it’s so generic but I’m on the floor sobbing I’m desperate for more of this man, you’re an incredible writer and I love what you’ve written abt curly so far!!
I want to give this man the most world shattering head he's ever had in his whole life, like soiled sheets and fucking mind boggling orgasms. RIGHT NOW
Tw/cw; Afab!reader, cunnilingus AND filatio!!!! that's all I think
Not proofread
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Receiving
He whimpers.
No but like seriously, he does whimper. He'd be so caught up in the feeling that just slips out, along with him saying your name ofc 🤭
He'd be more of a sheet gripper than a hair gripper. Like I said in my marriage hcs, Curly tries his best to not be rough with you; and in his eyes, gripping onto your hair is being rough.
He mainly thinks that way because he's under the assumption that it hurts you, which he wants no part of. So, he sticks to what he thinks is best for you.
But sometimes he just can't help himself, the pleasure he's feeling overrules his own morals, and he breaks.
So every once in a while, he'll grab a hold of your hair and just.. push you down a little further and hold you there. It isn't his fault, he doesn't mean to! But he feels awful about it in the moment
Once he's finished, he's an incoherent mess. He's so fucked out he can't even form words properly, but after a few minutes he can say "thank you". Why does he thank you? He thinks it's nice; a gentlemanly thing to do.
He'll eventually apologize, just give him a few more minutes to compose himself.
Giving
Curly would be the type of man to constantly want you sitting on his face. And I mean CONSTANTLY.
He'd definitely use it as foreplay all the time. Even if you don't need it, he'll still insist. He probably gets more pleasure from it than you do.
Even though he doesn't want to hurt you, that rule for him doesn't apply when he's eating you out. His hands leave actual MARKS from how hard he's pulling your thighs down while trying to keep you still.
Do you guys remember what doja cat said about big noses? Curly would DEFINITELY position your waist in a way that your clit is resting on his nose. And then he'd use his grip on your thighs to rock you back and forth, as if you're riding it
As you can imagine it doesn't take long to cum after he starts doing that, and he's not letting a single drop go to waste. It's his favorite snack actually, he likes working for what he deserves 🤭
More often than not he'd ask to do it again, but it takes so much energy out of you that you physically can't sit up. It's like he's sucking the life out of you, both literally and metaphorically.
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A/n: Got me holding my breath I've been dreaming of this all night, thinking all the time about you hope that's alright
Dom!Jealous!Minho is an absolute beast, and you can't tell me otherwise.
NSFW under the cut! <3
Dom!Jealous!Minho is something that you see just a little too often. He tries to come across as level-headed, as a good older (albeit a little strange) hyung to his dongsaengs, but the second someone breathes at you in a way he doesn't like? He's fuming, eyes sharp and mean, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side like he can't keep his energy contained. When he's like this, you can practically feel the anger and jealous rolling off of him in waves, and people around him subconsciously give him space. His general aura is so displeased that it makes anyone in his vicinity vaguely nervous.
The only person who should be nervous is the source of the jealousy. There's three scenarios where Minho would get particularly jealous, and he response would be different for each one.
Scenario one is when you're out in public and some random is being flirty with you. In all honesty, they don't even have to actually be flirting with you. Some people have a naturally flirty personality, and some people are just naturally touchy, and you've tried to tell him that, but he doesn't care. Because someone is too close to what's his, and he doesn't share.
And maybe you're too nice. You're at some club with him and some of the other boys, the ones who are down for a little bit of partying every once and a while, and he didn't want to be here in the first place. He's just here to babysit you and the rest of them, because you gave him a tiny little pout when he said he didn't want to go and he folded instantly. You didn't even have to say anything, because he's already huffing and picking out an outfit, asking you what color you're wearing and pretending to chose something that matches "by accident".
But now you're awkwardly laughing at some girl who slid up next to you at the bar. He can see from the booth where he's situated the way your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, and the way your finger is tracing the rim of your drink is your tell that you don't want to be in a conversation anymore. Minho knows this, knows you're not actually interested in the girl in front of you, but something mean still settles in his stomach when you let her rub her hand up and down your arm, let her buy you another drink when you haven't even finished your first. You're too nice, too kind to step out of the conversation and rejoin Jisung out on the dance floor, so you stand there and make polite conversation while someone just blatantly flirts with you.
He doesn't even realize Hyunjin had rejoined him at the booth until he coughs loudly, raising an extremely unamused eyebrow at Minho when his head snaps to look at him. Minho knows he's glaring, knows that he's practically got steam pouring out of his ears, knows his anger is being misdirected at Hyunjin, but when jealously strikes, he doesn't care. Everyone becomes the enemy when he's like this.
"What." He hisses out, voice flat and sharp.
"Jeez, chill, man," Hyunjin says, laughing when Minho's brows furrow further, "You gotta get that glare of yours under control. You're gonna burn a hole into the back of their head."
He just frowns back, fingers clenching around whatever shitty drink Han had convinced him he wanted earlier. Hyunjin winces when his nose wrinkles, and then sighs.
"Whatever, hyung, you just keep pouting over here. I'm going to go find Binnie-hyung."
He reaches across the table, pries Minho's drink from his fingers, and downs it in one fell swoop. Minho gawks at him, and he just winks and saunters off like he didn't just make Minho's night infinitely worse somehow.
With no more drink as an excuse to tie him to the booth and brood, Minho's up in an instant, unable to take anymore of this. It doesn't matter whether a boy, girl, whoever is flirting with you - Minho's going to get possessive and jealous over you, always. Dom!jealous!Minho doesn't play about his partner, and he doesn't like that he's somehow made someone doubt his claim over you. The two of you belong to each other, and he doesn't like that it's not obvious to every bozo in this room.
