#things haven’t been BAD but I am not doing well

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

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Chapter 9

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: thoughts about self-harm (biting thumb again), accidental self-injury(? + biting inside of lip which causes it to bleed), thoughts about implied murder, near panic attack, implied depression, slight blood, small/slight themes of obsession and possessiveness, slight themes of misogyny/some toxic behavior from Reader's family, please tell me if I missed any.

Nsfw warnings: OKAY, I honestly think Maria, if she becomes fond of a daughter-in-law, would absolutely push for grandchildren and take things into her own hands unless someone (Sierra) tries really hard to convince her otherwise. I’m really sorry for writing her as a creep but this will be the last time (either completely or for a very long time) I’ll write her like this. Anyway: suggestive, throwback to their 1st night, gifting of lingerie and aphrodisiac by Maria (again will not write her like this either completely or a long time, I tried rewriting this chapter so fucking much but this is what I settled on because it felt the most natural to me.) pushing for grandchildren, Maria somehow got the Reader’s measurements, please tell me if I missed any.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS/TOXIC ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI.

===

‘Dear father and mother, 

I am doing well so far. The food is nice and the clothes comfortable. I haven’t personally spoken to my father-in-law yet, but I’m going to meet him for dinner tomorrow at the time of writing this. My husband, Dion is different from what I expected. Too nice. He’s not as brutal as others described him. It was surprising. But he’s a pervert and I almost hit him out of frustration and rejected his sexual advances like any sane person would. I know that you’ll say I should have let it happen, mother, but it hurt so bad I don’t think he’ll ever fit. Speaking of those vulgar activities, you lied he wasn’t flustered in the slightest until I started crying. Can you believe that? He’s a creep! But hopefully he doesn’t kill or torture me he’ll continue to treat me nicely.

Of course, as his wife I’ll do my best to support him in fear of him or Lant killing me otherwise in every field to the best of my abilities. Just how you forced taught me.

I have talked to a few in-laws, including my mother-in-law. I heard that you drank with her, mother. She's very  lively and has a sadistic unique personality. She’s very sweet to me. I have also met the fourth wife, Sierra. She’s lovely, I think you’ll also get along with her, mother. 

I hope that the two of you are faring well. The same goes for Zac and Elena, of course. Speaking of them, how has Zac’s studies been? He’s not skipping them again, is he or planning something dangerous like that stupid but well-meant plan he informed you, father, about? Yes, I overheard everything?

Is Elena doing well in her pregnancy? I know she moved out before me, but I’m still concerned about her and the baby. And Albert, he’s taking care of her, right? 

I’m not sure what else to write, so I’ll just leave it here. Please take care of yourselves. The same goes for my brother and sister.

Your daughter, (Name)’

“... I ended up writing what I really think… I need to rewrite this… again.” You sigh, leaning back in your chair as you crumble the letter. This was your fifth try, and while each one became less hostile and more casual, you weren't satisfied with any of the rough drafts to turn into a final draft. 

If you weren’t married to Dion, into this family, would writing to them be easier? You shake your head. No point in having these useless thoughts. Especially as Hana comes in with a knock and your permission, rolling in your lunch. 

In the end, you ended up going with Hana’s suggestion - basically saying that your husband fucked you too hard and rough last night and you needed to recover. Thanks to that, you didn’t have to change into the scarlet dress she picked out either - it was decided to be saved for the dinner you’ll have with both your husband and father-in-law tomorrow. 

You already asked Hana for indigestion medicine for tomorrow. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you put your stationary away and picked up the crumbled balls of paper that were failed attempts. She eyes you curiously but doesn’t comment on it. Instead she readies your lunch, placing the plates onto the table. 

The thought of eating makes you sick. You could barely hold down breakfast - could you hold down lunch? Or would your body give up immediately and reject the food? 

Warily looking at it, you notice two prettily wrapped up boxes - one pink with light red polka dots, the bow purple in color. The second box, a flatter one, had red wrapping paper with a tiny black hearts pattern, with the bow also black. Your heart speeds up as your gut twists painfully. If they were meant for you, they contain nothing well meant nor innocent.

“Oh, right,” Hana starts before handing both ‘presents’ to your unwelcoming arms, “Lady Maria sent these to you. I don’t know what they are, unfortunately.” With a grave look on your face you shakily thank her, a pained and forced smile stretching your lips. 

Maria sent these… oh boy, I sure do wonder what they are… 

“Later today, please help me pick out a gift for her. It’s only right that I repay the favor, especially since she’s my mother-in-law.” Placing them down next to your feet, you ignore the urge to kick them far, far away from you. It’s hard to keep your eyes off of the boxes. It’s hard to focus on your food, picking up your fork and knife as you cut into the grilled fish. 

