a pic from yuuji’s camera roll <3 little harder to look back on after shibuya but he can’t bring himself to delete it (it’d be like losing them all over again)
the air in the room is suffocatingly thick with a silence reiner's heavy breathing fails to hide.
your hands work fast, unbuttoning his shirt to the very last button before he can even catch his breath.
he doesn't believe he deserves this.
he sits at the edge of his mattress, eyeing you up and down. as you press a peck to his temple, a shudder escapes his lip. when you kiss right at his stubbled jawline, his hands grip the sheets beneath him, sounds of the springs echoing throughout the room. he trembles as your fingernails trace his bare chest and stomach on your way down.
you kneel between his legs, eager fingers already tugging at his trousers. he twitches in his seat. he doesn't fight you. you slip your fingers into the waistband of his pants and briefs and pull them down to his ankles, exposing him completely to the cool air of the room.
you hear a sob fall from his lips as his cock springs bare, beads of precum already falling down his shaft.
your eyes trail up to him, he has his face lifted, head tilted back, and face buried into the crook of his arm, ashamed to look at you. ashamed to feel something this good. his chest heaves up and down.
"rei," you call.
he doesn't answer, too consumed with trying to catch his breath.
you lift your hands forward, wrapping your fingers around his forearm, firmly pushing it to his side. you slowly interlock your fingers into his large calloused hands, securing it in place as you kneeled back down.
"please," he falters, voice cracking through his plea. "you don't have to."
you keep your eyes on him. you smile, fingers wrapping around his base.
"but i want to."
you lean in. your lips brush against the sensitive head of his length, instantly catching the drop of precum on your tongue. reiner lets out a ragged gasp, clenching his eyes shut as his leg beside you jolts viscerally.
when you slide your mouth fully over him, drinking in the salty taste of his shaft, and enveloping the thickness of his length, a full sob rips from his throat. the heat of your mouth, the utter coldness of the room makes his stomach muscles clench hard. he tries to snatch his hand away, but you don't let him, setting it firm against the mattress beside him. your grip tightens.
you lap your tongue against his shaft, laying your tongue flat near the base, slowly gliding it back up to the tip. a slutty moan escapes you as you force his cock back into your mouth, the broad head brushing the middle of your throat.
"fu-fuc-fuck," he pants. your gaze stays on him, watching tears brim and fall from his eyes. he pulls his bottom lip in, biting down like it's his only lifeline. still, his whimpers seeps out for a man who has denied comfort for so long.
you wrap one hand around the base of his cock, pumping firmly in sync with the punishing rhythm of your mouth bobbing up and down.
you pull away, still pumping him.
"you didn't tell me you were so big, rei," you tease, eyes at him, glistening spit all on your mouth and chin. "why didn't you tell me?"
"i-i'm so—” his words are cut off with a long moan, tilting his head back as your lips meet his cock again. "god, please let me touch you."
you let go of his hand. you feel his thick fingers intertwine with your hair, twisting into your could with a desperate tug. you feel the tremble in them, but still it's enough for him to push your head down, guiding you to take him whole.
you gag as he bottoms out in your throat and as you pull back up, saliva stretching and connecting from your lip to his wet tip. reiner watches you through hooded eyes, reddened face and heaving chest. his breath hitches at the sight of you, your pupils filled with a yearn he doesn't understand.
"you keep looking at me like that," he moans, hand flying to his face, wiping the tears that keep falling. "you're so beautiful…it's destroying me."
your heart flutters. but you're needy. you listen, eyes on him as your lips meet his cock again. you pick up the pace this time, betraying the slow rhythm to a relentless speed. you stack both hands at the base, pumping him in sync with the drooling wet bob of your mouth.
