This place is not a place of honor

24 | MDNI | 18+ Blog | X Reader Fanfic

[saintshigaraki]

control freak 2d man x perpetually sleepy reader. works great because the control freak will know exactly where you'll be when they leave for work....lazing about the house

[luxcuriousao3]

30s-something virgin!König mistakes you for a prostitute when you start flirting with him one night at a club that Horangi and Krueger dragged him to. (The skimpy little outfit you have on adds to this misunderstanding--he's far from knowledgeable on trendy clubbing fashion).

He doesn't say anything until after the two of you have fucked, though, when he asks you how much he owes you for the best night of his life.

To say you're offended is an understatement.

Cue a flustered, awkward, newly deflowered König trying desperately to apologize to a furious you, all while trying to comprehend that a woman was genuinely interested in him for the first time--and quickly coming to an unshakable realization that he is not willing to let this once-in-a-lifetime girl go.

[wreckitwrites]

Im not really into piss kinks, but I AM into creepy disgusting men,

so imagine König abducting you and making you his basement wife, when he begins to ‘consummate’ the marriage you remember an emergency self defence tip you read online about wetting yourself so your attacker gets grossed out and leaves you alone, but when you release your bladder instead of stopping he just moans and cums in his pants

(You just confirmed you’re perfect for him)

[softaestluv]

Reader who is so excited to finally sleep with Johnny; he talks a big game. Smiling at him as you straddle his hips, skin buzzing because you’re finally going to get a good lay.

He kisses you a little clumsy and his hands are shaking at your hips, but you chalk it up to him being excited. But poor virgin! Johnny is so fucking nervous, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, and he doesn’t know how to tell you.

[rawme-price]

Giving ghost a portal pussy thinking you might finally get that rough, brutal sex you always crave while he's gone...

Only for him to spend his time making out with your cunt like it's your lips. Peppering sweet kisses to your clit, licking into you slow and warm, almost longing. Ghost is horribly sappy when he's away from you and just wants to give you kisses. He could spend hours with the portal pressed to his lips and a hand squeezing his bulge.

Half the time he doesn't even make you cum, or only takes you out to give you a quick peck. It's absolutely torture and the second he gets home you're tying him up in retaliation.

[saintshigaraki]

crawling under tomuras hoodie and resting my ear right over his heart

[saintshigaraki]

poking my head out from his collar and making him give me a kiss every 10 minutes or so before he goes back to his video games

[saintshigaraki]

when a yanderes punishment for you is coddling to the point of insane infantilization

[l-minus]

if I say noncon pussy eating

[willowser]

this is not a new concept but lately i've been thinking about bakugou who comes across porn in his teens and is so horrified it has him avoiding sex and intimacy and vulnerability for YEARSSS

[miggiisdumb]

being overhaul’s doll wife is horrible bc you have no free will and he kinda doesn’t treat you like a person, but at least you can stay home all the time and eat good everyday and your linens are always freshly washed and he has this thing about compulsively keeping you in a pretty room and putting ribbons on you.

[miggiisdumb]

actually the worst part is that there’s some semblance of domesticity to it. you used to fight back more at the start of it all until overhaul very clearly threatened something tragic for your ankles, but now that you go along with whatever he wants it all feels very…. nice- in a foreboding kind of way.

unfortunately, it’s very comfortable to be preened over. he knows what he’s doing and how well he does it. overhaul avoids touching anyone at all cost, but with you it’s almost intimate- he takes his time in rubbing a sponge down your limbs during baths, in smoothing any folds and wrinkles out of your outfit when he’s done dressing you, in sitting you down for makeup or for lunch or for him to pick the right shoes to put on you like a princess (it’s always heels. the difficult kind to walk on. that way you’re always sitting or standing in place or walking slow- always in need of his help in every possible chance).

and you figure out the whole thing is sort of cathartic to him. a meditation. something he does to unwind. sometimes, you even hear him humming. sometimes you’ll even have a normal conversation about his day or work. sometimes, he’ll even take that wretched plague mask that haunts your dreams off and those days feel like you’re just a very doted wife with a very affectionate husband. it all feels so surreal, like a dream, that you so often forget that you’re trapped in this house for as long as overhaul sees fit.

he has combed the fight right out of you, wrapped you up in his spiderweb of a dollhouse that you can no longer escape from (not alive at least).he made you so utterly dependent of him and what you hate the most is that you’ve come to enjoy being his little prized possession.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Vigilance (Dark!Valarr Targaryen)

Pairing: Dark/Yandere soft! Valarr Targaryen x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: During a rare visit to your father’s House, everyone commends Valarr for accompanying you and being such a dedicated husband. Only you know that his dedication is a mere disguise for his obsessive vigilance over you. 

WARNINGS: Possessive/Overprotective; Toxic Marriage. 

AN: Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, thank you. Enjoy 🤗

--

"I do believe your lord husband is admiring you. Again.” your sister mentions, as casually as if commenting on the weather and yet the smile on her lips grows with amusement. 

You steal a discreet glance backwards, finding your husband’s eyes upon your figure. As it is expected by now. 

Your father and older brother flank Valarr, brewing a conversation that certainly involves politics, judging from your father's eloquent gestures. But the second in line to the throne, despite his focused semblance and the occasional participation, does not share of their interest. So much is clear with the way his eyes keep finding you every few moments as if to check for your presence. 

“I cannot believe how enamoured the Prince is for you.” your sister jabs with a soft chuckle.

“He’s only stationed at the other side of the chamber and yet he looks at you as if you’ve been parted for months.”

Although she means no harm, your sister’s commentary strike a sensitive nerve inside you.

You do not tell her that if it wasn’t for Prince Baelor’s intervention, your oh-so-enamoured husband would have never allowed you to travel as far from the Red Keep for something as insignificant as your mother’s nameday as he claimed so.

Nor do you tell her of Valarr’s cold, tense mood during the entirety of the travel and how easily he scolded you over the smallest things such as speaking to maids without necessity or God forbid, glance at the knights. 

You wish you could tell her of every single thing regarding Valarr that keeps you awake at night, dreading for the arrival of a new dawn but your septa had always drilled into you that a marriage’s commotion matters only between husband and wife.

And as such, you take a small breath and bring forth a polite smile. 

“Prince Valarr is a considerate husband.” you say. That has your sister rolling her eyes with a pinch to your arm. 

“Considerate. Oh my.” she shakes her head, amused. “Do not be modest with your words, sister. Any person can see how much he adores you.” 

You retain your smile with much effort. 

–

The maids are quiet, doing quick work of lightening up the fire and the candles around the chamber. Their heads are low, knowing better than to show any reaction to a conversation that does not concern them directly.

You, on the other hand, cannot stop yourself from feeling utterly mortified. 

“This place is an old skeleton. Old walls and dust-filled chambers and yet this is what my dear wife was so eager to visit.”

Valarr sighs, contempt in his eyes as he looks around your chamber, the same one where you have spent the majority of your life until becoming a Princess.

Quite modest in comparison to the chamber’s you and Valarr share at the Red Keep, but it’s far from the poor description Valarr claims. You do not argue though, knowing better than to indulge into Valarr’s hatred for your House’s castle, should you defend it any further. 

“I shall hope these frail walls do not crumble upon us while we sleep.”

One of the maids glances at you. Your cheeks feel alight with shame. 