It’s hard to chew, accidentally biting your lip hard enough to taste blood. It’s hard to drink the water as it threatens to choke you. It’s hard to not wince at the sharp sounds of cutlery against the plate as you imagine your head being chopped off like nothing. 

It’s hard to breathe. 

How much longer until you go crazy?

By the time you finish your meal, you’re sweating buckets. You hate it here. You want to go home -

“My Lady, are you alright?” Hana’s voice drags you out from your thoughts, flicking your eyes to meet hers. She’s picking up the silverware and placing it back onto the tray, but quickly takes a clean napkin from it and hands it to you. You take it with shaky hands, doing your best not to drop it. Thankfully your brain didn’t lag for too long for you to realize it was for your sweat.

You pat down your temples with the white cloth.

“T-thank you… v-very much, Ha-Hana.” Why is your voice so shaky? Why are you stuttering? Hell, why are you sweating?

You already had one panic attack - you don’t need another one. Your right thumb throbs at the memory and your teeth want to clamp down on it. The bandages suddenly feel too tight around the digit and you want to rip it off so you could dig your teeth into it. You bite your lip, only worsening the newly formed wound. The taste of your own blood spreads throughout your mouth again. 

You need to stop. 

Your attention switches to Hana, the woman staring at you uncertainly. It wasn’t necessarily out of concern but rather confusion - just how was she supposed to comfort her master? …you’re probably putting her in a rough spot. 

…right. I just need to accept my new reality… but today is not going to be that day.

Taking in a deep breath, you force your nerves to settle down - positive thoughts, positive thoughts. The sun is warm, the birds are lively, the bed is comfortable, your husband is gone - 

This isn’t the first time, and clearly it won’t be the last. 

“...thank you for bringing the food, Hana.” You’re not fully composed, not fully right of mind, but as the saying goes: fake it until you make it. You did it once, you managed to do it throughout the duration of the engagement, during the wedding despite feeling horrible, you did it while consummating your marriage despite being ripped open by Dion, you did it while at the tea party with Maria and Sierra, you did it last night when you told him off.

You did it back then, too. 

Force yourself to smile now. Tilt your head innocently. Act happy. Act happy. 

“I enjoyed it. Please give my thanks to the chief.” Your smile isn’t bright as the sun and slightly wavers. Your eyes aren’t shining brightly like stars, instead seeing past her. Your mind isn’t calm as you recall the brutality of this family that was shown and described in the story. 

Fake it until you make it. 

Yes, you think. Maybe you will have a conversation with Roxana. 

- - -

Hana left an hour ago yet you haven’t moved from your spot. No, instead you’re staring intensely at the presents in front of you on the table. They’re pretty, a bit childish. But knowing Maria… 

“...is it a trap…?” Carefully, you pick up the stereo typical present box and lightly shake it; it rattles. “Sounds a bit heavy… like a box within a box.” Curiosity gets the better of you and you gingerly untie the purple bow before ripping the wrapping paper. Despite the damn thing nearly sending you into another panic episode, it was satisfying to unwrap. 

A slightly smaller box is what you see once you manage to open the outer one. It was black and had a fancy red bow. Still a good size not to be something small. Unless it was a perfume. Breathing in deeply, you undo the ribbon and take off the lid. 

You’re met with a glass container roughly the size of your hand. Your heart drops at the yellow liquid inside. 

It looks exactly like the aphrodisiac your mother-in-law gave Roxana in the manhwa. 

“...what in the actual fuck… she’s basically telling, no, begging me to fuck her son… haha!” Your head rolls back as laughter overtakes you and shoulders violently shake. “I knew she was crazy, but fuck, how morally corrupt is this woman?” 

Instead of throwing it across the room like you should, you place it down on the table. You would have slammed it down if there wasn’t a chance that just smelling it could cause your body to heat up and become needy for a thing - a person - you don’t even want. 

“I’m scared to open up the other ‘present’...” in spite of that you pull at the black bow and unwrap it. You shake it - sounds like something soft. Like clothes. 

Oh. 

Oh no, no, no, no, no no -

“She didn’t. No fucking way… maybe it’s a sweater. Or a shawl. Gloves?” 

Trembling fingers take the lid off, a pink ribbon undone easily. This time, you throw the box to the floor after seeing what it held. 

A sheer black babydoll lingerie set. 

“Maria Agriche… you fucking creep…,” without another thought you shut the lid on it and shoved it into one of your drawers on your side of the dresser. Away from sight, out of mind you chant in your head, slamming the drawer shut. Your cheeks feel warm as both embarrassment and disgust fill your head and chest. 

… even if you wanted to sleep with him… or if you were in a healthy marriage with someone you love…

“...I could never wear that… it’s too revealing, too embarrassing.” Even in your old world you never wore such things. Not because you viewed them as dirty or slutty, but because they don’t suit you. Besides, putting in so much effort just for it to be taken off…?