"ah--fuck," reiner gasps, hand roughly tugging at your hair to pull you back. "i--i'm cumming."
you lean closer to his thighs, using your stacked hands to keep him in place. a sloppy moan vibrates deep in your throat, the heavy suction echoing loudly in the room. reiner's breath completely hitches, his legs shake and jolts beside your bobbing head. a sharp, strangled gasp erupts from him, the sound bouncing off the walls.
his grip in your hair tightens. you know he isn't trying to hurt you. his hips jolt upward, driving his cock as deep as it can go in your throat. you let out a choked gag, tears streaming down your face from the length.
his eyes snap open, glassy with a fresh set of tears, jaw dropping as the first wave of his climax hits. you don't stop, drinking his spillage all in as it glides down your throat. every remaining twitch of his cock draws a ragged sob from him.
you pull back slowly, his fingers slipping from your hair. a thick strand of his saliva stretches from your mouth along with his release.
his hands fly to his face. they stay there, covering his full face.
you pull his hands away, revealing teary, bloodshot eyes. he's still trying to catch his breath.
you cup his face, smiling at him as you gently brush a stray tear thats sliding down his cheek.
"thank you," he whispers, mere inches from your face. he leans in, and kisses your lip, you drink in the tremor.
"thank you,” he breathes between your lips.
a/n: this is my 100th post. (i love that)
side note: hi i suffer with excessive shaking in my legs when i see reiner. send help.
i just know makeup sex with ex-bf!eren would be so good...
𝐼𝒩𝐸𝒱𝐼𝒯𝒜ℬ𝐿𝐸.ᐟ ❤︎ ft. eren jäeger!
𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓁ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇.ᐟ ۶ৎ OMG JESUS.…. EX!EREN!?!??!!! lexiii bae i kid you not, this is all i can think about . i have countless drafts abt this concept alone >.< it’s easy to get caught up in the push n pull. you wanna start over, put him in the past & leave it all behind you. it’s for the better, everyone knows how intense you two were together. you want, no, have to let him go. but you just can’t, because he fucks so gooooood . rennie would be so nasty with it, doing whatever it takes to get you back . . .
𝐼𝒩𝒮𝑃𝒪 𝑇𝑅𝒜𝒞𝒦.ᐟ ( ♫ ) do i wanna know, arctic monkeys
eren didn’t just occupy your mind since the breakup . . . he haunted it. for months, he’d been a low-grade fever you couldn’t sweat out, a subtle ache you tried to ignore. but now, with his heavy, tawny hands locked onto your hips, the ghost of him had finally turned into solid, crushing, tattooed muscle.
you don’t know what’d even possessed you to text your fucking ex of all people at 2:00 am, and you found yourself all the more confused as to why you thought a man like him wouldn't come over the second he saw your name flash on his screen for the first time in months. unblocked, huh . . .
no more squinting to remember the ink on his skin or the sharp sting of his words during those late-night fights. eren was back in your bed, a hazy memory made into pure flesh. he coaxed you out of your tears just to get you like this; pinned under his weight, his body hunched over yours, buried to the hilt inside you.
you’d started this. you knew that, but you still tried to keep your guard up ( despite failing. ) you told him this was a one-time thing, that there was no ‘ us, ’ even as his hair-tie finally gave away and his dark hair came loose, a dark curtain spilling over both your faces with every thrust. your legs locked tight around the slim taper of his waist, clinging to his warmth like he was the only real thing left in your world; like he was, familiarly enough, your loving boyfriend all over again.
and with the way he was fucking you, he might as well have been.
"don’t gotta lie to me," eren grunts, his voice a low vibration against the shell of your ear. he revels in the sweet way you react to his every whim, savoring the shaky wave of your breath hitching when he stretches you wide open on his cock, thick and throbbing with need. god, it missed you. he missed you.
"you won't take me back? hmm, baby?” his hips roll forward in that precise way that always brushes your clit enough to make your body jolt. he smiles to himself when you do, runs his tongue over the peak of his canine.
“nooo, erennn— n-no . . nghhh!”
“never? really? c’mon, princess . . . hurtin’ my feelings. don’t you love me?" he drives in hard, punishingly deep, until you can only gasp out broken pleas. he knows you well enough to understand you need it faster. your head sinks into the bamboo fluff of your pillow, eyes fluttering shut as his perfect, perfect name finally breaks past your lips, and you gnaw on the bottom one as though you’ve betrayed yourself by saying it. a dark, triumphant look crosses his face once you yield.
he thinks it's time you accepted it — the two of you are inevitable. and looking at the state of you, it’s hard to tell him he’s wrong.
