on you again, a sharp crack ringing through the room. He spanked your left cheek, making you whine, his ravenous eyes lingering a lilt too much on the redness spreading, blooming beautifully beneath his touch. His hands followed soon after, caressing, kneading with lecherous intent.

"I am gonna fuck this tiny ass too now..."

The nightmare dream wasn’t (luckily) over yet.

Choso stared at you, his expression still stricken with disbelief, as if he were desperately searching for a way to rewrite the events of the night in his mind.

"How… How did I call you?" voice high-pitched as he was praying he had misheard, while an inevitable jolt made him spill part of the hot tea he had just prepared and was lovingly bringing to you on a tray.

"Greedy, little, whore…" you repeated playfully, your voice hoarse, throat still aching from everything he had put you through.

Your boyfriend visibly flinched, his already pale face turning even paler. "No, no… I could never say that. Never… Holy—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard as he sat down beside you, still wrapped in the futon. His hands trembled slightly as he handed you a steaming cup of herbal tea. "This will help ease the discomfort in your throat."

You accepted the cup, your fingers grazing his in the process, just a fleeting touch, yet enough to make him look away, guilt evident in his features.

Poor Choso, he was so utterly mortified.

"I love you… I would never call you that," he murmured, his words soft and sincere.

"I know, Choso…" You reached out to caress his face, and he couldn’t help but lean into your touch, surrendering to the warmth of your hands, still heated from holding the cup.

"I love you too… and besides…" Your voice trailed off, hesitation settling on your tongue. As much as you hated to admit it, as shameful as it was…you had enjoyed every second of it. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him so openly.

"Besides?" he echoed, his brows drawing together slightly as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

"Mmmh… nothing," you said lightly, feigning innocence as you took a slow sip of tea.

"I was just thinking that we could come to see the Hyakki Yagyo again next year"

...

Chapter Text

Let’s be honest: it was inevitable that, after spending an entire day buried in the books you had so carefully arranged in your Japanese-style room, it would come to this.
The collection ranged from deep psychological analyses to the most obscure philosophies and religions, all the way to detailed anatomical encyclopedias and novels — some refined, others utterly questionable.
Everything you had read over the years while serving under Suguru Geto.

And Choso, so naive and curious, once granted your permission, had dived headfirst into this ocean of mortal knowledge, his fascination zeroing in on the erotic novels you’d so discreetly tucked between the science and the romance.

By the end of the day, this half-curse, eager to understand the human world, had asked you, with surprising sincerity, if you’d be willing to grant him the honor of explaining female anatomy.

And so, after dedicating a solid half hour to cupping your breast — with your consent, obviously — exploring its softness and shape with near-reverence, things had, quite naturally, begun to spiral.

His large, calloused hands had glided down your side, as if following the trail your feverish skin had left for him, letting you feel every inch of his touch through the delicate layer of your yukata. His fingertips ghosted over you, gentle but searing, until they reached the edge of your underrobe, and stopped there hesitantly.

Choso looked up, his gaze half-hidden beneath the strands of hair that had fallen onto his eyes.
“Touch… there too?”  his bubbling voice came out trembling.

Clear, lucid eyes met his, while your blushing cheeks already betrayed the tension coiling tight in your thighs at the mere thought of what he was about to do. Your head moved on its own, nodding shakily, breath hitching.

With a surprising gentleness, a single finger slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear and slowly pushed the thin fabric aside.
You felt the cloth drag against your damp skin before it slid away completely, leaving your thirsty little pussy fully exposed to his sight. Your puffed clit stood out proudly between lips already dripping with arousal.

Silence wrapped around you both, thick and charged, while your core pulsed hot against the cool air, in stark contrast to his serious, unreadable face. He watched, awestruck, your bare cunt, messy and wet, on full display before him. Your shameless need spilled open like an offering on an altar of flesh, as if it held the answer to something sacred.

Your hand moved down, slooowly, fingers trembling just enough to betray how worked up you already were. And with a raspy little voice, barely over a whisper, you taught him.

“We’re... really sensitive here,” you murmured, pressing your fingertip to the very top of your sweet spot.

The touch was featherlight, precise, and still, your eyes fluttered shut, thighs twitching as a soft tremor ran through you.

Choso stared, transfixed. He absorbed every instruction you gave him, and moved obediently.

His fingers replaced yours, mirroring the motion. Light. Careful. Somehow... worshipful.
But even that ghost of a touch had you gasping, a low whimper spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

"What… was that?" he asked, breathless, eyes wide in wonder.