‘I’m only going to ask once - would you rather keep your clothes on or off?’ 

“MMMMFFFF!!” throwing yourself onto the bed at the memory, scream muffled by the pillow, you mentally curse both son and mother. The son because he made your first time so horrible you’re mentally scarred and the mother because she’s a creep. More so than her own fucking son. 

A few minutes later you manage to collect yourself somewhat. Dreadfully you go to the dresser to pull out the offending clothing. You don’t plan on putting it on or to hold it over your clothes to get a vague idea of it either. Just to get a better look at it. 

Opening it and picking up the article of clothing, you examine it; pretty lace details on the him and breast cups, a flower pattern. It was soft as silk - clearly made from expensive materials. The straps were thin but they didn't feel too rough or stiff. Probably comfortable on the shoulders. 

Not like you would know - you never tried anything like this on. 

Curiosity killing the cat, you decide to see where it ends by holding it over your clothes; it barely brushes past mid thigh. 

When you go to put it back you notice an envelope and panties in the box. First, you pick up the lacy underwear, frowning as you realize that somehow, someway Maria had gotten your fucking measurements. Did your mother also tell the crazed woman your three sizes… “No, she wouldn’t. Even if she was drunk, she wouldn’t tell anyone such private details.” 

Carelessly dropping it into the box you grab the letter, opening it after a moment of hesitation. It takes even longer to unfold the letter. And even longer to actually read it, only for horror to come across your face and enter your heart. 

‘Sierra told me it may come across as inappropriate to send such things to you… but I’m just so excited for grandchildren! Oh, but don’t feel pressured into wearing or drinking those things tonight. The aphrodisiac lasts a rather long time. Besides, considering it’s Dion, I thought you might need some help to get in the mood whenever you decide to lay with him.

- Maria’ 

“No. Never.” 

Shoving everything back in, you shut the drawer close, making sure to hide the items underneath some layers of your… underwear…

You give up. 

“Ahh, why and how did I stumbled into the scene…” You turn around only to notice the yellow liquid contained in the glass bottle. Right. You forgot about that. “Maybe I should just pour it out…”

Not once did you realize nor notice how all the fear and fright left your body and mind, instead leaving caution and annoyance in its wake. 

- - -

Your husband returned at midnight, small amounts of blood splattered on his left cheek. When you look up from your book to greet him you notice that in the candlelight his eye bags seem darker. Deeper. 

“...welcome…back.” Your body starts to quiver and your heart beats loud enough you could hear and feel it once you meet his eyes. Quickly scanning his person you notice he’s wearing the standard male servant uniform: 

black shirt with red rimmed shoulder pads that have the Agriche crest on top, the shirt long enough to reach below his knees and splits at the hips, tied together with a brown belt at the waist. If he were to turn around you would see the family crest proudly engraved into the fabric. Blank pants that disappear into nearly knee-height boots with long, tied laces. 

The last time you’ve seen him in that uniform was the first time you met him, bored expression plastered on his face as Lant introduced him with a smug smile on that disgusting face of his. All he did was shake your hand as you stood still with prayers to a God who held no love for you. With your father glancing your way every minute as you were left in some corner with your then fiance to hold a conversation that never happened. When he didn’t spare so much as a glance at you, instead staring off into space as you couldn’t take your eyes off your lap. 

Wait. 

No. 

Maybe back then, you were too deep in your thoughts to notice that unnerving stare. 

The same one he has now - looking at you as though you were his prey, scarlet eyes glowing in the candlelight, like you belonged to him and he would never change that fact. That he would never let you change it, either. 

“Wife.” 

The word mixed with his sleepy voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard - it makes your ears bleed and eye twitch as you hold back the grimace of how he addresses you. He only wants you because you’re a normal person.

The moment you become insane he’ll let you go. 

That’s the only explanation. It has to be. That’s the only explanation your brain could come up with and accept. 

You’re too scared to bring up the night before yesterday. Beads of sweat slowly roll down your temples and breathing shallow as Dion walks towards the bed, heavy boots echoing. Time stops as your heart drops once he reaches the bed, reaches you and without a single word, he grabs your right wrist and - 

“What happened here?”

Oh. You forgot about your bandaged thumb.  

[quins-makeshift-menagerie]

sigh

I got hit with a terrible depression episode earlier this month and it feels like it just

Completely destroyed my ability to be creative

I still have the ideas of what to draw, but trying to draw either leaves the canvas blank or takes way longer than I know it should. Every time I try to think creatively I have nothing. It’s like…idk like tv static or dark. It’s becoming

So incredibly frustrating

The downstairs tenants still aren’t fully out I guess. I know they had 18+ years of things to move but we were being pressured to pack and be ready for when they are. So now I’m just in that part of moving where my space no longer feels like my space because almost everything’s packed away and it’s left me stressed.