"fuck. you’re takin’ me so well, baby. juuust like you used to. i’ve fucked you up for anyone else, haven’t I? no wonder you came running back to me . . . i’m the only one you want. no other man can make you feel like this, can they?”
you couldn’t argue, couldn't even find the words. all you could manage to do was cling to him, breathing in that familiar scent of amber and pine, letting the solid strength in his arms and the searing heat of his body consume you; biting your lip at the way he handles you with just the right amount of rough, consuming, and raw.
fuck your life. fuck your ex. he’s settled back into the spaces he once occupied, and it only took cumming on him — all at the coaxing nudge of his low voice telling you to let go — for you to realize his presence was something you couldn't stand to lose again.
“ladies and gentlemen, introducing, the chocolate starfish, and the hot dog flavoured water…. BRING IT ON!”
mdni
cw: “HELP!! MY BESTFRIEND WANTS ME TO SUCK HIS DICK SO HE CAN RECORD IT AND SEND IT TO HIS SITUATIONSHIP?!”
wc: 2k
starting track….
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
…….
“dude, you’re fumbling with the thing—”
“—i’m not, s’literally fine—”
“you’re gonna— you’re gonna smudge the cam— oh my god—”
“shit, i dropped it, hold on….”
“…you’re a fuckin’ mess.”
“me?! i’m the mess??? this was your idea.”
sero snatches his phone back from his bestfriend with a half-scoff half-snort. it was a bad idea asking denki to do this, the guy never takes anything seriously.
not that this is serious.
this, this is the funniest thing of the century.
this, this is him proving how fucking petty he can be.
because you, oh god, you’ve been taking the piss. ignoring his messages, acting like you don’t know him when he sees you in public, posting another guy on your story. really? and the dude wasn’t even all that.
he had to get his lick back, obviously.
but he has to be smart about this.
posting himself with a girl wouldn't do anything other than push you further away, and while he does enjoy your little games. he does actually, sorta-kinda like you.
he needed something, something good, something smart, something to make you jealous, but also hot, bothered, and horny.
how could he pass up an opportunity like this, a gift from above, or below, however you wanna look at it, in the form of denki kaminari.
because you're aware, he told you himself, offhandedly, about how he and denki used to fuck. not heavy, just two bisexual best friends, down on their luck, fried as shit, sometimes denki's dick in his mouth was just the natural progression of things, he can't help that.
but he remembers what you had said in reply.
“that's hot.”
and he was tickled, ego stroked, he prodded you further, because what exactly is the hot part, him, denki, both of them together? and you, in your own words said you wouldn't mind watching.
something about, yaoi, hentai, and something else about heated rivalry, and something else that he wasn't fucking listening to, because he was already filing this away for later.
you wouldn't mind watching.
but you’re not here. in fact, he hasn’t seen you for weeks, he thinks you might be mad at him for something he forgot about.
but just because you're not here doesn't mean he's just gonna fuck his fist, and mope about. not when his roommate is the denki kaminari.
the camera flips around.
they’re in hanta’s room, low blue lighting, nu metal on the speaker, loud enough to mask the noise they’re about to make, but not loud enough to distract from the task at hand.
denki’s leaned against the headboard, face lit by the blue light of his phone, probably scrolling on reels.
because sero was right. denki is not taking this seriously, at all. because this is stupid, you and hanta always fight like this, and he has to hear all about sero’s new ‘get back plan’ every fucking time.
at least this time he gets a good fuck out of it.
“hey princess,” the blonde says when he realises the camera’s facing him now. he throws a lazy peace sign at sero’s phone with a grin.
yeah, he’s gonna get a good fuck out of this.
he can already tell. sero came to him with an ‘idea’ which was just cornering him in the kitchen and pressing his boner into the crease of denki’s ass and murmuring lowly in his ear, asking him to come up to his room and ‘help him out with something’.
if he had known then, that he was about to make a sex tape with his bestfriend, he would've oiled up for the camera.
instead he's shirtless, hair tousled, the corner of his shitty sonic tattoo poking out from under his waistband, and emoting like a dickhead.
just before he can do one last bicep flex, the camera flips back round to sero. eyebrow raised in distaste, the piercing catches the flash of the phone, he's rolling his eyes and scratching the corner of his nose.