“The weather was quite nice today, was it not, husband?” you rush to change subjects, knowing if given the opportunity Valarr would speak ill of your father’s castle the entire evening. “Such lovely sun over the sky today.”

“Nice indeed.” Valarr agrees. “I do pray the nice weather does its good over the harvest, Gods know how much your father needs it. Even the peasants at King’s Landing eat better than here.”  

A small noise escapes from both you and one of the maids, but the woman is smart enough to muffle her noise with another cough. Your shock is evident to be easily concealed. 

“What-”

Valarr tilts his head, breaking the bread on the small chamber table, only to drop it on the floor.

“Stale bread.”

“It’s not stale.” you argue with a small voice. 

“Perhaps, but the bread during supper was. Not even the meat was formidable, more like hard salt beef.” he says. “If such is the food they serve to the realm’s prince, then I do not want to imagine what your father fed you for all these years.”

Wetness gathers in your eyes at his cruel remark and Valarr immediately takes notice, cooing as he reaches closer. His hand cups your cheek, warm and solid. 

“I only meant that you’d be fed more properly had we stayed in the Red Keep.” he shushes.  “That you’d be taken care of properly had we stayed home.”

“This is home. And I am being taken care of properly.”

You desire nothing but to bite your tongue, the words having slipped out far too easily. Valarr’s eyes narrow. 

“This was your home.” he corrects you. “Not anymore though.”

You don’t possess enough willpower in yourself to correct him back. 

So, you nod and bend your head, staring at floor as Valarr continues to pick apart on the walls and food and people that hold a special place in your heart.

–

The next day sets Valarr’s nerves on fire. 

Your husband becomes more tense and stiff with each hour spent in your father’s estate. The castle is overflowing with guests, family members and high-lords from honorable houses.

Duty forces you to greet and engage with them, but such a task is easier said than done as Valarr’s tense stare follows you. He keeps appearing by your side, hand possessively latching to your shoulder as he politely steers the conversation away from you.

Lords ask for your hand to a dance and yet none is accomplished in their request as Valarr subtly excuses you, under the pretense of your mother calling upon you or that are required for a task that does not exist. 

He grows irked, so much you can see it in the cracks of his serene facade. His eyes start narrowing down and his smiles become strained. Each and every person that utters a word towards you has him stiffening by your side, fingers tightening to a bunch.

By supper, you’ve excused yourself to your chamber, claiming a light ache in the head, unable to keep yourself around so many people with Valarr’s poor mood looming over you. 

Valarr is quick in following you, closing the door to your chamber with unnecessary strength. After pressing a kiss to your forehead, he steps near the fireplace, staring at the small flames with his jaw tightly pressed.

“Lord Ashford kept looking at you.” he reveals, cold anger in his voice. “Lord Bolton kept praising your beauty. And Lord Baratheon attempted to dance with you.”

“...I-”

“Had I not married you, they’d be swarming and pestering your father for your hand. Fighting like pigs to see you warm their beds.”

You twist your fingers nervously. By now you’ve come to realize that when Valarr’s jealousy has his imagination running wild, the words that escape from his lips aren’t the nicest. 

“I’m sure that’s not-”

“Doesn’t matter.” Valarr interrupts, turning to you. “We’ll be leaving this pathetic circus soon enough. My father has sent word that I might be needed back soon. Hence this visit could be shortened by few days.”

Your eyes widen at that, moist gathering in them. 

“Wha-No, Valarr, you assured me we’d stay until the end of my mother’s nameday festivities.” 

“My father would not request for me, had it not been of a matter of great importance.” he cuts you off, staring at you with a downturn of his lips. “Your mother will surely understand that we must answer to our duty.”

The words rush out of your mouth, an helpless attempt. 

“Could I not stay for a few days longer?”

Valarr looks at you, a frown in his handsome face, upset and incredulous that you’d bring up such a possibility. 

“I will not leave you unattended.” 

Valarr’s tone is firm and sharp, allowing little space to argue. A foolish attempt from your part, really.

The only reason you were able to attend was because Valarr was able to accompany you, your lord husband forbidding you from travelling on your own, even if there would be an impressive escort of knights, members of the Kingsguard and maids surrounding you at all times. 

“But-”

“That’s enough, wife.” Valarr gives you a stern look. 

He kisses your tear-stained cheek, soft lips catching on the tears that gently roll down. 

“Bid your goodbyes to your family. I don’t believe we’ll be returning any time soon.”

[pensivveprincess]

Honeyed Murmurs

The way Ser Duncan the Tall spoke to his horses—you would've thought Sweetfoot was his wife. Soft and honeyed, deliciously sweet. "Easily startled, they are," he would say, "need a bit of encouragement is all."

Any hint of skittishness and it's "it's alright, darlin'" or "that's my good girl".

And former noble lady/companion!reader is awfully jealous. She's easily startled too. She needs encouragement. She's a good girl.

Dunk doesn't know why his lady pouts whenever he tends to the horses. Why her sweet face goes red and she seems to upset.

Egg tells him one day, "You coo to the horses more oft than to her. It's insulting." Dunk, as thick as ever, responds, "I do not coo. And she is a lady, I cannot address her as I do the horses."

But the next time she startles at a loud sound or pouts about the stale bread, he tries it. His voice lowers and he's murmuring sweetly, "It's alright, darlin'. There, now, you're alright."

And the way she flushes and instantly quits her fussing is unmistakable. She quiets and she's all soft and pliant and his and he'd never stop speaking if she responded like that every time (she will).

[torusbabe]

mdni "Arranged Marriage to the Heartless" 18+ Naoya Zenin x Fem!Reader

The door slides shut behind Naoya with the softest click, but it might as well have been a prison gate locking. The room smells of cedar and new tatami and the faint jasmine oil someone thought would make this feel romantic. It doesn’t. Nothing about tonight feels like anything except obligation wrapped in silk.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

His haori is already half-unfastened; pale gold silk parts over the hard planes of his chest as he shrugs it off one shoulder, then the other, letting it fall in a careless puddle beside the low table. His hair is still perfect—too perfect—platinum strands falling just so across his forehead like he stepped out of a painting instead of a day spent pretending this wedding mattered to anyone.

You’re kneeling near the futon in your own white kimono, the last layer you were allowed to keep after the maids stripped away everything else. The air is cool against the bare skin of your calves. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat.

He finally turns those cold honey eyes on you.

“Undress.”

No greeting. No “wife.” No softness. Just the flat command, like he’s telling a servant to fetch tea.

Your fingers tremble only once as you reach for the obi. The silk whispers as it unravels. Layer after layer pools around your knees until you’re bare—completely bare—and the lamplight licks over every inch of you like it’s trying to memorize what he’s about to claim.

Naoya doesn’t speak again.

He watches, though. Watches the way your breasts shift when you breathe too fast. Watches the nervous flutter of your stomach. Watches the way your thighs press together instinctively before he gives the next order.

“Lie back.”

You do.

The futon is cool against your spine. You spread your hair out like a dark halo because you don’t know what else to do with your hands. He kneels at your feet—slow, deliberate—then hooks both hands under your knees and opens you.

No preamble.

No kiss.

Just the blunt reality of his palms sliding up the insides of your thighs, thumbs dragging along the tenderest skin until you’re spread wide and trembling under the weight of his stare.