I haven’t been sleeping well at all. All of the stress has made my insomnia almost a constant issues, but i can’t take sleep aids without it triggering RLS

I want things to stop being this please

[acebytaemin]

would it be laughable to close a tracked tag a couple months after starting it 🤔

[chillabuse]

..

[goodpvppy]

૮꒰っ˕‹̥̥̥ ꒱ა i miss being owned

[exopelagic]

okay I severely misjudged spaghetti guy he’s actually just really cool

[haikyuuhoo]

hi okay so I just got home and am v tired so sadly there will be no gojo birthday fic :((( another time to make up for it, perhaps 🫶🏼

[lovelyisadora]

it isn’t the end of the semester but i’m already having my end of the semester breakdown oh my GOD I am going to have a heart attack. sprite save me

[xiaoluclair]

you are a sweetheart and you see good in almost all pairings i guess, but your soft spot is by whom? Sorry I can't contain my curiosity

asking me this after i giffed that oscar/alex interview... making me toe a line, nonsie!

that being said, you can pry lestappen from my cold dead hands. and even then good luck.

[operationblanketfort]

…………..AAAAAA

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I kinda wanna go on a rant but I honestly just think I need to sleep

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

���mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

——���——

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[rmview]

accidentally sending a nude, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — what happens when the stray kids boys accidentally send you an inappropriate picture!

contents — crack, flirting, suggestive.

bang ⁺ chan

bang chan was known for being responsible and composed, but even the most reliable people had their moments. he had been working late, distractedly multitasking between responding to texts from the members, fans, and — most nerve-wracking of all — you.

you two had been flirting back and forth for weeks, and tonight was no different. your witty banter put him in a good mood, and before he knew it, he was sending a selfie from the gym, shirt drenched in sweat.

but in his rush, he didn’t notice that the picture he sent wasn’t the one he intended. instead of the gym selfie, it was an older picture—one of him just out of the shower, shirtless, with a towel slung dangerously low on his hips.

seconds later, he realized his mistake.

his heart stopped.

“oh my god,” he muttered, staring at his phone in horror as the “read” indicator popped up. his mind raced. should he delete the message? send a follow-up explanation? throw his phone into the nearest body of water?

before he could do anything, your reply came through.

...well, that’s not what i expected, but i’m not complaining.

his face turned a deep shade of red as he ran a hand through his hair, groaning in embarrassment.

“i am so sorry,” he quickly typed, his thumbs trembling as he sent the message. “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send a gym selfie. please ignore that. oh my god, i’m mortified.”

you replied almost immediately.

relax, chan. it’s not like i haven’t imagined you looking like that anyway. 😉

his jaw dropped. was this flirting? were you actually flirting back after he’d just humiliated himself?

“wait… really?” he replied, cautious yet intrigued.

really. but next time, make sure you send the right picture.

chan exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he smiled at the screen. “noted,” he typed back, still mortified but secretly thrilled. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a disaster after all.

felix ⁺

felix was a bit of a perfectionist, especially when it came to interactions with you. he’d spent weeks carefully navigating the line between friendly and flirty, hoping to gauge your interest without coming on too strong.

so when he accidentally sent that picture, he nearly dropped his phone in panic.

he’d just finished a workout and taken a picture to check his progress — a mirror selfie of him shirtless, muscles taut, and a playful smirk on his face. he’d meant to send it to chan, but somehow, it ended up in your chat.

“no, no, no, no!” felix exclaimed, his freckles standing out against the sudden flush of his cheeks.

he stared at the screen in horror, the little “delivered” icon taunting him.

your reply came faster than he expected.

wow… nice progress, felix. 👀

he froze. were you teasing him? he wasn’t sure if he should laugh, apologize, or crawl under a rock. finally, he decided to address it head-on.

“i am so sorry!” he typed furiously. “that was not meant for you. please ignore it. i’m mortified.”

you replied with a laughing emoji.

it’s fine. honestly, i didn’t know you were this fit. guess i’ve been missing out.

felix’s heart skipped a beat. was that… interest?

“well… thanks, i guess?” he replied, still unsure how to handle the situation. “but seriously, i didn’t mean to send that. i’m usually more careful.”

well, i’m glad you weren’t this time.

felix smiled at your cheeky response despite himself. maybe his mistake wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

lee ⁺ know

lee know had always been careful about boundaries. he enjoyed teasing you and keeping things light, but he never pushed too far. that’s why, when he realized he’d sent the wrong picture, he felt a wave of panic unlike anything he’d experienced before.

the picture wasn’t obscene, but it was suggestive — a shirtless shot of him lounging in bed, his sweatpants hanging low, with a hint of his toned stomach on full display. he’d taken it to mess around with hyunjin but somehow sent it to you instead.

his phone buzzed immediately.