So he stomps over to where you're standing, people in front of him parting on instinct when they catch the look on his face. The girl in front of you has an easygoing smile on her face, fingers too close to yours on the bar counter, and Minho thinks he might just cause a scene.
"Hey jagi!" You say, relief clear in your voice as he approaches, though one look at his face makes you stiffen. "This is, uh..."
The girl gives her name, eyes a little more uneasy as she takes in Minho's features, and with a large swallow from her drink, she mutters some excuse about the bathroom before scurrying off. Her drink is left on the counter, forgotten, in her hurry to get away. She can read the room clearly, and you're glad, because you don't want to berate your boyfriend for his attitude in front of some stranger.
"Minho."
His arms circle around your waist and he leans down and sinks his teeth into your neck. No warning, no "hey jagi, I'm going to bite you in a very public space", just teeth in your neck and a blossoming pain as he suckles over the spot.
You don't even have to look to know that the spot is already reddening, the skin warm and pulsing as blood desperately flows back to it. You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind but his hands slip to your hips and use their leverage to spin you around, and then he cages you against the bar, breathing heavy. You make eye contact with him for only a moment, long enough to catch the way something hardens in his eyes, before his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is rough and possessive, all teeth and tongue and spit. It's the kind of messy that's reserved for your bedroom, not a public space, and you push against him until he finally pulls away, lips swollen and red from kissing.
"Minho. What has gotten into you?" You ask, though you certainly already know by the way the person you were talking to ran off the second they really saw him.
"Nothing." He bites back, but it's full of venom, and his fingers leave the bar to dig into your hips again.
"Just needed to remind the people here who you belong to."
You're mad that he's hot like this. Eyes dark and swirling with jealousy, grip tight, breathing heavy almost as if he couldn't control himself. He doesn't like to share, and you don't like to be shared. You like the claim he lays over you, because you can lay the same claim over him.
If he could, he would take you right there over the bar counter, in front of everyone. He tells you as much and you laugh, but it's breathy, and he sees the way your thighs press together.
He takes you in the bathroom instead. He doesn't even drag you into the handicap stall, too impatient for that, plus he tells you that you don't deserve the bigger stall.
"If you're going to act like a slut and let that...thing touch you, then you should be treated like one." He says as he presses you to the back of the too-small stall, your cheek smushed against cold plastic.
He yanks you pants down just enough to expose your entrance, which clenches around nothing when it's exposed to open air. You whimper as he jabs his fingers at your mouth, and you open your mouth instinctively to suck on his fingers. He groans, clothed crotch rutting against your ass as he lets you lube up your fingers.
Once they're sufficiently coated in spit (or once he's too impatient to wait any longer) he spits on your hole, laughing when you it makes a shiver shoot up your spine.
"Whore." He says, but it's said endearingly, a fondness in his tone that you can't miss.
He's not nice when he opens you up, two fingers shoved in at once, and the edge of pain mixed with pleasure is enough to have you leaking more arousal. It drips down and coats your inner thighs, and Minho's fingers sneak out of you long enough to dip them down and scoop up some of your arousal to use as extra lube. It's gross, and it makes you leak even more.
He fingers you without the intention for you to get pleasure out of it. It's not careful, he's not aiming for your sweet spot. Instead, his fingers are only in you to stretch you. A third finger slips in just to stretch your entrance wider, just big enough to fit him but not so loose that it doesn't hurt. He wants you to feel this, wants you to remember the way that nothing can stretch you open like his cock can.
When he thinks you're stretched enough to fit him without too much pain, he pulls you back by the hair with his free hand and slips his fingers out of you, offering you his palm.
"Spit."
It's not a question or a statement, it's a command, and your foggy brain obeys it instantly, so pliant under his touch. He makes a content sound when your spit lands on his palm, and he lets your hair go to fumble with his belt. He zips his fly down and wrestles his cock out with one hand, pants just open enough to free his cock. He spits into the hand that has your spit, mixing them together around his cock as he jerks himself off with it. He grins when your hips press backwards, entrance clenching around nothing.
He presses the fat head of his dick to your entrance and rubs it there once, twice, before he shoves himself all the way into you, grinning as a loud moan tears out of your throat.
"Good job jagi, taking me so fucking well," he grits out as he sets a mean pace, "Bet that fucking girl at the bar couldn't make you feel this good, could she?"
You don't respond, because you can't, voice knocked out of your throat by how violently he's pounding into you. Unfortunately for you, that makes one of his hands find the back of your throat and squeeze, a warning, and he uses the leverage he has to pull you back against him. His hips slow down, thrusts now slow but still just as hard, and he leans in, breath hot against your ear.
"I asked you a fucking question." He says, and his hand squeezes a little harder when you just whimper in response.
Your head is foggy, the room is spinning and you're dizzy with pleasure. There's tears brimming your waterline, blurring your vision further as he asks you again.
"She couldn't, could she? Couldn't-fuck-couldn't fill you like this, make you leak l-like this," he pants out, thrusts getting faster like he can't help himself, "Only I can, right? Say it. Fucking say it."
"Only you!" you wail, sobbing as he lets you go and you catch yourself against the stall door, "Only you, Min, only-ahhn! Only you."
"That's fucking right, only me," he says, and you can tell he's close, because he's pulsing inside of you, "Scream my name as you come. Let everyone is this god damn club know who-hngh-who you belong to, jagi."
You come with a sob of his name, echoing off of the bathroom walls as your release pushes him over the edge, too, and he fills you with a grunt. He barely gives you a second to pause, hole still fluttering with aftershocks, as he pulls out and uses his fingers to pull your entrance. You whine, sensitive, but he doesn't care, fingers breaching your rim to shove his cum back inside of you as your hole tries to push it out.