He exhales once—sharp, almost surprised.

Your pussy is… soft. Plush. The outer lips are fat and full, flushed a deep embarrassed rose even in the low light. A faint sheen already clings to the seam; you hate how obvious it is that your body is answering him even when your mind is screaming to stay numb.

Naoya’s fingers flex against your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, but his gaze is locked on your cunt like he’s never seen anything so obscene and perfect at the same time. One long finger traces the outer curve of your mound—slow, reverent almost—feeling the give of the flesh, the way it yields and springs back. He presses just enough to watch it dimple under the pad of his finger, then lets go and watches it bounce softly back into place.

A low sound slips out of his throat. Not quite a groan. More like… discovery.

He hooks two fingers at the top of your slit and parts you.

The wet sound is loud in the silence.

Your folds open for him like petals soaked in honey—glistening, swollen, your clit already peeking out fat and flushed at the hood. He stares. Long enough that heat crawls up your chest and burns behind your eyes. You want to close your legs. You want to beg him to stop looking. You want—

“Eyes on me.”

His voice is rougher than before. Lower. Almost velvet over broken glass.

You snap your gaze up to his.

Those pale lashes frame eyes gone dark at the edges, pupils blown. He holds your stare while his thumbs slide down, spreading you wider—holding your pussy open so he can see every twitching inch. Your entrance flutters under the exposure; a bead of slick slips out and drips down toward the futon.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. The praise is so soft it feels like violence.

Then he lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue is slow. Flat. He licks from your perineum all the way up—broad stripe that drags over your hole, through your folds, and ends curled around your clit. You choke on air.

He doesn’t rush.

He savors.

His lips close around your clit—soft suck, gentle pull—and your hips jerk before you can stop them. One big hand clamps down on your thigh, pinning you open while the other slides under your ass, lifting you just enough that he can bury his face deeper.

He eats like a man starved.

Tongue swirling lazy circles around your clit, then flicking the underside in quick little lashes that make your toes curl. He kisses it—open-mouthed, obscene—then sucks again, harder this time, until your thighs shake and a broken whimper spills out of you.

He groans into your cunt at the sound.

The vibration rockets through you.

He pulls back just enough to look—lips shiny, chin wet, eyes fever-bright—and then he dives back in. This time he spears his tongue inside you—fucking you with it in slow, filthy strokes while his nose grinds against your clit. Your hands fist the sheets; the rustle is loud, frantic. Your breathing is louder. His is ragged against your soaked skin.

He switches again—sucks your clit like it’s candy, tongue laving the swollen bud in tight relentless circles. Your hips buck; he lets you ride his face for one greedy second before he pins you down harder, growls low in his throat, and doubles down.

You’re dripping down his chin now. You can hear it—wet, sloppy sounds every time his tongue plunges back inside or his lips smack against your folds. Your clit is so fat and sensitive it almost hurts when he tongues it; hurts so good your eyes roll back even though he told you to keep looking.

He notices.

He pulls off with a wet pop, lips red and swollen, and rasps against your pulsing cunt:

“Eyes. On. Me.”

You force them open.

He smirks—just a flash of teeth—then seals his mouth over your clit again and sucks hard.

Your back bows off the futon.

The room fills with the wet symphony of him devouring you—sucking, licking, kissing every inch of your soft, dripping pussy like he’s trying to drink you whole. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs hard enough to bruise. His tongue lashes faster. Harder.

You’re close.

You’re so fucking close and he knows it.

He flattens his tongue and grinds it against your clit in slow, filthy circles while staring straight into your eyes—daring you to look away, daring you to come apart while he watches every second of it.

You don’t know if you hate him.

You don’t know if you’ll ever stop shaking.

But right now, with his mouth locked on your cunt and his eyes burning holes through your soul, all you can do is break.

He doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

The second your hips start that helpless little grind against his mouth—chasing, begging without words—he pulls back completely. Lips glistening, tongue dragging slow across the lower one to catch the last smear of you. His eyes flick up, cold again, like the heat that was just devouring your cunt never existed.

You whimper. Can’t help it. The sound is small and broken and it makes the corner of his mouth twitch—not a smile. Something meaner.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, voice low enough it vibrates against your still-throbbing clit. “Already dripping like a bitch in heat and I’ve barely touched you.”

He spits.

Not elegant. Not gentle.

A thick, warm glob lands right on your swollen clit—lands with a soft, wet smack that makes your whole pussy clench around nothing. You gasp, thighs jerking inward on instinct, but his hands are iron on the meat of them, forcing you wide again. Open. Exposed. The spit slides slow down your slit, mixing with your own slick until everything’s a shining, obscene mess.

He watches it travel. Watches the way your folds quiver when the cool air hits the wet trail he just left. Then he leans in close—close enough you feel the heat of his exhale before anything else—and blows.

Soft at first.

A cool, deliberate puff right over your clit.

Your back snaps off the futon. A high, startled whine tears out of your throat before you can choke it back. It’s too much. Too sensitive. The little bud pulses visibly under the sudden chill, fattening even more, begging.

Naoya’s eyes darken.

He does it again—harder this time. A sharp burst of air that makes your clit throb so violently you think you might come from that alone. Your hips buck uselessly; he pins them down with one forearm across your pelvis, heavy, immovable.

“Stay still,” he orders. Voice like a blade wrapped in silk. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

You’re shaking now. Full-body tremors. Your cunt is so wet it’s obscene—slick pooling under your ass, soaking into the futon. Every breath drags more of his spit and your arousal together until you’re just one slippery, needy mess.

He drags two fingers through it all—slow, deliberate—coating them until they shine. Then he spreads you again, thumbs pulling your lips apart so wide your hole flutters open for him, pink and empty and aching.

“Look at this greedy little thing,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Clenching on nothing. So fucking desperate for it even when you hate me.”

You do hate him.

You hate the way he looks at you like you’re beneath him. Hate the cold commands. Hate how your body doesn’t care—how it’s arching toward his mouth anyway, how your clit is so swollen it hurts, how every puff of air he breathes over it sends lightning up your spine.

He knows.

He leans down and lets another long string of spit drool from his lips—watches it stretch, then snap, landing directly on your entrance this time. It slides inside on its own, warm and thick, and your walls flutter around the intrusion like they’re trying to suck it deeper.

Naoya groans—low, involuntary. The first real crack in his control.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your cunt. “This pussy’s gonna ruin me.”

Then he’s on you again.

No teasing this time.

He seals his mouth over your clit and sucks—hard, rhythmic pulls that make your vision white out. His tongue lashes the underside in tight, mean little flicks while he sucks, sucks, sucks until your thighs lock around his head and you’re sobbing his name without meaning to.

He doesn’t stop.

He shoves two fingers inside you—rough, no warning—just curls them up hard against that spot that makes your toes curl and your back bow. Pumps them fast, filthy, matching the brutal rhythm of his mouth on your clit.

You’re loud now. Can’t help it. Whimpers turn to moans turn to broken cries every time he curls those fingers deeper, every time he tongues your clit like he’s trying to bully it into submission.

He pulls off just long enough to growl against your soaked folds:

“Come.”

One word.

Command.

Your body obeys before your mind can catch up.