...well, this is a surprise.

lee know stared at your message, his ears turning red as he groaned, tossing his phone onto the couch. “i’m such an idiot,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands.

after a minute of debating whether to respond, he finally picked up his phone.

“that was not for you,” he typed, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “sorry about that. just… forget you saw it.”

your reply came swiftly.

forget it? why would i? you look good, minho. 😏

his heart skipped a beat. “are you teasing me right now?” he replied, his confidence creeping back in.

maybe... or maybe i’m just being honest.

lee know smirked at the screen, his embarrassment fading. “well, if honesty is what we’re doing, then maybe i should admit that i don’t mind you seeing it.”

“good,” you replied. “because i didn’t mind seeing it either.”

for the first time that evening, lee know relaxed, realizing that his mistake might just have opened a door he hadn’t been brave enough to walk through himself.

hyun ⁺ jin

hyunjin had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, and his interactions with you reflected that. he adored teasing you with his flirtatious comments and playful winks, but he never imagined crossing a line — until tonight.

he was sitting in his art room, surrounded by scattered sketches, when he decided to take a break. swept up in a moment of self-appreciation, he snapped a quick mirror selfie to show off his post-dance practice glow — shirtless, slightly tousled hair, and his sweatpants riding dangerously low. he sent it off to his group chat with the caption, “behold: the main character.”

or so he thought.

when he saw your name at the top of the chat instead, his heart plummeted.

“no, no, no…” he whispered, fumbling with his phone. his fingers hovered over the “unsend” button, but it was too late — your message popped up almost instantly.

well, that’s something i wasn’t expecting tonight. 👀

hyunjin’s face turned crimson, and he buried his head in his hands. his mind raced with what to say, every option feeling inadequate. finally, he mustered a response.

“its not what it looks like,” he typed, his embarrassment palpable even through the screen. “i meant to send it to the group chat. i’m so sorry, seriously.”

your reply came faster than he anticipated.

aw, don’t be embarrassed, hyunjin. you look… good. really good.

he froze, rereading your message. was this real? were you flirting back?

“wait… are you being serious right now?” he asked hesitantly.

completely serious. but if you’re this shy over a picture, i can’t imagine how you’d react if i saw you in person like this.

hyunjin let out a breathy laugh, his embarrassment melting into nervous excitement. “you’re not making this easier, you know,” he replied.

who said i’m trying to make it easier?

he leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips at your teasing response. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

don’t pretend you don’t love it.

hyunjin shook his head, his heart pounding. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly turning into the most exhilarating conversation he’d ever had with you.

i.n ⁺

jeongin prided himself on being composed despite his age, but tonight, all that confidence vanished in an instant. he’d been lounging on his bed after practice, casually snapping a picture to capture the golden glow of the setting sun through his window.

the photo was innocent enough, or so he thought — a relaxed pose, shirtless, with the blanket barely covering his hips. it was meant for seungmin, who’d jokingly challenged him to “prove” he was resting properly.

but in his sleepy haze, jeongin accidentally sent it to you instead.

he realized his mistake almost immediately when your name popped up with a notification. his stomach dropped, and panic set in.

your message arrived seconds later:

uh… is this the kind of ‘resting’ you meant to show me? 😳

jeongin groaned, burying his face in his pillow. “oh my god, i’m an idiot,” he muttered. he typed back as quickly as his trembling hands allowed.

“i am so sorry. that was not meant for you. please, just delete it and pretend this never happened.”

you replied almost immediately, and his heart raced as he opened your message.

delete it? why would i do that when it’s such a nice view?

his mouth fell open, a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief coursing through him. he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or crawl under his blanket and never come out.

“are you seriously teasing me right now?” he finally typed, his cheeks burning.

maybe... but can you blame me? you’re not exactly making it easy to ignore.

jeongin let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “you’re impossible.”

i know.

jeongin sighed, a reluctant smile spreading across his face. while the initial shock of his mistake lingered, he couldn’t deny that your reaction made it worth the embarrassment.

han ⁺

han had always been impulsive, and that trait extended to his texting habits. he’d just finished a late-night studio session and decided to take a mirror selfie to show off his new haircut. the picture wasn’t inappropriate, but it was suggestive — he was shirtless, his hair slightly damp from a shower, with a cheeky grin on his face.

he meant to send it to chan, but in his half-asleep state, he sent it to you instead.

it wasn’t until your message came through that he realized his mistake.

right in front of my salad? 🤨

han’s eyes widened, and he sat up so fast he nearly knocked over his coffee mug. “oh no,” he muttered, his hands shaking as he typed back.