"anyway," hanta clears his throat, slips back into that stupid fake nonchalant tone he gets when he’s sending you voice messages, “i remember you said you were into that whole ‘yaoi' thing.”
he snorts, like he's mocking you, "me n' denks were gonna bang, so, i figured," he's collapses onto the bed next to denki with no grace or care for where he lands, you can hear denki complain in the background. "why not show you what you're missing?"
he grabs the blonde by the face, squishing his cheeks with his palms and drags his face into the picture. both of 'em cheesing at the phone, with matching hazy eyes and drooping smiles. like ying and yang with equal degrees of swag and stupidity across them both.
denki runs his tongue across his teeth, he’s been waiting for sero to do something for a minute, to touch him, to touch himself, a kiss, anything.
instead sero’s still fumbling with his phone, trying to figure out where’s he’s gonna put it to get the perfect angle.
and denki’s tired of waiting.
“dude,” the blonde’s voice is lower now, softer, two steps away from a whisper. “dude, dude— hanta.”
there’s a shiver that snakes it’s way up sero spine when he hears denki say his name. it’s weirdly intimate, in a way it’s not normally. it scratches an itch somewhere deep in his gut.
denki sighs again, impatient, borderline pouting at the lack of attention. but his gaze is heavy lidded, and his voice is syrupy. “just hold it for now, you can put it down later.”
and sero’s easy. they both know this. that’s why denki takes it upon himself to crawl over to where his best friend is still sat on the edge of the bed.
“you’re thinking ‘bout this too much,” he winks at the camera, hands running up and down the faded material coating hanta’s thighs.
as he curls his fingers around hanta’s waistband, nails gently tracing the exposed skin, “let’s just do what we normally do.”
hanta’s disembodied groan echoes, “yeaaah—ngh, yeah,” denki palming his erection through the fabric, “yeah, you’re so fuckin’ right.”
denki smirks at the shaking camera, because he knows, whenever you watch this, that you’re thinking what he’s thinking.
he traces the tip of hanta’s weeping cock through the fabric, softly, barely there, so easily pulling groans out from his friend. it’s so easy to get sero worked up, a bat of your eyelashes, the promise of a blowjob, he’s already half way to busting.
“hanta,” denki coos again. coy. so fucking coy. batting his pretty eyelashes with that doe-eyed look on his face, of course sero was a goner. the camera is visibly shaking from where he’s trying to keep the screen tilted. the blonde paws at his waistband, “lemme suck you off, real quick, i promise.”
what’s a guy to do?
fuck, he can’t do anything. except gulp, audibly. and nod his head like an overeager puppy.
but denki wants to have fun, why not. isn’t this supposed to be a show, a show for you, something sweet to wash out the bitter taste of the toxicity of your ‘relationship’ with hanta, in the first place.
“that’s not an answer,” slow, syrupy, as he licks his lips, eyes directed at hanta through the phone screen. he’s gone back to featherlight touches.
you both know sero loves this the most.
the build-up, the steady climb upwards. and every breath, every stutter, every sigh, every moan, in between then and now, he inhales all of it. almost like he enjoys this more than actually getting his nut. the act of dangling the pleasure in front of his face, just out of reach but so easily obtainable.
“m’sorry,” he exhales, eyes fluttering at the mere idea of denki’s mouth on his cock, “wan’ you t’suck my—fu-uck—”
shit, he would’ve dropped his phone if not for the burning desire for you to see this too, because denki’s mouth is like velvet.
the fleshy walls of his inner cheeks coax thick dribbles of pre-cum out of hanta’s throbbing cock. that perfect fuckin’ tongue of his glazes the underside in hypnotic waves, and all hanta can do is sit there and take it, let denki make a mess outta him.
it feels disgustingly good as the blonde pools his saliva and spits it right back onto him, that hanta can’t help but whine, low in the back of throat.