"Keep it all in there," he says, voice gravelly and rough from exertion, "Want it dripping down you thighs as we leave this stall, want you to walk back out there and remember who fucked you this good."
"Pretty sure the whole club heard who fucked you," a voice pipes up as the bathroom door clicks closed (when did it open?), "Glad you got it out though, hyung. Would've been a miserable ride home if not."
"Shut up, Hyunjin," Minho responds, though it doesn't have much bite, "Leave us alone."
"Not my fault I have to pee!" He responds, and you have to hide your face in your hands in shame as Minho re-dresses you and drags you out of the stall.
Hyunjin whistles when he sees you, and you think you're going to have to kill everyone in the room and then yourself.
Scenario two is when you're with just him and the members, and you're just a liiiiittle too comfortable with one of the other members. Jisung is an exception to this scenario purely because Minho knows how absurdly close he is with him, so he can't get jealous when you're the same way. He really enjoys seeing the two of you get along particularly well, and while he does like seeing you get along with the other members as well, it's different with them, and something green curls in his chest when you sit pressed next to Hyunjin on the couch, or when Jeongin looks at you with those eyes.
Tonight it's when you choose to curl up on the couch next to Changbin during movie night. It's completely harmless - he knows neither of you think a thing of it - but Minho feels almost...hurt by your choice. Changbin's arm slings around you easily, letting you into his space, and the two of you chat idly, like nothing's wrong, as Chan clicks on some random movie that Minho can't remember the name of.
This is the kind of jealously that's crueler to Minho than it is to you. Because, unlike with the girl in the bar, this isn't amount reminding you that you belong to him (in a way that gets both of you off). This is more personal, because it makes Minho feel like he's not enough. He sees you next to Changbin, someone he knows very well, and a green little part of him feels like you look better there. That Changbin would be a better fit for someone like you, that someone who gets jealous over one of his closest friends doesn't deserve you as his partner.
This is the kind of jealously he doesn't act on right away. It sits and it simmers, collecting into something mean and darker inside of him until the weight of him leaves him quiet on the walk home, fingers drumming against his side. When you reach to hold his hand he flinches and you drop it, confusion written across your face.
This kind of jealously is the hardest to handle because he won't tell you that he was jealous. He embarrassed and ashamed to be thinking and acting the way he is, and he won't let you know what's going on.
His dorm room is quiet and it stays that way, even when you ask what's wrong. He'll give you some sort of non-committal answer and then pull you into bed, burying his face into your shoulder.
These kind of nights dom!jealous!Minho needs something more than a rough fuck. He takes it slow, loves on you. He needs you to remember that, despite how he may act sometimes, he loves you so much it hurts, so much that you're the only thing that keeps him going sometimes.
It's all sweet talk and slow thrusts. Dom!jealous!Minho puts you on your back, legs hiked up around his shoulders, and presses you into a mating press. His mouth never stops moving - whether it's pressing kisses to anywhere he can reach or whispering praises into your ear - and it's overwhelmingly good. He knows exactly how to fuck you and how to make you feel, and he uses it to his advantage.
You're smart, and if you're far enough into your relationship with Minho, you know exactly what's bothering him. You caught a hint of it in the clench of his jaw when you sat down next to Changbin and not him, and you knew it for certain when he couldn't say much more than a few words to you on your way back to his and Jisung's dorm. You knew it in the way that the two of you left before Jisung had time to catch up and walk with you, because you both knew that Jisung and his chattiness would've pulled it out of Minho before you had even made it to the dorm.
On these kinds of nights, the praise needs to go both ways. Your mouth starts to move too, little things at first, mostly just about how good he's making you feel now. You need to ease him into it, need him to start sinking into a warmer, happier headspace as he's fucking into you. He may be in charge of the pace, but this form of dom!jealous!Minho is softer, more willing to bend to your whims. He's in control, but only because someone needs to feel like he is or he'll fall apart.
You start small, little whispered praises of, "You feel so good, jagi, filling me up so well."
He just groans back in response, voice ragged as he pants into your ear. You reach up to tangle your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and use it to guide him down to you, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his mouth - anywhere you can reach. His eyes flutter shut and his thrusts get impossibly deeper, slower as he focuses on the way your pleasure is mixing with his. Every kiss, every thrust, feels like love, like a confession all over again.
"Just like that, fill me up so perfect," you moan when his tip presses against that sweet spot again and again, "So perfect. Love you so much, Minnie, love you so much!"
"I love you, jagi, love you," he pants, and everything blends together from there.
Both of you are speaking but neither of you are really present, floating off as your orgasms grab you together. You tip over at the same time and it's an incredible feeling. You're pretty sure you tell him you love him again and again, and you think he's saying it back, but the room is so hazy, full of sex and sweat and love. This perhaps a rarer variant of dom!jealous!Minho, but it doesn't make it any less real.
Scenario three is when you're in either of the first two scenarios on purpose. If you're trying to rile him up and get him jealous, get him to react a certain way, Minho doesn't take kindly to that. There's no being sly either and playing it off like you didn't know. The second you play into the flirting, or you put yourself in a situation that could be innocent, Minho knows. He's got a sixth sense for you, and no amount of pretending it wasn't deliberate can get you out of punishment, because Minho is always on to you. If you're going to act like a brat and try and get him jealous, that's fine. Just be prepared for the consequences of your actions.
This is the meanest of the dom!jealous!Minho's. He's not kind at all, and there's a chance that he might not let you come for hours when he gets like this. You ask for this kind of treatment if you're acting out, because he will always react the exact same way.