It hits like a slap—sharp, violent, shattering. Your cunt clamps down on his fingers so hard he hisses. You gush around them—hot, slick pulses that soak his hand, his chin, the futon beneath you. Your hips jerk uncontrollably; he doesn’t let up. Keeps sucking your oversensitive clit through it, keeps fucking you with those long fingers until you’re clawing at the sheets and begging him to stop—then begging him not to.

He finally pulls his mouth away when you’re twitching, whimpering, too sensitive to take any more.

But he doesn’t pull his fingers out.

He keeps them buried deep, slow lazy pumps now, curling just enough to make your walls flutter around him again and again.

His eyes meet yours over the messy, shining wreck of your cunt.

“You hate me,” he says, voice wrecked, lips swollen and red. “But this pussy?” He twists his fingers—slow grind against your g-spot that makes you choke on a sob. “This needy little cunt loves me already.”

He leans down.

Licks one long, slow stripe up your oversensitive slit—tasting the mess you made.

“Gonna train it right,” he promises against your pulsing clit. “Gonna make it come on my cock next. Make it cry for me every fucking night until you forget what hating me even feels like.”

Another soft blow of air over your clit.

You jerk. Whine. Clench so hard around his fingers he groans again.

“See?” he murmurs, smug, cruel, starving. “Already learning.”

He curls his fingers again.

And your body—traitor that it is—starts climbing right back toward the edge he just shoved you over.

He’s going to ruin you.

And the worst part?

You’re already dripping for it.

He doesn’t pull his fingers out.

Not even close.

They stay buried knuckle-deep, thick and unyielding, curled just enough that every tiny shift of his hand drags the pads against that spongy front wall until your hips twitch like they’ve been shocked. Your cunt is still fluttering around the intrusion—aftershocks from the orgasm he ripped out of you—clenching so hard it’s almost painful, like your body’s trying to keep him there even when it can barely handle him.

Naoya feels it.

Of course he does.

He lets out a low, dark chuckle against the inside of your thigh—hot breath ghosting over the slick mess he’s made—and twists his wrist slow, deliberate. The stretch burns. Two long fingers aren’t even that much, but your hole is so fucking tight it feels obscene, like velvet strangling silk. Every ridge of his knuckles scrapes your walls on the way in deeper; every curl makes your entrance flutter and suck at the base like it’s begging for more even as it struggles.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. “This little hole’s fighting me already.”

He spreads his fingers—just a fraction—testing. Your cunt resists, walls clamping down so hard his breath hitches. A fresh gush of slick leaks out around his knuckles, dripping slow and obscene down the cleft of your ass to pool beneath you. He watches it happen. Watches the way your puffy lips stretch thin around his digits, the way the rim of your entrance turns white from the strain before blooming flushed and greedy again.

He pulls out halfway—slow drag that makes you whine at the sudden emptiness—then shoves back in. Harder this time. Deeper. The wet squelch is loud enough to make your cheeks burn. Your thighs tremble; he hooks his free arm under one knee and yanks it higher, folding you open wider until your pussy is completely on display, glistening and stretched and so fucking small next to his hand.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something cruel and hungry. “Can barely take two fingers and you’re already crying for it.”

He’s right. Tears are leaking from the corners of your eyes—overstimulation, humiliation, raw need, all of it mixing until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Your clit is still throbbing, fat and red from his earlier abuse, peeking out from its hood like it’s begging for attention he’s deliberately ignoring.

He gives it to your hole instead.

Slow, filthy pumps now. In and out. In and out. Every withdrawal leaves you gaping for a heartbeat—pink rim fluttering open—before he plunges back in, scissoring just enough to make the stretch burn sweeter. He twists again when he’s deep, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit in lazy circles that make your whole body jerk.

You sob. Loud. Broken.

He doesn’t stop.

Instead he leans down and spits again—right onto where his fingers disappear inside you. The warm glob lands on your stretched rim, slides down his knuckles, and gets fucked right back into you with the next brutal thrust. Your walls flutter violently; he groans at the feel of it, low and wrecked.

“Greedy little cunt,” he rasps. “Sucking me in like you were made for this. Made to take whatever I give it.”

He adds pressure with his thumb now—presses the pad right against your clit and rubs slow, mean circles while he keeps finger-fucking you with that same punishing rhythm. The dual sensation is too much—too full, too sensitive, too everything. Your hips buck uselessly; he pins them with his forearm again, heavy and immovable, forcing you to take it.

Take every slow grind of his fingers curling against your g-spot.

Take the way his thumb bullies your clit until it’s pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

Take the obscene wet sounds filling the room—squelch, slick, your own desperate whimpers.

He pulls his fingers out completely this time—slow, torturous drag that leaves your hole winking open, empty and aching. You clench around nothing; a pitiful little whine escapes before you can stop it.

Naoya smirks.

Then he brings those soaked fingers to your mouth.

“Open.”

You do—shaking, teary-eyed, humiliated—and he pushes them past your lips. The taste of you floods your tongue—salty-sweet, musky, mixed with his spit. He fucks them shallowly into your mouth while his other hand returns to your cunt—two fingers sliding right back in without warning, stretching you open again while his thumb keeps tormenting your clit.

“Suck,” he orders.

You do.

Tongue curling around his knuckles, cheeks hollowing as you clean every drop of yourself off him. He watches with dark, hooded eyes—lips parted, breathing ragged for the first time tonight.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, almost soft. Almost tender.

Then he curls his fingers inside you again—hard—and rubs that spot until your eyes roll back and fresh tears spill.

He’s playing with you.

Toying.

Stretching your tight little hole wider with every thrust, making it gape and flutter and drip for him while he watches like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Like he hates you but can’t get enough of this part—the part that yields, the part that begs, the part that’s already learning to open for him even when it hurts.

He leans down close—lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Gonna keep you like this all night,” he whispers, voice velvet and venom. “Fingers in this needy pussy. Thumb on your clit. Making you come again and again until this tight little hole forgets how to close. Until it’s shaped just for me.”

He thrusts deeper.

Grinds.

Spreads.

And your body—traitorous, dripping, desperate—starts climbing right back toward that edge he loves dangling you over.

He’s going to ruin you.

Piece by filthy piece.

And your cunt?

It’s already clenching around him like it can’t wait.

A/N. Yes I'm on that Naoya pussy eating agenda.

torusbabe 2026 ©.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY OR USE.

[blackhearteddoll]

the liquor on your lips

(makes you dangerous)

wc: 1.4k, || tags: kidnapping, noncon, somno (kind of). trying something new, lmk if u liked it <3

The first word loser!kidnapper says to you is “Please.” As in, “Please don’t yell.” Juxtapose this with the last thing he ever says to you, when you are finally able to escape him: “Please don’t leave me.”

These two sentences pretty effectively summarize the duration of your relationship with him.

The Oxford English Dictionary has eight definitions for “please,” but perhaps only two definitions apply to loser!kidnapper.

transitive (reflexive). Please: to do as one likes, to have one’s own way (frequently with dismissive force).

Please, as in, “please talk to me.”

It took you seven weeks to talk to him. Of course, you talked at first, mainly in a loud, interrogative tone (“Who the hell are you?!;” “What is wrong with you?!”), or in a desperate, bargaining tone (“Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anybody at all.”).