“omg, i’m so sorry! that was not meant for you! i was trying to send it to chan. please just forget you saw it.”

your reply came a moment later:

why? it was a nice picture. you should send me more.

han’s jaw dropped, his mind racing. was this really happening? were you actually flirting with him?

“wait, are you serious right now?” he replied cautiously.

very serious. you look good, han. don’t be so shy about it.

his face turned red, but a smile crept onto his lips. “i’m not shy!” he typed back defensively.

sure, you’re not...

han let out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re dangerous, you know that?”

says the guy with his tiddies out for the world to see. wait, i wonder how much i can sell this for on ebay...

he flushed and sighed, leaning back in his chair. what started as a mortifying mistake was quickly becoming the most crack-filled interaction he’d ever had with you. maybe his impulsiveness wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

seung ⁺ min

seungmin was always known for his sharp wit and calm demeanor, rarely letting things rattle him. but tonight, that composure was nowhere to be found.

after a long day, he decided to respond to a group chat message with a selfie he’d taken earlier — a casual, post-workout shot that showed him in a tank top, his hair slightly messy, and his usual confident smirk. the picture wasn’t provocative, but it was undeniably attractive.

except he didn’t send it to the group chat. he sent it to you.

seungmin froze as he realized what he had done. his usual sharp mind went blank, replaced by a surge of panic. before he could even think of a way to delete it, your reply came through.

well, i wasn’t expecting this, but i’m not complaining. 😏

he stared at your message, his ears turning red as he tried to come up with a response. this wasn’t like him at all — how could he make such a mistake?

“uh, that wasn’t meant for you,” he finally typed, his thumbs trembling slightly. “i was trying to send it to the group chat. my bad.”

your reply came almost instantly.

no need to apologize, bbg. honestly, it’s nice to see this side of you. you look good, seungmin.

his jaw clenched as he reread your words. you were complimenting him?

“i didn’t mean for you to see it,” he replied quickly. “but… thanks, i guess?”

why so shy all of a sudden? i didn’t think you’d get flustered this easily.

“i’m not flustered,” he replied, though your teasing and his red face told a different story.

sure you’re not. but for what it’s worth, you’ve definitely made my night.

seungmin let out a small, awkward laugh, his confidence slowly returning. “well, i’m glad my mistake could entertain you,” he replied.

it’s more… eye-opening, than entertaining. although my rose toy would disagree.

seungmin choked, rereading your words. maybe this wasn’t the disaster he thought it was.

chang ⁺ bin

changbin was naturally confident, his playful energy making him the life of any room. but even he wasn’t immune to moments of pure, unfiltered embarrassment — like the one he was having now.

it started innocently enough: he’d taken a mirror selfie at the gym to show off his progress, flexing his biceps with a grin that screamed, “look at me, i’m unstoppable.” it was meant for chan, who’d been teasing him about skipping arm day.

but in his haste, changbin accidentally sent the picture to you.

the moment he realized his mistake, his stomach dropped. “oh no,” he muttered, staring at the screen in horror.

your reply came faster than he could process.

wow, changbin… showing off for me now? 👀

he groaned, his confidence taking a nosedive. he quickly typed back, “that was not meant for you. i was trying to send it to chan. please ignore it!”

you didn’t ignore it. instead, you replied,

why would you send it to him? and why should i ignore it? you look amazing honestly, you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.

changbin blinked, your words catching him off guard. were you… complimenting him?

“wait… are you kidding me?” he replied cautiously.

of course not, i mean, if you’re gonna send me pictures like this, don’t blame me for appreciating them.

changbin let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “well, i wasn’t exactly trying to impress you, but… thanks, i guess?”

who said you didn’t impress me?

his heart skipped a beat at your tease, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “i guess if you’re not mad, i shouldn’t be so worried,” he typed, his confidence returning.

not mad at all. in fact, feel free to send more anytime.

changbin laughed out loud, shaking his head. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

and you love it.

“maybe i do,” he replied, surprising even himself with his boldness.

what started as an embarrassing mistake had suddenly become one of the most fun conversations he’d ever had with you.

notes: hoez in the house ( my smut fic is taking forever to finish :( )

[pochaccoups]

beggin’ on his knees — kim mingyu

pairing — kim mingyu x f!reader

summary — mingyu looks good when he’s on his knees.

wc — 2k

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, established relationship, slight sub!mingyu (he’s a big puppy in this), oral (f receiving), fingering, creampie, not beta read sry

“Please?”

“No, Mingyu.”

“Pleaseee?”

“Mingyu, stop.”

“But… why not?”

“Because I’m still mad at you. No.”

You don’t spare your boyfriend a glance as he stands in the doorway, your gaze thoroughly fixed on your book—your book that you haven’t read a sentence of since he’d walked in.