it’s a shame you can’t see his face. the way he tips his head back exposing the deep flush that blooms underneath the hickeys layering the column of his throat. his eyes, dark, dazed, and actively rolling back into his head, then fluttering closed, automatic, the puppet strings of his pleasure being pulled taut.
but you’d be able to hear how he hisses, “shii-it,” you’d be able to hear the pants pattering within his lungs increasing in volume every second, and the broken groans echoing in his chest with each bob of denki’s head.
you’d definitely get a clear view of denki. you’d see his mouth stretched around the base of hanta’s cock, bulge pressing against his cheek, visible from the outside, nose flush against the dark hair of his crotch.
and you know exactly what that smells like, if you inhaled now you’d probably still get notes of it. of that musk, the sweet sweat, that thing that is so uniquely hanta, that you could recognise with your eyes closed.
unlike denki, who’s dewey eyes are half lidded and fixed directly onto the camera. he’s a show off, he can’t help it, it just comes naturally to him at times like this. he might be laying it on a bit thick, swollen lips glistening with spit and jizz, eyelashes wet like lily stalks after rainfall. tears beading in his water line. the soft pout on his face as he slaps hanta’s cock against his lips, again, and again, and again.
but the dick-drunk daze in his eyes is real enough.
enough to let you know, whenever you do watch this, that denki’s cock is probably just as leaky as hanta's. in fact, if you're paying attention, you'd be able to see the way his hips roll, ever so slightly, and the friction making his mouth water. every subtle shift is just another drag of his cock against, either hanta's mattress, or, plainly, the material confining him.
either way, it's hot as fuck.
hanta seems to think so, "t-that's it, yeah, all the way into-nngh, shit, just. like. that."
deeper and deeper, all the way down into denki's throat, all the way down—
and that's where the picture goes black. muffled. fuck.
lucky for hanta.
because i doubt he'd want you to hear how wrecked he sounded, how animalistic. or see the primal instincts that caused him to grab denki's hair with both palms, white knuckled grip, and breed his throat. or watch him lose all composure as he forces the blonde to swallow every last drop.
and i doubt denki would've wanted you to see the way he limply accepted it, came back for seconds even, licking up every last spurt of his best friend's frothy cum. or the way he whimpered pathetically when he matched pace, and made a mess all over himself.
or the way he said thank you, afterwards.
or how hanta had grabbed him by the face and yanked the blonde back down on top of him. or how their mouths mashed together, hanta slurping the remnants of his own cum from the crevices of denki's mouth.
and i seriously doubt either one would've wanted you to see the electric current of overstimulation that phased through them both, after their sticky spent cocks made contact, in matching, delicious, pathetic humps.
or the way they spent the next twenty minutes torturing each other with the sensation, twitchy bodies and dazed grins.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ six years of tension snap when satoru’s jealousy finally explodes, leading to a heated argument that turns into a desperate, messy hookup where he makes it very clear you’ve always been his.
✿ ◞◟) gojo satoru 𝓍 female!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (but its mostly porn lmao), best friends to lovers, jealousy, satoru is down bad, lot of kissing, handjob, big dick!satoru, biting, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, missionary + doggy style, praise, dirty talk, satoru is pathetic.
gojo satoru had been your best friend for six years, and in that time, you'd learned to accept certain things about him.
one — he was obnoxiously handsome. not in a way that felt fair or earned, but in the kind of effortless, god-cheated way that made waitresses forget his order and strangers stop him on the street to tell him he should model. satoru had white hair that never seemed to have a bad day, lashes so long they cast tiny shadows on his cheeks, and eyes so blue they looked like someone had turned up the saturation on just him while the rest of the world stayed normal.
two — satoru had very, very loud opinions, especially about anyone you dated.
you'd noticed the pattern about a year into your friendship, when you'd casually mentioned a guy from your psych class who'd asked for your number. satoru had been sprawled across your couch, stealing your fries, and he'd gone still for a second before tilting his head and saying;
"him? really? he's got weird eyebrows."
you'd blinked at him.
"his eyebrows are fine."