You thought that dom!jealous!Minho was bad in scenario one? Take that and multiply it by ten. You lean into the guy who's making sleazy comments at you at the bar, laughing just a little too loud at his jokes? The second your hand brushes his bicep he drags you home and doesn't say a god damn word in the car, hands clenched in his lap as the driver nervously drives the two of you back to the dorm.
If you try and play innocent and pretend you had no idea what's going on, you're only going to make your punishment worse. Minho is not like Changbin - he doesn't want to tame a brat. But if he has to, Minho is an incredible brat tamer, because your inner brat will very, very rarely come out to play when you know what the punishment that waits you is.
If somehow you were in the mood to tease, something buzzing under your skin that makes it itch and makes you want to act out, you have to be prepared for the consequences. He doesn't speak to you until you're in his bedroom and the door is locked. The sound of the lock echoes through the silent room, and you swallow hard, the part of you that wanted to act out earlier feeling a little less confident now that you're alone with him here.
"Jagi."
You don't respond. You can't, voice caught in your throat as you try your best to blink up innocently at him.
"You're going to strip," he starts, unbuckling his belt and working on the buttons of his pants, "And you're going to sit on the bed, right at the headboard, for me."
"Says who?" You bite back, "Minho, I'm not in the mood."
That's a lie. He knows it is, you know it is, and yet you still say it. You watch his eye twitch, but he doesn't look over at you, continuing to work his own clothes off.
"If you want to lie to me tonight, you won't be coming for at least a week. Do you understand me?"
His voice dips into that controlling, commanding tone that makes arousal shoot down your spine, and your fingers are fumbling to tug off your clothes before you can help it.
"Fine, whatever." You huff out, feigning disinterest, but the wet patch on your underwear is very telling.
You wait patiently for him on the bed once you're nude, watching through lidded eyes as he slowly unbuttons his shirt. He knows it's driving you crazy, thighs clenching and unclenching as more of him is revealed, and when he frees his cock, the way it hits his stomach with a wet pap! makes your mouth fall open before you can stop it. He just grins, lazy hand reaching down to pump himself, watching your thighs squeeze together as he does.
"What happened to not being 'in the mood?'" he says, voice husky and low in a way that makes you want to beg for him.
"You're not playing fair," you retort, "How am I supposed to not get worked up when you look like that?"
"Hm, that's a shame, because I don't think you've earned me today," he responds, still jerking himself off in firm, slow strokes, "Do you know why, jagi?"
Part of you wants to retort. To pretend that you have no idea why Minho is acting like this. But the smarter part of you knows it's only going to hurt so much more if you lie. Dom!jealous!Minho is not kind, not when he's like this, and while you do enjoy the back and forth you have going, you do want to come tonight, and you both know that Minho isn't above making you wait until at least tomorrow morning if he's in the mood for it.
"I was acting out." you respond, though it's through gritted teeth.
"Oh, is that what we call it know?" he responds, finally stepping closer to the bed, "Because I think you were just acting like a slut."
The whimper you let out is involuntary, a broken little sound that his the corners of his mouth curling into a sharp little smirk.
"Oh? Stupid little thing likes being called a slut?" He laughs, mean, when you whimper again, "Glad a dumb little thing like you at least knows what you are. Only sluts whore themselves out to anything that breathes at them."
"I wasn't-"
He grabs your neck with the hand that isn't stroking his cock, so lightning fast that the words in your mouth die off before you can even think about saying them. Your mouth lolls open uselessly, and he leans down and spits into it, hard eyes watching as you swallow it without even having to be told.
"So dirty," he coos, but when he says it like that, it sounds almost endearing, "Do you act like this for all the other boys you sleep with?"
You try to respond, try to tell him that you would never sleep around, but as you try to, he increases the pressure on your neck, and the words get trapped in your throat. The only sound you can make is a choked thing in the back of your throat that fades away when he squeezes just a liiiiittle harder, making your eyes roll back and spots fill your vision.
"Should've known a little whore like you would be into this," he spits out, fingers working his cock a little faster, "Yeah? You like when I use my big hands and choke you 'til you're crying?"
You hadn't even realized the tears had started, and a hot flush rushes to your face in embarrassment, because he hadn't even done anything yet, not really. You were leaking on the bed, squirming under him, and all it had taken you to cry was his hand on your throat and a couple of mean words. It makes you feel small and pathetic, and it makes another gush of arousal leak onto the sheets.
"Fuck." He groans, cock twitching in his hands, fingers unclenching so he can watch the way you gasp for air.
He loves having this power over you - it's dizzying, how easily your bratty behavior folds under his fingers and his sharp words. He wants to tear you to shreds and get to be the one to put you back together again. He wants to sink his teeth in until you're screaming and crying and begging for more all at once. The way you pull him in is intoxicating, and he wants to consume you whole when you look up at him through teary lashes, pleading for something you can't even name.
He uses his loose grip on your neck to toss you into the sheets, grinning when he catches the way your arousal glints against your thighs in the low light.
"Stick your ass up for me."
It wasn't a question, he wasn't asking - it was a demand, one your body was scrambling to complete before you could even catch your breath from how he tossed you so recklessly into the sheets. You're shaking as you get yourself into position, presenting yourself to him easily.
He reaches out and gropes the fat of your ass, fingers kneading into the skin there as he hums. You arch into his touch, eager and needy for anything he'll give you, and he has to choke back a groan to hide how much it affects him.
"A slut like you needs to be reminded who you belong to," he says, voice flat, like it's just a fact of the world, "So you're going to count."