“But you always let me eat you out before bed.”

You heave out a sigh, dragging a hand down your face in exasperation. “Well, right now I don’t want you to.”

A lie. You know damn well that letting him give you an orgasm or two would quell your infuriation at him, but you’re too stubborn. Mingyu is like a puppy—giving in to his sulking and pouting, however irresistible, only teaches him how to get his way. If you look up, you’re certain you’ll find a pair of pathetic, glistening eyes staring at you, and it’ll become so, so much harder for you to keep your foot down.

“But baby,” he says, so soft, in a way that personifies his affection for you. That one word in that tone of his is the first strike to your heart. “I can show you how sorry I am. Please?”

“Mingyu, I already-”

Finally he gets you to look at him when he beelines over to your side of the bed, takes your hand in both of his, and drops to his knees on the floor.

“Please, baby, I’m begging you. I need to taste you so bad.” He doesn’t hide the desperation in his voice, nor the pleading look in his stupid, round, pretty eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you for work. I’ll do better. I’ll make it up to you, I promise, and I’ll start with this. Please?”

It’s true that perhaps you’re being a little too cruel out of pettiness—you know his schedule is mostly out of his hands and how hectic things get for him. But there are times where things are in his hands, and still he ends up staying for drinks with the boys a little too long for your liking.

He looks fucking good like this though. In fact, your pussy throbs a little, seeing him like this for you—at your mercy. Despite the pinpricks of hurt he’d given you, you can’t find it in you to send him away.

“Fine,” you say, and he’s about to pounce on you until you stop him with a hand to his chest. “No, no. Stay there for me.”

Mingyu watches intently as you sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed so that he’s sat neatly in between them. Unable to wait any longer, he’s reaching for the top of your pyjama pants, tugging them down your legs so hastily you’d think he’s running out of time.

It’s a wonder how he has the control to not tear your underwear off and dive straight in—instead he’s pressing soft kisses that drip with apology all over your thighs, letting his giant hands warm your skin as they roam over your legs. It’s a view you wish you could imprint into your brain forever: your buff, six-foot-three boyfriend on his knees, worshipping you.

It’s only when your hips shift ever so slightly, when Mingyu senses the very first shred of impatience manifesting within you, does he settle his face right where you need him. He presses all the way up against your covered cunt, nudges at your clit with his nose and prods at your hole with his tongue, fabric be damned.

“You begged for this, at least do it right,” you scold, sounding a little more breathless than you’d like.

Mingyu smirks. Of course he does—you’re proving him right. His hands envelop yours as you shove your panties down your legs, and before they can even hit the floor, the wet warmth of his tongue is licking at your awaiting pussy.

You’re kind of stupid, you realise, because why on earth were you refusing this in the name of being petty? He’s sucking on your clit and you’re already whining his name, while his fingers sink into the fat of your thighs and pry your legs open even wider.

Mingyu lacks both mercy and shame when he gets his mouth on you. He becomes depravity in human form, sounds of him slurping and spitting filling the room as he becomes drunk on your taste. His tongue is everywhere, slipping up and down through your folds, playing with your clit until your eyes are rolling back and you’re grabbing fistfuls of his dark hair.

“Mingyu, f-fuck,” you sigh, your spine curling off the bed, your hips rutting against his face. “Need more.”

And Kim Mingyu will never fail to give you exactly what you want, so he circles your sticky, drooling hole with his finger and slides it inside you. And his fingers are so thick that just one alone makes you shiver as it curls up into your sweet spot, and combined with the nonstop lapping of his tongue at your clit, it’s no question why there’s heat pooling deep in your core.

Then he does stop, much to your dismay. Well, he only pulls his mouth an inch away so that he can ask you with his glistening, pouty lips, “does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes-fuck,” you gasp as his finger grazes repeatedly at the most sensitive patch inside you. “Be a good boy and put your big mouth to use though.”

He obeys you without a moment’s delay.

Mingyu drinks in all your noises—the wetness of his saliva mixed with your arousal, the squelch of his finger pressing into you, and your shaky, breathy moans that are a barely coherent mixture of curses and his name. It’s your high, and yet he’s chasing it, too.

He lives for the long, high-pitched whine you let out when he slips another finger inside. He’s pumping them in and out of you with such vigour that his bicep starts to bulge, and when you pull on his hair for dear life he feels his cock jump in his sweats. At the same time his mouth is ruthless as he practically makes out with your pussy, and you rock your hips absentmindedly until you’re riding his face, and fuck, you’re so hot that Mingyu thinks he might cum untouched.

“God, Gyu, just-just like that,” you keen, melting under his gaze that’s both concentrated and hazy. He’s drunk and he’s focused, tuned into your body and the way your walls clench around his fingers, telling him you’re almost there.