His brows drew together, breath catching hard. He froze, not out of hesitation, but because something deep inside him snapped loose.

That sound. Your sound.

It had triggered something.

Inside his pants, pressure was growing fast, raw and new, yet unbearable. His cock, twitching and eager, was slowly hardening into a thick, throbbing shape, straining beneath his loose clothes, the growing bulge clearly outlined, trapped and painfully compressed.

You dared to speak — "It’s just… the body’s reac—"

He cut you off, his smoky voice low and hasty: “Do it again.”

His fingers pressed onto your sensitive nub with more intent, firmer, and this time your moan came out louder, helpless.

The erotic melody hit him like a punch to the crotch, his shaft pulsing violently, as if it could hear you.

Choso looked down, bringing his free hand between his legs, shy fingers curling around the ache growing there, eyes confused, lips parted. He let out a frustrated, primal growl, as his nose twitched in a clear expression of disapproval.

Poor Choso. He didn’t know what was too much or too soon — he was just a centuries-old adult acting like a teenager, stumbling into the sinful realm of eroticism for the very first time, desperate to relieve that maddening, caged-up feeling building in his body.
And yet, your shiny pussy was already laid bare before him… so really, what could possibly be wrong with showing you what he was feeling?

"It hurts," he muttered to himself while fumbling awkwardly at his groin, in a clumsy attempt to soothe the discomfort, but it was useless, the sensation only growing sharper, more frustrating, until it became clear there was only one logical solution. With one smooth, instinctive motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down past his hips.

His cock sprang free, stiff and rosy. Thick veins traced the shaft, and his swollen, bulbous crown glistened with precum beaded right at the center, dripping down in a slow, honey-like strand.

"What are you doing?!" you gasped, instinctively covering your mouth, legs pressing together — but your eyes stayed right where they were.

Because holy fuck.

Choso Kamo was... blessed.

“It hurts,” he repeated, voice still, completely unashamed and that made you throb. “I don’t know why, but...”

He leaned back slightly, revealing himself in all his juicy, aching fullness; that oozing, desperate length strained toward you, heavy and prominent against the soft color of his clothes, begging for something it didn’t even know how to name.

"My god…" you whispered, lungs empty of air, your face burning hot.

Choso was still staring between his legs, his expression absorbed, almost scientifically intrigued by the strange essence slowly lubricating the painted bulb of his manhood. He brought two fingers to his swollen ridge, carefully running them over the crown where dense, translucent pre had gathered in glistening drops.

A shiver ran down his spine, soft but unmistakable, as he collected the leaking essence on his fingers. With relaxed, awed curiosity, he lifted them to eye level, gaze locked on the slick fluid coating his skin. It was as if he were trying to decode its nature — its scent, its texture, rubbing it slowly between thumb and forefinger, watching it stretch, smear, and stick, fascinated by the way it clung and glistened.

"Choso! Don’t do that— it’s… it’s embarrassing!" you burst out, one hand flying to your forehead in sheer disbelief, while his other hand was still pressed tightly between your thighs soaked.

But he wasn’t exactly listening.

Or rather, he was, just in his own way.

That innocent seriousness of his, so focused, so unaffected, was absolutely disarming.

His fingers, lubricated with his own pleasure, flexed and curled, slowly opening and closing as salacious strings stretched and snapped between them.

Then his gaze dropped again, between your legs, to your folds, shuddering at the attention, your cunt clenching pathetically around nothing.

His hand shifted slightly against your drenched slit, bold, exploratory.

"You’re wet too." he said, like it was a technical observation.

He withdrew his hand gently from the warmth between your thighs, dragging his fingers along your entrance, letting them get coated with your glossy arousal, spreading them apart, watching the thin, gluey shimmering thread of fluid stretch from one knuckle to the other, eyes lighting up with the same fascination as before.

And then, still silent, he began to play with it, sliding it between his fingertips, letting it smear over the back of his hand, watching how it clung and pulled, methodically and calm, like he was observing some kind of magical substance.

At the same time, his other hand lifted, still shining with his own viscous cum, and, awkwardly, he began comparing it to yours.

You stared at him, cheeks flushed a deep magenta, thighs still clenched, breath shallow and uneven, utterly incapable of tearing your eyes away from him.

There was something maddening in the way his fierce purity melted into something so unconsciously sensual. That interest, so raw and absorbed, made your whole-body ache for him.

You wanted him. Desperately.