None of this shouting or crying led to a particularly fruitful conversation, at least not in the way he’d hoped (i.e., conversations that fizzled out after he responded with “Don’t you remember me? Please just look at me. I’m a regular at that coffee shop you work at!” and “Please try to understand that I can’t let you go! I’ve sacrificed so much by bringing you here, you can fall in love with me, please try!”).

After this short spat came a long, agonizing period of weeks that seemed to blend into one. He could not tell Monday from Saturday. In the morning, he would wake up, go to his mundane job, come home, silently rock himself back and forth while watching you do… nothing.

You would just sit with your hands in your lap, like a doll — albeit a very solemn-looking doll, but he thought of you as a doll nonetheless — but dolls are meant to be played with, are they not? They are not meant to sit angrily and waste away, refusing to eat.

“Please just take a bite. You look sickly. Please… do it for me?”

Do it for him? You can’t help but look away, lips twisting up in a sick laugh. Who does he think he is? There is little more amusing than someone who overestimates their importance in your life, which he certainly does.

He knows none the better; in fact, he’s delighted when your breathy giggles escape from your mouth, although you immediately slap a hand over your lips to silence yourself.

“You laughed,” he notes, “I’m so happy. Your laugh is so beautiful. I could cry at how beautiful it is.” It’s the first sound that’s come out of your mouth in weeks.

The second sound that comes out is a toe-curling scream when he attempts to take your face in the palm of his hand, the way a grandmother might hold her grandchild’s face to kiss them on the cheek.

“I won’t ever touch you again, not without your consent,” he shyly promises you afterwards as he watches you nibble on the toast he’s cooked to your liking.

Transitive (verb). Please: to be agreeable; to give pleasure or satisfaction. With till, to, with.

“I just want to please you,” he says frustratedly months after that.

“You can please me by leaving me alone.”

You’ve come to terms with the fact that you can't sit here doing nothing for months. This, of course, does not mean you’ve come to terms with his very existence.

“Just say the word and I’ll do it. Should I make you something special for dinner? Is there a movie you’d like to watch? Something we can do together? I feel like we don’t spend any time together.”

“I literally spend all my time with you.”

“But we don’t talk to each other enough. It’s just—It’s taking you a lot longer to fall in love with me than I thought it would. Perhaps if we did more things together…”

He’s annoying when he’s like this, insistent and needy, eager to please, whatever, whatever.

The secret third meaning of the word “please” — one not listed by the Oxford English Dictionary — is its sexual, devious connotation, one that hangs in the air every time he’s sprawled at the carpet besides your legs.

You’re sitting on the ground, back leaned against the sofa, one of your favorite movies playing on the TV at a low volume. In your lap is one of those sudoku booklets that they sell at gas stations. The room would be quiet (only the soft scratching of paper against the cheap, thin paper and the muffled movie soundtrack) if it weren’t for his constant whining and complaining.

He wants so badly to throw the sudoku booklet away and lie down on your lap instead of the floor. To devour you, perhaps, to rid you of the expensive clothes you’re wearing that he bought especially for you.

To please you, and to be pleased by you.

But he promised he wouldn’t touch you again, and he’s too embarrassed to ask you for permission. It would be impossible to handle the sharp sting of rejection. Again, that is.

It had been a few weeks since an incredibly awkward encounter that he wished he could erase from his memory. The only memory of you he’s ever wanted to erase, actually, when he’d drunkedly cried and pleaded for love — touch, passion, whatever you call it — in the middle of the night.

You’d noticed a row of not all-too-cheap liquor bottles (brandy, champagne, wine, vodka) hidden on a bookshelf when you first started exploring the house. He’d explained that they were for celebratory purposes — New Year’s, birthdays, holidays, things like that — but you’d reprimanded him, uncomfortable with the idea of spending your birthday trapped in this house.

Regardless, he’d gotten near black-out drunk that one night after you’d gone to bed.

He watched your sleeping figure. The house was hardly a house; it was a studio in a tall residential building facing a metropolitan city. You slept in the massive king-sized bed. He slept on the fold-out sofa.

But why, he wondered, swirling his glass of brandy in one hand and running his other through his hair, should he? Sleep on the sofa, I mean? Why couldn’t he sleep beside you like a normal couple?

Such were his thoughts as he drank glass after glass until even his breath smelled like brandy. Drowsy and drunk, hazy were his thoughts. With how much he drank he expected he would not remember the events of the night when he woke up hungover next morning, but he did in horrible, excruciating detail.

Just a taste, he reasoned with himself, letting himself hover over your form. Would one kiss really hurt? Perhaps somewhere hidden far, far behind his nervous, bubbly facade — the same way there was a line of alcohol bottles hidden amidst the books — was a sick, sick pervert.

And, well, yes, one kiss on your cute cheek didn’t hurt. You obliviously snored softly away. But who stops at one kiss on the cheek?

He couldn’t even taste you, which was the whole point of kissing you in the first place anyways, so the kisses escalated, from chaste, close-mouthed pecks where he inhaled the scent of your warm, perfumed skin, to sloppier ones, teeth trailing against your soft skin, tongue savoring the salty flesh flavor of the side of your neck, and so on, so forth.

What's that saying? A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism? If you hadn't woken up, stirred awake from the mattress dipping under his weight as he recklessly climbed on top of you, he probably would've eaten you.

“WHAT are you DOING?!”

You pushed him off with some struggle — he tried to keep going at first, hands wandering where they should not wander until it was as if he snapped back into reality.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized profusely. “I’m so, so, so, sorry. I had too much to drink, I wasn’t thinking straight,” blah, blah, blah. He was on his knees now. You clutched the blanket close to your panicked, heaving chest. He cried pathetically. “I love you so much. Is it wrong to desire you, to want you carnally? I just wanted to please you.”

Perhaps the Oxford English Dictionary should add a ninth definition:

(Modal verb). Please: your kidnapper's most-used word; a term of manipulation; a word he uses when he tries to force himself onto you, or when he wants you to do something for him; please, the thing a petulant child tells their parents when requesting a Christmas gift (ie, “Please buy me that doll.”).

Because you are nothing but his doll.

[bubblegum-riot]

Clingy!König who never lets you do anything without his help. You're hungry? He's making dinner with you. Looking for new clothes? He's picking stuff for you to try on.

Clingy!König who insists on adjusting his schedule around yours. Usually, he's a night owl - but a 9:00 bedtime isn't so bad when you crawl into his arms all tired. Even while on assignment, waking up at 2 AM to send you "good morning" texts before you get up.

Clingy!Konig who hoard memories & remembers everything about you. Your comfort foods, the way you hum when you’re tired, acting all offended when you think he'd forgetten something too.

Clingy!König who needs your approval constantly. Pretends he doesn’t need it, but he does. A small nod, a 'good job', even a thumbs up - and he’s glowing for the rest of the day.

[chocochipsushi]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

Dead dove: do not eat! NSFW! minors do not interact! 18+ only!

MDNI warning banner and divider by @cafekitsune!

🌸 TW: INCEST (brother/sister), older brother!Suguru, lowkey manipulation, LOTS of fore play, masturbation (f. receiving and mutual), use of pet names, dry/wet humping, spitting in mouth, filming, oral sex, unprotected sex, this is just FILTHY ok

🌸 WC: 11.5K

🌸 AU: Your older brother moves back home for work and reminds you again what it's like to have a doting brother

Ever since Suguru took up his new job and moved back home for good, you have somehow always found yourselves in awkward situations. It had been two years since he moved out after all. 