It takes just a few more thrusts of his fingers and swipes of his tongue before your moans reach a crescendo, and the heat in your stomach erupts with vengeance.

While your thighs tremble on his shoulders, Mingyu pulls his fingers out from your soaked heat and brings them straight to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking your juices off them, moaning like it’s essence from the sweetest fruit. To him it is.

“I’m hard now,” he says in a whisper.

“So?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him. Him still kneeling; his fluffy hair a mess; his cheeks and chin drenched with your cum; his sweatpants a tent. It’s so pathetic it makes your pussy even wetter.

“Can I put it in? Please?”

You pretend to ponder it for a second—he just looks so cute when he’s desperate for pussy. Then you become aware of how empty you are, and give Mingyu his next command: “kiss me first.”

He’s up now, pinning you underneath him as he does exactly what you ask of him. His lips are sloppy against yours, his tongue weaving its way inside your mouth. He’s kissing you with such want that it’s messy, disgusting almost, but your boyfriend will sooner die than not put his entire soul into something.

His heavy cock prods against you, just as shameless and imposing as Mingyu himself. It’s sticky with precum and so hard that it’s practically throbbing with need, and you wish you were stronger than this but you need him stretching you out now.

“Fuck me, Mingyu,” you mumble against ravenous lips.

He slides home immediately, until his balls are warm against your ass. Then he hikes your legs up on his shoulders and starts to pound away at you like he has something to prove.

The sounds he makes when he gets inside you should be embarrassing to him, but they’re not. Much less to you—hearing him whimper like a clingy puppy in your ear makes you soak all over his cock. You know people look at him and his towering height and his bulging arms and they see strength, control, dominance, and what they’ll never know about is this—that your pussy reduces him to a desperate, whining mess.

Every snap of his hips has you gasping, sends you reaching for the sheets and his hair. Now that he’s finally inside you, he’s taking full advantage of it, because God forbid you think he’s slacking after begging with his heart and soul. No, no—he’ll show you how sorry he is, make up for every minute of your time that he’d wasted, and he’ll do it by fucking you into next week, filling you up (if you let him), and tending to you like you’re royalty after.

“Harder, baby,” you sigh, even though you know that word is dangerous territory with him, but his thrusts had slowed a little in his pondering about how sorry he was.

But oh, does he deliver. More than delivers. Mingyu leans forward, folds you even more in half until your thighs burn, but when his cock is buried so deep in your guts the pain becomes dull. He fucks into you with every ounce of muscle he has, leaning his weight on you so that every stroke breaches past your cervix and touches your soul itself.

Sweat beads on his forehead. His cheeks are lightly flushed; his toned, tanned skin gleaming. Your boyfriend looks divine as he ruins your cunt, as though this is what he was born to do: to please you. You want him to keep splitting you open, to stretch you out endlessly. You want his warm, sticky load inside you even more.

“H-hah, Gyu, baby…” you pant.

“Yeah? Feels good?” he asks, hissing as you clench down on him at the sound of his voice.

“Mm, love the way you fuck me,” you moan. “But I want your cum inside me.”

Your words make his hips stutter. He bites down on his bottom lip hard, willing himself to not cum then and there.

“Want you to cum first,” he whines through gritted teeth, and you near scream when his thumb finds your clit to rub at it, quick and precise in the way that you stand no chance against.

Only a few more hard strokes is all it takes for your orgasm to come hurtling towards you, tearing through your whole body and making you sob Mingyu’s name while his fingers and his hips never let up.

The way your walls clench and gush around his cock as you cum is ruthless. It’s a vice, selfish grip, one that entices him to his own climax, because there’s nothing that gets Kim Mingyu off more than making the love of his life cum.

“Cum for me, Gyu. Make me happy,” you whisper in the aftershock of your orgasm.

He gives you exactly what you want, driving himself impossibly deep inside you and giving a strangled moan as you milk every last drop of his seed out of him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers, letting your legs fall from his shoulders as he collapses on top of you. Even when he’s dry, his cock twitches, still, and you think it’ll be a while before he pulls out of you.

You hum, warm and content. Your hand reaches for Mingyu’s hair, fingers brushing through it as he comes down. His face is buried in your neck, and his soft, warm breaths against your skin threaten to lull you to sleep.

Eventually he mutters out, “I’m sorry again.”

You can’t help but stifle a laugh. He’s good at grovelling, that’s for sure.

“You’re making dinner for the rest of the week,” you tell him. “And if you have a late schedule then you’re ordering me something. And if you do leave me hanging again I’ll kill you. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you still love me?”

“Yes, Mingyu, I love you.”

[johndonneswife]

my sister needs a job omg

[exopelagic]

i can’t believe i managed to get fucking mono and didn’t even get it by doing anything fun