You have no time to ask what he means before the warmth of his hand leaves your skin and he lands a harsh slap on your ass, right where he was kneading it so softly before. The strength of it sends your upper body hurdling into the sheets, and your knees buckle as you struggle to keep yourself upright for him. You almost forgot his instructions, but when he makes a warning noise in the back of his throat, you scramble to form the words he was asking for.
"O-one, one, that was one." You stammer out, voice sounding so far away and he's only landed one hit.
"Good." Was all you got in response, before his hand was coming down on your other cheek, spreading the blossoming pain evenly across your ass.
You're drooling and sobbing by the time you choke out a "twenty!", and it's almost overwhelming how good you feel. It should hurt, but something about the way Minho hits just hard enough to feel, but not so hard that it genuinely hurts, had you leaking onto your thighs and the sheets below you. You're pretty sure if you looked down there would be a puddle of arousal there, but you don't have the time to, because Minho's fingers are teasing at your entrance, fingers pressing down against the sensitive skin at the rim.
You choke out something that sounds like his name, and he coos at you know, demeanor softer but mouth just as sharp.
"Aw, what happened to all that attitude?" He says, and you try to retort. Really, you do! But your words are so heavy on your tongue, and when Minho flips you onto your back, the sting of your ass pressing into the sheets makes all coherent thoughts fly out of your head for a second.
"Do you want it?" Minho says, fingers still circling your rim. He's collected some of the slick arousal that was coating your thighs, and he's using it now to wet your entrance, still not doing more than putting pressure as you clench around nothing.
"I'm soaked, Min, of course I fucking want it-ahn!"
You cut yourself off with a yelp as Minho lands a sharp smack! right against your entrance, wet fingers making the impact sound even more obscene.
"God, thought I smacked that attitude out of you already," he says, and he can hear the way he's rolling his eyes at your behavior, "Must you always be such a fucking pain?"
"Please, I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry," you respond, pressing your ass back towards him in the hopes that will make him touch you again, "So fucking sorry, just-hah-touch me? Please, jagi?"
Calling him jagi now, when you were spread open and waiting for him, was a cruel trick, one that worked more often than not. The name makes his fingers finally breach your entrance, two of them at once, coating in the sticky mess of your arousal. It punches a shattered noise out of your mouth, his fingers brushing just past where you need him to hit the most. Minho knows your body like the back of his hand (perhaps even better than that), which means he knows exactly how to angle his fingers to not hit your sweet spot. His fingers aren't in you for your pleasure, and he makes it known in the way he shoves another finger in before you're stretched enough for it.
You hiss, and he slows his fingers a bit, just thrusting them shallowly, because while he wants this to hurt, he's not actually cruel enough to hurt you that much. He wants the burn of pain to bleed directly into your pleasure, because breaking you down and making your bratty attitude melt is the best part of this, and you give him the best results when he mixes the pleasure and the pain just right.
"I think you're open enough," he says, even though you're certainly not, "I'm going to use you now, and you're not going to come until I've filled you up and marked that stupid hole of yours with my cum. Do you understand?"
You nod frantically, but that's not enough for him. His fingers slip out of you and find purchase against your hips as he bucks forward, dragging his cock right against where you want him the most.
"Use your words," he chastises, "Or did I already fuck you too dumb?"
"Fuck you," you grit, though the breathlessness of your voice gives you away, "Fuck me already, damn it!"
His fingers dig in harsher to your hips, and the rock of his cock against you stops.
"Speak to me like that again, I fucking dare you."
It feels like the room dips two degrees, the icy tone he's taken on nothing to mess with. You swallow, mouth suddenly dry, and shiver against his hold when repeats himself. Because you can't, not when his tone shifts like that.
"That's what I fucking thought," he says, and his hips cant forward shallowly again, "Now ask nicely, or I'm going to take care of myself and come all over your stupid slut face instead."
"Fuck me, please," you whine, leaking in rivulets now, body oversensitive and needy, "Please, Min? Need you, need you, please, it was never anyone else, I belong to you, please fuck me, please please please-"
You gasp as he slips into you in one clean thrust, so incredibly deep that it has stars forming behind your eyes. The stretch of him burns, but it's the kind of burn that sends heat through your veins and makes you try and buck back into his thrusts. He doesn't give you time to adjust, because you don't deserve it, and the pace he sets from the get go is hard and mean and angled just right to press the head of his cock directly into your sweet spot with every thrust.
You know you're not supposed to come before him, but how can you help yourself when he gets the angle so perfect? You're crying again, thick tears streaming down your face, and you try to bury your face into the sheets to muffle the sounds you're making, but he won't let you, fingers tangling into your hair. He doesn't pull, because he doesn't have to - you're so pliant like this that your neck automatically arches into his touch the second his fingers sink into your hair. It's pathetic, and it makes his head spin.
"Gonna come, Minho, I can't-fuck! C-can't hold it, I can't, 's comin', I'm coming, I'm gonna-"
He sighs as you explodes around him, hole fluttering around his cock as you shatter. He sounds so disappointed that you can hear it through the static in your brain and it makes you cry harder, hole still weakly pulsing around his length.
"So fucking useless," he sighs again, slipping his cock out of you, "Can't even do one thing right. Such a fucking slut for cock that you couldn't follow my one direction?"
You wail, trying to apologize through tears, but he just sighs again before manhandling you onto your back. From this angle, you can see his face, can see how flush he is, how his pupils practically swallow his eyes when he gets a glimpse of your face.
"That's fine. I'm just use you like a toy until I come. That's what a slut like you deserves, after all."