And yet, all your lips could manage, ridiculous and shaky, was "…you’re impossible."

Yet right then, in that charged, consecrated moment, Choso couldn’t have cared less about what was possible or not. His body moved on instinct, and without warning, he brought his fingers to his mouth. The very same fingers slick with your syrupy juices, still shiny from your heat. He did it with complete genuineness, like it was simply the next step in his quiet study of you, oblivious to just how filthy, how devastatingly dirty the gesture truly was.

"Wha—Choso?! What are you… ah—what are you doing?!" Your voice broke, high and stunned, as your eyes widened, equal parts horror and fascination, melting into something dangerously close to hunger.

Your gaze dropped to the sinful gesture with a aching captivation that made your chest tighten, like you were witnessing something you absolutely shouldn’t…

You watched, enamored, as he brought the fingers to his lips, as they parted eagerly; watched as his tongue flicked out and licked each fingertip, savoring every last drop of your unholy fluid.

"Choso…" You whispered his name, bewildered.

His eyes fluttered shut, his expression melting into one of near-ecstatic bliss. His tongue moved with delicate precision, slowly gliding over his fingers again and again, hypnotized by your taste.

And you, sitting there in front of him, your underrobe still hiked up, thighs damp and trembling, pussy pulsing and burning with raw desire...you felt pandemonium explode between your legs. Your essence leaked freely as you struggled to collect yourself, body undone under the weight of that sacred indecency.

All the while, he tasted your release so shamelessly, so naively — in that maddening blend of eroticism and innocence that made you want to throw yourself at him.

Your eyes dropped for just a second, and landed, unintentionally, on his tense length. It looked even bigger than before, swelling further from the mere act of tasting you; his mushroomy tip twitching in perfect sync with whatever Choso was still doing with his mouth.

"You taste good."

His voice broke the silence with startling ease, his comment flowing out with the smooth, composed tone of a professional gastronome. He looked you straight in the eyes, calm, sincere, without a hint of innuendo, and it sounded like the most genuine compliment in the world.

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

"Ah… thank you," you mumbled, trying to gather what little sanity you had left — fully aware that Choso had no idea just how outrageously arousing he was being.

Though, there was no time to collect yourself.

Because he deliberately slipped that same finger back into his mouth, lips closing around it with a slow, deliberate suck, his cheeks dipping just faintly, and let it fall from his lips with a soft, wet plop.

You shivered violently, that gooey sound crawling beneath your skin, slinking straight down to your aching, bliss-dazed cunt.

And that’s when he touched you again.

Choso’s finger, still damp with saliva, returned to your clit, pressing against it gently.

"Is this okay?" he asked, trying to understand if resuming his movement was the right thing to do.

You inhaled deeply, searching for courage, then reached for his wrist with a soft grip. "I’ll show you…” you whispered. With careful precision, you placed your thumb over his and guided him, teaching him how to draw those delicate circles.

Then, with your other trembling hand, you slipped your middle finger inside yourself, a soft moan escaping as the pressure met your heat. You moved slowly, showing him how to find the rhythm.

"See… right here. Like this. Back and forth… And when you press… curl your finger a little, upward…"

Choso nodded, drinking in every word, then imitated you, his hand replacing yours once again.

His middle finger, longer, thicker than yours, slid into the molten slickness between your legs, drawn in by your starving, eager hole. But even that first gentle thrust was enough to make you whimper, your body folding slightly forward.

"Oh…" It slipped from your lips, uncontrolled.

His finger moved slowly at first, delicate, tentative, soaking in the welcoming wetness of your flesh, steadily gaining confidence.

He pushed in, pulled back, and when you told him to curl it, he did, striking that exact spot that made your hips jolt.

Your thighs clamped tight around his wrist, your breath catching in a strangled moan, skin erupting in goosebumps as your head lolled back.

The moment Choso realized he’d done something right, pride bloomed across his face. He began to move with purpose, sliding his finger along your spongy walls, twisting it with intention, hunting for that same sweet spot — again. And again. And again.

"Am I doing good?" he asked, voice low and thick, barely audible over the sound of your pleasure. Lustful eyes flicked up at you from beneath his lashes, utterly devoted, while his ears were bathed in the blissful squelching lullaby of your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t even answer, your lips pressed together in a vice so tight it almost drew blood, your hips moving on their own.

"God… Choso… yes… just like that…" you wailed, while his hand was trapped inside you, caught in the tight grip of your walls as they spasmed and vibrated around his finger.