"they're asymmetrical," satoru had said, like that was a real crime. "and he laughs like a seal. you really want to listen to that for a whole date?"
you'd gone on the date anyway.
the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.
that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.
since then, there had been others;
a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).
each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.
but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.
the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.
so you let the comments slide, mostly.
but this time was different.
this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.
you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.
what you got was something else entirely.
"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"
"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."
"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."
you'd glanced up then, frowning.
satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.
"what's your problem?" you'd asked.
"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."
you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.
you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.
but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.
it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.
now, he just appeared.
you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.
and god, the touching.
satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.
he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.
but this was very different.
now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.
and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.
but you were aware.
painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.
you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.
but then came the comments…
"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.
you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.
"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."
"but it could be," satoru said.
it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.
"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.
jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.
satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.
"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"
you turned to look at him.
"you're wearing crocs right now."
"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."
you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.
the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;
you had a date, a real one.
jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.
you hadn't told satoru.
not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.
so you kept it to yourself.
you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.
you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.
"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.
your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.
"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.
you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.
"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."
the silence that followed was deafening.
satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.
"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.
"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."
"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.
he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.
"i just thought you would have better taste."
the casual cruelty of it stung.
you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.
"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.
satoru blinked. "what?"
"you heard me."
you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.
"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"
"the soup thing was valid—"
"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"
you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.
satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.
"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"
you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.
"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"
"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"
"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."
satoru's jaw tightened.
he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.
"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"
"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.
satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.
"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."
your breath caught. "satoru—"
"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."
the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.
you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.
satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."
and just like that, he kissed you.
it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.
satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.
you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.
when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.
"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"
you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.
satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.
"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."
"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.
he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.
"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."
and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.
satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.
you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.
satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.
"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.
you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.
he did. of course he did.
satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.
"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.
your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.
satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.
for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.
"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."
then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.
you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.
satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.
he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.
"like what you see?"
"shut up," you said, and reached for him.
satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.
he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.
"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.
you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.
satoru went rigid.
your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—
oh!
satoru was ridiculously big.
well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.
"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.
his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.
"fuck, fuck, please—"
you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.
"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.
he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.
"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"
you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.
satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.
"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."
you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.
and then he did.
it wasn't loud, that was the thing.
satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.
you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.
you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.
for a moment, neither of you moved.
satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.
finally, he lifted his head.
satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.
"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.
he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.
"my turn," he agreed.
his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.
satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.
the bra joined your dress on the floor.
satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"
"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."
that broke whatever trance he was in.
satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.
he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.
the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.
"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.
"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."
satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.
"fuck," you gasped.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."
he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.
"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."
he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.
it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.
"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.
"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"
and satoru didn't stop.
he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.
"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"
you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.
"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."
"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"
he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.
"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."
you shattered.
it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.
when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.
he licked them clean.
his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.
"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.
you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.
when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.
"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"
he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.
"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."
he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.
"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."
his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.
"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.
"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"
he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.
"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."
you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.
just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.
it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.
"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"
his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.
"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."
satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.
you both stopped breathing.
he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.
"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."
his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.
"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."
his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.
"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"
"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."
well… he didn't need to be told twice.
satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.
"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."
he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.
"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."
satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.
"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."
the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.
"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"
"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.
not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.
"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."
satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.
that changed everything.
the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.
"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"
you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.
"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."
his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.
he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.
"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."
his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.
but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.
"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"
"yeah?"
satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.
"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"
you came.
it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.
"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"
satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.
his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.
"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"
he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.
you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.
for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.
satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.
then satoru shifted.
his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.
"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.
he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.
"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."
he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.
"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."
you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.
"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"
"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."
he pushed in, and you both moaned.
it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.
satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.
"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."
you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.
"now," you said. "move now."
and he did.
satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.
this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.
"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."
satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.
"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"
"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"
he gave you more.
satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.
"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."
"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.
satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.
"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."
his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—
"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"
you came together.
it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.
neither of you moved.
satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.
"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."
you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.
"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"
he pushed deeper, and you moaned.
"—i'm never letting you go."
satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.
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