You don't get more of a warning than that before he's thrusting back into you, fingers now pressing into the fat of your thighs to force them back, pressing you into a mating press. The new angle makes him sink impossibly deeper into you, and you wail as he pushes you into overstimulation. The edges of your vision are blurry, and you feel so sensitive, but when Minho looks at you with those dark eyes and thrust into you like that, it's all worth it.
"Gonna fucking come," he pants out, voice hoarse from groaning, "Gonna, guh-gonna fill you s-so fucking full, 'til every fucking loser at the bar sees you round and swollen with my kids-"
It doesn't matter if you can get pregnant or not. Minho's too far gone to care, too obsessed with the way you fold under him, the way the image of you pregnant in his head is making his head swim. He wants that, wants to mark you in a way that feels permanent, wants to put a ring on your fingers that glints in the low light of those shitty bars so that everyone knows you're his.
"Want that," you sob, the edge of another orgasm building under your skin, "Want to be full of you, love you, I love you, please please please fill me up, please!"
"Who do you belong to?" he says as his thrusts start to get erratic, his body collapsing forward as his own orgasm nears, "Tell me. Tell me as I-fuck-fucking come and f-fill you up."
"You, I belong to you-"
Neither of you can form words anymore as you come around him, and the combination of your words and the tight clench of your hole around him sends him barreling over the edge with a call of your name on his lips. He pulses as he comes, coming so much that you can feel it pushing out of your hole and dripping down your skin onto the sheets. It's nasty, and you hiss as he pulls out of you, body feeling like jello from the way that Minho treated you.
He surges forward and kisses you, the first time he has since you've teased him like this, and it's everything he can't say right now without breaking the moment. It's so soft, sweet in a way that has you melting against him, and it's a steady reminder that he loves you. That any names he called you in the moment he didn't actually mean. That he does trust you, that he does love you more than he'll ever say. The aftercare on nights like these will be silent until you're both sinking back into the sheets, but it's perhaps still the sweetest aftercare you'll ever get, all soft touches and loving kisses and gentle coos as he cleans the two of you up.
Anyways. Dom!jealous!MInho is hot as fuck. Thank you for reminding us, anon!
nsfw ! — thinking about ex!ellie with a marking kink. she just couldnt help herself when you ended up back at her place. and obviously youve been with other people since her, but she fucking hated the thought, loathed it even. shes fucking you so good (the both of you knew this but youd never tell her this), her strap hitting your g-spot has your eyes rolling.
ellie wouldve been holding you close while sinking her teeth into any part of your body she could. your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. it feels like shes all over you all at once. shes grunting softly while shes listening to those oh so pretty noises she enjoys so much. she sinks her teeth into your skin one more time for good measure while you’re on the brink of your orgasm. it was hard enough to draw blood, and she laps it up with no problem. while you’re cumming for her, she smiles, but it wasnt a content one.
she admires her work for a second, running her hand across the marks while you were catching your breath. “i wonder how long itll take before you come running back to me again after saying youre ’done with me’.” she jeers, making you roll your eyes.
aestras notes: i will not be elaborating on this until further notice. 😇 i didnt proofread this too much so please dont kill me if theres grammatical errors. 💔💔 writing to you while i am also not wearing my effing glasses!!!!! i hope it was good at least tho xx. rbs/comments r appreciated cause im def chronically online and will respond in like thirty seconds!! 😜
trying to write dirty talk is already difficult. trying to write dirty talk in polish via google translate when i don't speak a word of the language is going to give me hives. i'm certain adder will probably read like a stilted horny grandpa to any native polish speaker because i do NOT trust that google translate is capturing the "hey wanna fuck?" vibes rather than "prithee, wouldst thou like to engage in copulation with me?" overly formal vibes that i know machine translation is prone to. either that or i fear "hello want sum Fucked now?" levels of translation. truly i'm suffering more than christ on the cross here for gay fanfiction 😔
Hi, Eve!! 💕 How are you?? Soooo I know it says your requests are closed.. but.. 👉🏻👈🏻 Can I ask for a special request? If you don’t want to it’s okay, I understand. But, you yourself were wondering what happened the morning of the proposal fic 👀 so um... purdy please? With a cherry on top? Thank you 💕💕
THE WAY ALL OF YOU ALWAYS SEND THE NAUGHTY STUFF WHEN I SLEEP WOAH- EVERYONE- Y’ALL THINK I’M HOR-KNEE 25/8 HERE- *insert Pikachu meme* *fake shock*
Is that the reputation I have?
Can’t fight with that though, let’s go! EVERYTHING FOR MY (not so) INNOCENT TAYLOR CHAN! Smut with sausage boy ara ara~ but you said please with a cherry on top- I CANNOT RESIST! PLEASE DON’T ABUSE THAT POWER- THE POWER TO MAKE ME WRITE SMUT ARGH
This is... kind of part one to this? To Taylor’s adorable proposal fic- I STILL GET GOOSEBUMPS OMG- READ IT AFTER THE SMUT TO GET YOUR SOUL CLEANSED!
Love you, Taylor <3
___________________
Something wet touches your neck, and you reflexively turn away, still half-asleep.
“Emi, stop.” you mumble and bury your face into the pillow.
“Rude.” a hoarse and husky voice makes you turn around, and you look right into your boyfriends sleepy, yet still incredibly handsome face.
“That- that was you?” you ask, your voice breaking in your sleepy state. You yawn and press your face against his bare chest. Hirugami immediately wraps his arms around you and holds you close.
“You should improve your tongue game then. I thought you were Emi.”
His grip around you tightens for a second- almost too short for you to notice. But you know that he wouldn’t let that slip.