He was relentless, touching you with the same reverence he used to protect his brothers. As if your pleasure had become his only mission in life.

His finger thrusted decisive, firm and rhythmic. And when his thumb joined in, circling your soft spot just the way you’d shown him, a raw, louder scream ripped from your chest, your back arched, your skin damp with sweat.

You didn’t even care if someone could hear you through the walls of that place that had been your home for years.

You hovered at the edge, bliss coiling into your belly, pressure building between your unsteady legs. Your whole body tense toward a single, burning point, toward that finger whose rhythm was guided by your gasps, your moans, the needy stutter of your waist.

Each final thrust stole your breath. And when you dared to open your hazy eyes, the sight below shredded what little composure you had left: Choso’s cock was the most intoxicating vision you’d ever witnessed.

Precum spilled generously from the libidinous ridge, thick ribbons of nectar trailing down to his tensing, cum-weighted balls. It looked like he was about to bust just from watching you unravel.

You gasped his name unable to finish the sentence. But he didn’t answer.

He wasn’t speaking anymore, a prisoner to a frenzy he didn’t understand, lost to instinct and commitment.

He wasn’t thinking anymore, his brain clouded with a single, burning goal: to draw every last drop of pleasure from your body.

His finger kept fucking into you — brutal, steady, precise. His thumb caressed your clit in perfect sync — feather-light, devastating.

And then, abruptly, he shoved his finger deeper, until it was swallowed by your heat, all the way to the knuckle.

He found the perfect curve and pressed, pressed, pressed. Your body shattered with a broken, strangled cry. You collapsed onto the soft surface below, every muscle spasming, your core compressing intensely around him, trembling endlessly. Your legs locked around his arm as your orgasm hit like a thunderstorm, floods of release pouring out in a hot, crushing rush, bathing his fingers, his wrist, the sleeve of his robe.

Choso didn’t know what was happening — not to you, not to him — but his body did.

His nerves tightened, snapping low in his belly; a sudden rush of ecstasy flooding him as he heard that filthy, soaked sound, your wrecked pleas, as he saw the bounce of your tits under the transparent fabric, with every breathless heave of your chest. It was too much.

And he broke too.

Overcome by something almost animalistic, something profane that felt far too close to his cursed nature, a deep, guttural growl tore from his throat, feral.

He didn’t even touch himself.

His cock, already strained from the aching tension of the entire evening, began to pulse violently, bursting without permission in a milky-white flow.

The first spurt shot out, with a wet slap, thick, hot, powerful, staining the futon in front of him.

More followed, creamy viscous ropes spilled out in messy, uncontrollable waves, coating the sheets as his body finally gave in, discharging every last drop of the unbearable pressure he'd been carrying.

And when everything stilled, your breath, his gaze, both your trembling bodies, you remained there, suspended in a silence broken only by the soft, sloshing sounds of your shared ecstasy.

You, legs still parted, chest rising and falling unevenly, your skin glistening with sweat.
Him, kneeling before you, breathing raggedly, fingers still coated in your slick, eyelids fluttering like he was descending from some place divine.

He looked stunned, wide-eyed and dazed, his innocence barely wrapping around the edges of something far more carnal.

And in that surprised, bliss-drenched state, he faltered, limbs shaky, breath shallow.

He stumbled forward, instincts kicking in just in time to catch himself with his elbows, until his face was hovering right above yours. Your breaths mingled in the warm space between you, his heated, exhale ghosting over your lips. Slushy cum still leaking onto your bare thigh, dripping timidly in slow, lazy trails.

And when his glossy, overwhelmed eyes met your playful, blissed-out expression, he stood still, stuck somewhere between mysterious confusion and reverent awe.

"Was I good?" he muttered, as you brought his forehead to yours tenderly.

"You did perfectly," you praised against his lips, kissing him slow, deep — your tongue sliding against his with unspoken gratitude, tasting him with the same worship he had shown you.

"I think I owe you something in return…"

"Can we do it again?" he asked, voice apparently still thick with want.

"We can do a lot more than that…"

He blinked, and you caught a subtle gleam of eagerness in his eyes.

"I… may have taken the liberty of highlighting a few passages in your books,” he added seriously, like it was a matter of deep academic importance.

You chuckled playfully, your breath brushing his jaw as you began to lower yourself, lips trailing down the side of his neck.

"Oh, we can dive deeper later…" you purred, your hands sliding down his chest — slow, intentional "but right now, there’s a very specific part of your anatomy that needs… hands-on attention."

And your mouth kept moving lower.