Like that one time you forgot to lock the bathroom door while washing your face, butt naked, only for your older brother to burst into the toilet. The both of you stared at each other in shock, your hands and face foamy, and Suguru with his thumbs under his waistband, ready to pull his pants down. No one moved until you screamed in pain from the suds going into your eyes. 

Or the other time you were with him in a tightly packed elevator, where he tilted his body to shield yours from the other passengers pressing up against you. You were embarrassed to have your tits smushed against his arm and you knew he felt it because his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat and the tips of his ears were red. 

There were a few other incidents like these that, honestly, the both of you have somehow gotten used to it. And you’re not talking about learning each other’s schedule to avoid each other, or remembering to lock the door. 

No. 

Between the two of you, the toilet door remains unlocked since neither of you ever remember, considering how Suguru lived alone for years and you had no one to share the bathroom with for the past few years he was gone. So you often get him entering the bathroom to pee while you’re showering, sometimes even making small talk while he is at it. 

Suguru has stopped pleading with you to wear pants when you’re both home before your parents are, since you always strutted around the house in your panties and a top when it was just you alone at home. It’s not like it hurt anyone anyway. 

Instead of asking you if you needed help or if you could stop looking for your shit like this, Suguru walks past you kneeling on the ground with your ass stuck in the air as you reach for your fallen item, giving your behind a light slap with the back of his foot as a little greeting when he passes by. 

It is never serious until you realise that Suguru has been getting bolder with his actions. 

Like opening the door to the shower stall while you’re in there, just to grab his shaver as if he couldn’t wait a few more minutes. You don’t say anything or question him, even. That is until he decides he needs the toilet too despite knowing that you’re obviously in there doing something important, considering how you take a longer time in the bathroom. 

“Seriously?!” you growl, glaring daggers up at him while sitting on the toilet bowl with your legs spread wide, in the midst of shaving.

His eyes glance down to your chest, then your exposed womanhood for a split second before turning around to face the mirror. “I need to brush my teeth so I can go to sleep. I have an early start tomorrow,” he mumbles as he presses a dot of toothpaste on the bristles of his toothbrush. 

“Suguru,” you mutter, deadpan. You’re sat up properly now, although you’re still entirely too naked. You hold his gaze in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, an eye obscured by a fallen piece of hair. “Stop barging into the toilet every time I’m using it!” He makes a face and rolls his eyes as if you’re just an annoying, whiny kid. You groan loudly. “Seriously! You never see me using the toilet when you use it.”

He spits the foam in his mouth and speaks to your reflection in the mirror, his hand holding his toothbrush resting on the edge of the sink. “Yes, you have,” he says slowly. 

Your cheeks turn red. “Y-Yeah, but that was when I was drunk!” 

You had forgotten about that one time you drunkenly insisted you needed to shower now even though your elder brother was taking his bath after a client meeting that ended late. You had even made him wash your hair for you while you leaned against his cut body, swaying like a flower in the wind.  

Now that you think about it in earnest, that might have been the turning point for the way Suguru has been acting lately. 

Your brother is still staring at you stoically in the mirror, not really caring about whatever you’re complaining about. You let out a cross between a huff and a sigh. 

“It’s embarrassing, Sugu…” you murmur softly. 

That breaks him from his mean act. He washes off the toothpaste around his mouth. “Why should it be embarrassing?” 

Your shoulders bob in a shrug, dropping your gaze to the floor. The absence of your answer stretches into silence between the two of you until he moves and you notice his feet in your line of sight. Your ears pick up on the sound of his shorts shifting as he bends to his knee. His wet but gentle fingers touch your chin and lift your head so your gaze meets his. He is looking at you softly, affectionately. 

“We’re siblings,” he reminds you quietly. “You’re my pretty baby sister. You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”

You swallow. “But still…” You glance down at your hand fiddling with your shaver but Suguru’s hold on your chin tightens, warning you to keep your eyes on him. “It’s weird.”

His shaped eyebrow ticks upward. “Not really,” he counters. He strokes your chin lightly before letting go. “I could even shave for you, Princess. Look.”

You watch his slender fingers grip the plush of your inner thighs and separate your legs. He removes the shaver from your hand as he situates himself between your legs, both knees now on the ground before you. His dark eyes stare hungrily at your puffy lips and it is only when he lifts his head to look at you, that you snap out of it. 

Panicking, you start to stand as you gasp, “Suguru! What the fuck?!”

But your brother is strong, and his reflexes are fast. He pulls you back down and gives you an innocent look. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You don’t have to be embarrassed around your big brother.”

You’re speechless in shock as you simply watch your brother’s lithe fingers brush down your minge. Licking his lips, he starts work as he cleans up the rough job you did on your crotch. You only realise that your breathing is shallow when he looks up at you. You completely stop taking in any oxygen. 

“Lean back, Princess,” Suguru murmurs. His gaze glances down to your usually rambling mouth to see that you’ve shut it tight. The twinkle in his eyes dances. “And relax… it’s just me. I would never hurt you,” he coos. Letting out a ragged breath, you swallow and do as he says, though awkwardly and unsurely. He gives you an encouraging smile. “That’s it,” he praises. You watch him shave the little stubble before his fingers tug on your inner thigh to expose your bikini line. He glances up at you. “Lift your legs.”

You do after a second of hesitation and he slides his big palms under your thighs to push them up further. Your heart is hammering in your chest at your vulnerable state, watching your brother stare at your pussy. His breathing is shaky when he lets out an exhale. 

“Hold onto your legs,” he whispers. 

Before even waiting for you to follow his instructions, he brings his hands down to your womanhood, warm fingers covering the fat of your pussy to pull it aside as he shaves your bikini line. He does the same to the other side before finally getting to where it matters. You bite on your bottom lip when he licks his fingers and brings them down to your slit, his dark gaze flickering up to meet yours as he gives your sensitive lips a stroke. Your body twitches in surprise, and his lips tilt into a ghost of a smirk. 

His movements are careful and deliberate as he parts your outer lip to the side. Your hips twitch at his finger casually stroking your smooth labia. Suguru is gentle as he shaves you clean, making sure he leaves no cuts or any rogue strand in his wake. 

You hold your breath the entire time, your fingers digging into your thighs. When he is done, you think he is leaning in to inspect his work, only to gasp and jerk in surprise when you feel a wet slob on your pussy. He glances up at you with a grin. 

“Just clearing the hair,” he states, watching you intently as his fingers spread his saliva on your pussy, his eyes twinkling at the way you bite your lip and furrow your brows, especially when he reaches your clit. You let out a hiss when he pats on the hooded nub with a finger. He lines his digit down your clean shaven flaps now and you purse your lips when he circles your puckered asshole lightly. “Want me to shave here too?”

You don’t even feel yourself nodding, entranced by your brother’s hot gaze and his searing touch. His grin widens. Eyes still locked on yours, you watch a dribble of spit release from his mouth. You feel your tight hole tighten at the warmth coating its entrance. Suguru bites down on his smirk as he massages the tight rim of your asshole, his eyes pinned on your bodily reactions.

The way your chest rises and falls noticeably as you pant, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The way your lids get heavier with every touch until you’re watching him with half-hooded eyes. The way your fingers are turning white as you dig them into the back of your thighs. 