“My tongue game, hmm?” His hand moves from your hip to your face to softly pull your chin up to make you look at him. He has a determination in his eyes that you only know from him when he plays volleyball.
“Let me show you my tongue game then.” His lips find yours, and you moan when he quickly opens his mouth to grant you access. His tongue finds yours, and circles around it, quickly asserting his dominance. You moan again and press your body closer to him, suddenly feeling something else besides tiredness in your body. You can’t deny that he makes you hungry and needy for more. But when you wrap a leg around him, you feel his erection pressing against your core, and you know that he feels it too. He has probably been hard since he woke up- but the way your body feels so good against him does nothing to help him calm down.
He suddenly pulls back, a small string of saliva connecting your lips, before it breaks. He smiles down at you, his hands shortly squeezing your hips before he turns you to lay on your back. He hovers over you with his bare chest, his boxers hardly covering his hardened cock. So fucking hot, especially in the morning.
“My tongue game- can’t believe you said that.” he mumbles, kissing down your neck, and pulling your shirt up to reveal your chest. “I’ll show you what my tongue can do.”
He starts to kiss and suck on your chest, making his way down to your hardened buds, and you bury your hand in his hair when he licks on your most sensitive spots. “Sachi- more-” you moan encouragingly, pressing his face closer to your body. Your press your legs together in the attempt to get some friction- an action doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
But he just smiles smugly before he moves downwards, leaving a trail of sloppy and wet kisses on your body until he reaches your hips.
“Sachi- stop teasing.” you squirm under his lips, already tugging at your own underwear.
“Not so fast.” Hirugami starts kissing down your thighs, ignoring your attempts to direct him between your legs. His teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you clamp your hands into the sheets, while you press your body against him. But his hands hold your hips still and keep you from moving further.
“What do we have here?” He looks at your wet panties with a raised brow. “Thought my tongue game was bad?”
“No- Sachi, please- you know what I want.” the way you moan his name makes his cock throb- fuck, you’re way too hot when you’re desperate for him to fuck you. But not so fast. He presses two fingers against the wet spot, and grins at the way your hips buck into his touch. So desperate already.
“So tell me- who’s tongue game is bad?” He pushed the panties to the side and gives you a short lick, and a shiver runs down your spine.
“N-not yours!” you yelp, already out of breath, struggling to find words in your aroused state.
“That’s my good girl. And what do you want right now?”
A finger circles at your entrance, barely pushing inside, while he licks along your folds, and caresses your clit with the tip of his tongue.
“You! Sachi, I want you!” you moan, not even caring to be quiet. “Plase, Sachi, I want your tongue, Sachi please!” He is way too good at making you beg, and he is fully aware of the effect he has on you. At any other day he would have made you beg for more, edged you as long as he could until you were a drooling mess under him- but not today. He should better keep you in a good mood today.
“Everything for you, my love.” And with that he buries his face between your legs, starting to eat you out like a starved man- two of his fingers now fucking your cunt while he licks and softly sucks on your clit. He uses just the right amount of pressure against your sensitive sex to get you to moan his name loudly while you get closer to your high. He curls his fingers inside you, smiling when he notices how much you were creaming around him- how much of a mess you were going to make.
“Cum for me. Let me hear your sweet voice.” he groans in your pussy, and his voice sends you over the edge. You scream his name, begging him to keep going, telling him how much you love him, while you clench around his fingers at your high. Your thighs squeeze his face, causing him to almost cum in his boxers. Fuck, he wishes that he could make you feel that good everyday. And maybe he could. If you let him.
He rides you through your orgasm, his fingers scissoring until your body relaxes again. One last kiss, and he pulls away with a grin, his chin wet from your arousal, but he couldn’t care less about that when he sees you like that. God, he needs more. He needs some relief himself- and he also wants to hear you moan his name again and again. The neighbors probably already heard your screams- you were far from quiet- but it doesn’t matter to him. He softly pulls your panties down, to reveal the mess he made. You whimper and try to close your legs, but he just keeps them open with his strong hands.
“Keep your legs open. I’m not done with you.”
Well- fuck. Poor neighbors.
______________
Extra:
“You’re the best boyfriend ever, Sachi.” You smile while you trace patterns on his biceps, your head resting on his bare chest. He chuckles, and starts to play with your hair- he always gets so soft after being intimate with you.
“Best boyfriend, hmm. Maybe something else soon.” he mumbles under his breath, but when you look confused at him, he only shakes his head.
“Let’s go. We could both use a shower now.”
And quiet, so quiet that you couldn’t hear it he added something.
content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit
notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂↕️❤️
Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games.
Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit.
He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality.
It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in.
But that’s it! That’s all!
He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it.
Assholes.
He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.
Whatever, fuck them.
Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions.
Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret.
That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.
The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it.
There’s a view, but it’s not the city.
“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”
He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing.
If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you.
He wears you out.
Yet still, at the end of every night—
“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.”
You are so fucking mean.
The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know.
Now he’s a little less emotional and more…
“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”
You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”
“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?”
“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it.
Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.
“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.”
He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door.
“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”
“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out.
“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two.
You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”
“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”
“Yup! Bye Gojo.”
He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”
He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face.
Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21.
You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better.
Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life.
He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.
It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of.
You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids.
Spoiler: It didn’t work.
He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.
Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.
He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself.
It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth.
Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process.
You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.
He still opened his mouth.
“Great sauna, isn’t it?”
Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.
The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh.
“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it.
It wasn’t.
“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.
You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks.
“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile.
You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame.
“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”
He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up.
“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”
You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”
“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”
Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does.
You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”
“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?
“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.”
“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.”
Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16.
“Oh wow.”
You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless.
From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once.
Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??
You: typing…
You:
You: typing…
You: turn 21
Unknown Number: bet
You read that response and immediately regretted it.
He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in.
And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position.
You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you.
And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less.
He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again.
He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past.
It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public.
It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up.
He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public.
Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.
You: Do not fucking embarrass me.
You: Don’t even come near me.
S. Gojo: fine .
It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.
The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty.
He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.
Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours.
That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit.
He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head.
“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”
“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”
“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.
“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”
“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious.
To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.
“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”
“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”
“Stop. Talking.”
He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.
You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.
With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.
On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there.
Truly.
Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home.
You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.
It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him.
There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though.
There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.
Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on.
—
S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:
You: what do u want
S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔
You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it
S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please
S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today
You: im not even home
S. Gojo: ik i have a key
You: you took my spare key?
You: give it back
S. Gojo: today? (:
You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess
S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess
You: what do you even wanna come over for
S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later
You: why
S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me
You: why
S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years
S. Gojo: they’re not over it
You: pig
S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!
You: please don’t
You: but ya, no. go to the library or something
S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE
S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs
S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE
You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with
S. Gojo: BRO???
You: kiddinggg
You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed
S. Gojo: i got u
S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want
You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak
S. Gojo: ):
You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway.
Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone.
You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”
“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen.
“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place.
“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”
“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”
He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”
“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”
You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”
“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?”
“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”
“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted.
Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him.
You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look.
“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists.
“Hungry enough.”
“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks.
You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?”
“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”
“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.”
“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.”
“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck.
“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”
Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.”
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.”
He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display.
“No?”
“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”
And distracted you were.
Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.
He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”
“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?
He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up.
“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”
“I don’t know,” you murmur.
“Were you thinking at all?”
“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”
“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”
“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”
“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him.
He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck.
It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?
The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself.
He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach.
“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear.
“What are you–”
He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.
“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.
He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them.
You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him.
He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.
“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you.
“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.”
“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again.
You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.
“I know— M’sorry, baby.”
He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear.
“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced.
“T-too much,” you sputter out.
“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”
“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”
He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles.
His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock.
And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it.
“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?”
You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”
“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”
“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”
“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”
“Get me my fucking food.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face.
. . .
He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him.
He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine.
“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.
“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one.
You crack it open as you turn to look at him.
“Can I help you?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”
“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”
“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink.
You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”
“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself.
The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”
The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”
“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”
“No— appreciate you asking, though.”
“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”
He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next.
You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.
“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”
“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”
“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment.
He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”
“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”
“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time.
You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.”
He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”
There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”
“I am,” he scoffs.
“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.
You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you.
“I am your friend, right?” he asks.
You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer.
“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”
“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?”
“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”
There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.
He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”
You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”
You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”
. . .
Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight.
For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong.
The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.
It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.
Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.”
Mind you, they were in the same year.
She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”
He shortens it. “M’not interested.”
“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull.
And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you.
“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”
You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face.
Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).
“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”
The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.
“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.
Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”
“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”
Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”
Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go.
“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair.
Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”
Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face.
The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit.
It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night.
He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight.
After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.
“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything.
He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”
“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”
“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.
“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”
“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly.
“No.”
He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer.
“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”
He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”
“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”
Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face.
“Maybe.”
He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”
At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.”
“So you can fuck with my sleep?”
“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”
“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”
“I don’t have any!”
“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”
“No, wait—”
“Good night~”
Click.
Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up.
The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh.
“Fuck this.”
. . .
Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off.
Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality.
“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.
You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever.
“What are you doing here?!”
Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”
He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.
Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”
“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”
“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.
“Thank you.”
Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy.
The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him.
“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”
“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers.
You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.
But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice.
“Good night.”
. . .
Satoru wakes up twice.
Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep.
Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him.
He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.”
“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.
There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”
“That’s mean as fuck.”
“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.”
“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”
“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”
“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view.
As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone.
Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever.
It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”
“M’not,” Satoru mumbles.
Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.
“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all.
“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”
He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”
“I will.”
Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you.
Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect.
One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek.
. . .
It’s been several.
Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes.
His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful.
Boring as fuck.
He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations.
It's like he just expects you to talk to him.
He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date.
And also your last.
. . .
Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper.
He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved.
He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.
Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you.
After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you.
You’re not sure, honestly.
It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion.
You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels.
At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex.
You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him.
. . .
Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.
And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head.
At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him.
As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him.
He’s still a safe choice.
You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future.
You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.
Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better.
You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there.
You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?”
He slowly shakes his head, humming indecisively. “Not yet.”
You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?”
He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.”
It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch.
“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?”
You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard.
“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.”
Why the fuck would he take you here?
“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade. “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?”
“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest.
“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.”
It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop.
You can absolutely check other places out.
Does this guy not understand free will exists?
“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?”
“Exactly,” he proudly nods.
“There you two are!”
…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is.
At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine.
He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze.
You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection.
“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.”
Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction.
Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand.
“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?”
Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru.
“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.”
“Wait— really?”
Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere.
He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet.
“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.
“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.”
“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.”
His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in.
“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring.
“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.”
Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”
“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.”
Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy.
And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.
He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him.
Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too.
Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him.
Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?”
“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.
“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.”
“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!”
“What’s wrong with him?!”
“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”
“Not everything is about looks—“
He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”
Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.”
“Yet?!” his voice broke.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.
“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”
Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?”
“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says.
“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”
“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath.
“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”
You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”
“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”
You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has.
“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”
He gets up.
There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet.
“Where’s your car?” you ask.
“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it.
“Ow—”
“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder.
“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”
You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go.
“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”
“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”
“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”
“Because you—”
“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”