Suguru regrettably pulls his eyes away from you to focus on his task at hand. He scans your clean pussy, noticing a slight sheen trickling between your lips. A low grunt rumbles through his chest. But he pretends he doesn’t notice it as he starts shaving the last part of your nether region. 

He is attentive and slow, almost as if he doesn’t want to finish up, but there is only so much time he can stall before he sighs inaudibly and leans back. 

Suguru lifts his head and stares at you. “All done,” he murmurs with a soft smile. 

You swallow and nod, though you still don’t move to let go of your legs or even look away from him. It is only due to the sharp buzz of your phone on the bathroom counter that the tension snaps like a taut string and the moment is broken. 

Your brother clears his throat and stands quickly, turning his back to you but not before you notice the huge tent in his boxers. As he washes his hands and the shaver, you awkwardly move to sit properly on the toilet, no longer leaning back. 

Before he leaves, he places the shaver on the side of the sink and turns to give you his usual warm, brotherly smile. 

“Good night, baby sis.”

You look up from scrolling on your phone when your door opens and Suguru peeks his head in, brows furrowed, a few strands of hair already slipping from his tied bun. 

“Where’s mom and dad?” 

You lock your phone and put it aside. “They went out for dinner with Auntie and Uncle Kamo.” He nods his head once, but doesn’t leave. “Just ended work?”

He nods again, and you notice just how tired he looks. 

Eyes raking over your lounging form, he narrows them on you. “You eaten yet?” You shake your head sheepishly. “Shall I order something?” When he sees you brightening up, he smiles, though he still looks exhausted. Widening the door, he tilts his head to the side as an invitation, “Come to my room. We’ll order on my phone.”

As you throw the blanket off you to follow him, you ask teasingly, “Your treat?” 

He doesn’t even turn back when he scoffs and mutters, “When have I ever asked you to pay?”

That is true. Even when you had started working, he’s never made you pay for anything whether it’s a family dinner with your parents or just the two of you. 

You enter his room, and immediately settle comfortably on his bed. You watch your brother drop his bag on his desk chair before coming over to sit on the edge of his mattress as he unlocks his phone. He goes to the food delivery app and holds the device out to you, his eyes emotionless. 

“You can pick.”

You take it slowly, still eyeing him carefully. But Suguru simply goes to unbutton his shirt and pull up the sleeves to his forearms. You quickly turn back to his phone and scroll through the options. 

Settling for some Chinese food, you pick a few dishes you know your brother likes, and some of your favourites. Finally, you return his phone to him. 

“I picked some stuff for us to share.”

“What did you get?”

“Chinese food. I added rice for you,” you tell him. 

He hums as he looks through the order list. Finding it sufficient, he sends the order through and locks his phone, throwing it haphazardly on the bed. You frown at his posture, the way his back hunches, his head slightly hanging. 

“Is everything okay?” you finally ask, voice quiet and worried. 

He doesn’t look at you. “Work stuff,” he mutters offhandedly. 

You shift to rest your cheek on your hand, letting it prop your head up as you stare at him. “Want a massage?” you offer, more teasing than serious. 

He rolls his eyes and turns to glare at you, only to have his gaze drop to your hip where your shirt has ridden up to expose your panty-clad ass. You fidget under his scrutiny, especially when he traces the fabric to the swell of your hips with his gaze. He licks his lips and flickers his eyes up to meet yours.

“Let’s cuddle until food comes,” he says, not a suggestion or a question. A statement. 

Your brows furrow and you lift your head off your palm. “And that will help with your work stress?” you scoff. 

He is already moving as he answers, “Yup.”

You watch him crawl over you, your body already turning on its back. His hands are on either side of your body, his body towering over yours. He holds your gaze for a moment before he exhales with a groan and almost deflates on top of you, his head on your chest. 

You make a sound at the back of your throat when his weight falls on your body, something akin to a struggling groan. 

It is quiet for a while, your body stiff, his breathing paused. Even the sound of you swallowing is loud in his room. As you let out a slow exhale, you bring your hand down to gently rest it on his head. You feel Suguru’s body loosening up. He moves to get comfortable, nuzzling his cheek into your bosom, body shifting so he’s lying between your legs. 

But then he lifts his head and frowns down at your shirt. When he looks at you, his narrowed eyes are laced with accusation. “Is this mine?”

You look up, feigning ignorance. “No idea.”

You can feel his glare on your face but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scoffs under his breath before going back to lay his head on your chest. 

A comfortable quiet settles over the both of you as he rubs the cotton material of your shirt between his fingers while you start playing with the loose strands of hair that’s fallen out of his bun. Suguru lets out another large exhale and you feel more of his weight as he melts into you. 

His hand unsuspectingly moves to cup the side of your chest, his thumb swiping back and forth idly on your mound. He hums when he feels your heart rate picking up against his cheek. 

“Relax,” he murmurs. “‘S just me.”

You don’t say anything as you nod, but you don’t relax. Actually, you’re slightly wound up now, your five senses heightened. 

Your brother smells faintly of the cologne he always uses. The sound of blood pumping in your veins is loud in your ears. Your eyes are trained on that particular grey spot on his ceiling, the one you used to wonder how it even got there in the first place. Your tongue is pressing hard against the roof of your mouth, tasting like cotton. Your nipple perks under the fabric of your shirt, your body suddenly too sensitive and aware of how intimate cuddling with your brother feels. 

You pause in twirling his hair around your finger, breath caught in your airpipe, when Suguru slides his hand up fully cup your mound, his thumb now caressing the stiff peak against your shirt. In the quiet, you somehow feel exposed, awkward. So you break the silence. 

“Suguru,” you breathe shakily. 

“Hm?” Your brother hums, still playing with your nipple over your shirt. 

You don’t say anything else, so he stops, only to bring his hand up to find yours, still frozen with a tendril of his hair around your finger. 

“Keep playing with my hair. It feels nice.”

You do.

And he goes back to doing what he was doing. Except this time, he slips long fingers under the hem of your shirt, the callouses on his hand rough against your skin as he glides them up your stomach, then to your breast. He is in full contact with your tit now, cradling it in his big hand, feeling its weight, testing out its softness. 

You hold your breath. 

Suguru slides his index finger to your nipple now, letting the side of it flick over your peaked bud. He does it over and over before shifting his hold so that he can press down on your nipple, like it is a button on a gaming console. The pad of his finger circles the bud, toying with it lazily. 

You try not to squirm but he still feels your thigh twitch against him. You had hoped he didn’t notice, but of course he does. 

Suguru lifts his head off your chest and looks at you, eyes searching yours, though his are dark and unreadable. You’re not sure what he sees in your features, but he takes it as a sign to remove his hand from your chest, only to pull the hem of your shirt up, not once breaking eye contact. You notice a glint in his dark orbs when he catches you shifting, like you’re helping him make it easier to lift your shirt. 

When the fabric bunches up above your chest, Suguru finally drops his gaze to your exposed tit, assessing it, savouring the sight of it. And without warning, he lowers his head, wrapping his lips around your stiff nipple, his eyes once again darting up to meet yours, like he wants to judge your reactions. 

A quiet gasp leaves your lips at the wetness coating your breast, the sensation warm and lewd. Your hand drops to his nape now, fingers on his scalp, pressing, almost coaxing him to do more. 

Your brother laps at your nipple experimentally, the corners of his lips tilting upwards slightly. Suguru hums and, like he’s found a comfortable position, he tilts his head and rests it on the center of your chest now, his hand cupping more of your breast, bringing your flesh closer to his face as he continues suckling on your tit. 

You stay like this for the longest time, with Suguru kissing, licking, nipping, playing with your breast, sometimes even jiggling the fat in his hand, while you massage his scalp, occasionally tugging on his hair slightly when you feel teeth grazing your sensitive bud, letting slip soft moans and whimpers. He even gives attention to your other side, always so fair with his treatment. 

It must have been a while in this silence, the air charged with tension and your mind clouded with a haze of comfortable pleasure, because the door bell rings and the both of you freeze, startled from the daze this lazy cuddle session has put the both of you in. 

With a pop, Suguru releases your tit from his mouth and glances up at you under his lashes. You’re breathing just slightly shallowly, lips parted as you pant, eyes hooded as you return his gaze. You watch him lean down to press a kiss on the flesh of your boob and your heart jumps against your ribcage. 

“I’ll go get the food,” he mumbles before getting up. 

You watch him leave the room as he smooths his shirt down and undo his bun to redo it neatly. 

You don’t move while you listen to the mundane interaction happening at your front door. It is only when Suguru comes back to lean against the door frame of his room, his dark eyes on you and your exposed body, shirt still bunched up at your collarbones, that you finally lift yourself up on your elbows. 

“Let’s eat together?” 

You nod, getting off the bed carefully, letting the shirt fall back over your body. As you follow your brother out to the dining table, you ask softly, “Do you feel better, Suguru?”

“Hm?” He cocks his head to the side slightly, just enough for you to see his lips tilted in a smile. “Yeah. We should do this more often. Cuddle.”

You do. 

It happens every night. 

Sometimes in the evening when Suguru’s back from work, while your mother is getting dinner ready. Sometimes late at night when your parents are sleeping. 

He’s gotten bolder, even. Often, you find yourself staring in the mirror, clicking your tongue when you spot a bruise on the side of your boob. You scold him for it, and he apologises. But it doesn’t mean that he stops. 

In fact, things take a turn late one night, when he enters your room, stopping in his tracks when he realises that you’re waiting for him in just your underwear, no longer coy and pretending to wear a shirt. 

You see his throat bobbing as he swallows and shuts the door behind him quietly with a click of your lock. He pads over to your bed, but instead of climbing over you like he normally does, he nudges your shoulder with the back of his hand, lightly pushing you to the side. You frown up at him. 

“Move,” he mutters. “I wanna lie down.”

You bristle at his rudeness, but do as he says. When he has settled in next to you, the both of you just lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, the most absurd thing comes out of his mouth. 

“Wanna masturbate together?” 

You sputter, sitting up immediately so he can see the severity of your glare. “What?”

He side-eyes you, gaze flicking down to your exposed chest before his hand follows, his delicate fingers pinching your nipple that he’s gotten so familiar with. You whine in protest. 

“I mean,” he starts, slowly like he is still trying to believe his words too. “It’s not like it’s going to be worse than what we’ve been doing.”

You know that what you’ve been doing is wrong. 

It started with the little things that had began happening since he moved back in. Then it became more obvious, the wrongness of it all. The fact that your brother shaves your pussy for you, and the fact that you let him suckle on your tits like he needs them for survival. 

But this feels like too far. Crossing the line. No matter how blurred it has become. 

Seeing you balk, he caresses your nipple with the side of his index finger and murmurs softly, “You don’t have to do anything. I can touch you. Make you feel good.”

Your eyes fly to his crotch where he is already palming his cock over his pants. You gulp. 

“Just kneel here,” he pats the empty space where your back had been before you sat up. “Face me.”

He lets you think about it, patient as he plays with your breast, palm still stroking his growing tent. Licking your lips and biting down on the bottom one, you eventually move, following his instructions, though slowly, still unsure. 

“There you go, pretty girl,” Suguru coos. 

He tugs on the waistband of his shorts and briefs, releasing his erection and displaying his hard cock for the first time for you to see. 

Your breath hitches in your chest as you take in his pink, curved dick, swollen and leaking with precum already. It is big. Girthy. Long. Pretty. 

Your brother moves his hand to cup the inside of your thigh, gently caressing your sensitive skin, easing you into the idea of being touched by your brother as you let out a trembling exhale. 

“Spread your legs a little more.” You do, and he hums. “Good girl.”

With a hand wrapped around his cock, his other one slides his hand up your inner thigh, close to your crotch so that he can rub the knuckle of his thumb on your clothed pussy. A low groan of appreciation starts from his chest when he feels the warm, slowly dampening cotton of your panties. His hand lazily strokes his cock that is still growing in his palm, getting bigger, longer, prettier. 

“You can use my hand if you want,” Suguru tells you. “You can guide me. Or just let me keep touching you however I like.”

Somehow, that only makes your pussy throb under his hand and you know he feels it, because he lifts an eyebrow up at you, amused by your bodily reaction to his words. 

You don’t say anything. 

Suguru continues touching you, continues stroking himself. Soon, you’ve created a wet patch beneath his thumb and he slides the pad of his finger along your slit. 

“Pull your panties to the side. Yes, just like that.”

You watch your brother collect some spit on his fingers and bring them to your cunt, stroking and sliding along your folds, spreading his saliva all over your lips. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you bring your free hand up to cover your mouth when a moan escapes you, your brother’s finger slipping between your labia to tease your seeping hole. 

Slowly, carefully, he enters your warmth with his middle finger. He moans. “She’s tight, huh?” 

Again, you stay quiet. Suguru bottoms out his digit, his finger reaching further than yours ever can. He strokes your gummy wall, making you moan and sit down further on his finger. 

“Feels good?” This time, you respond with a breathless nod. “Want another finger?” Again, you bob your head. 

He pulls his middle finger out of you and upon entering this time, you find his ring finger has also breached your hole, easing into you almost gently. You tighten around his fingers and he stops touching himself to caress the outside of your thigh. 

“Relax, Princess.”

You huff. “You’re always telling me to relax,” you realise, but try to breathe and loosen up anyway. 

Suguru chuckles. With one last stroke of your thigh, he goes back to pumping his shaft. “Because you’re always so nervous around me. Like I would ever hurt you.”

You drop your hand from your mouth to stroke the inside of his forearm that’s touching you. You feel his muscles flexing, like he enjoys your caress. “I know you won’t,” you whisper. “It’s just… weird.”

He hums, still slowly entering you with his two long digits, feeling your walls flutter around them as you adjust to the stretch of his fingers. “It’s not weird. Maybe wrong. But I don’t think it’s weird.”

You shoot him a weak glare but he only grins up at you. Still trying to relax your body while controlling your breathing, Suguru finally buries his fingers fully inside you. He gives you some time to adjust to his fingers until finally, you let out a long exhale and he knows you’re ready. 

You moan and sink further down on his hand when he curls his digits, his nails just lightly scratching your spongy walls. 

The room is soon filled with the wet slicking sound of Suguru pumping his fingers inside of your soaked pussy, aided by you fucking into his hand. The little mewls you make only lead to the groans that slip out of your brother’s lips without reservations. 

As his hand on his cock pumps faster, his fingers fuck you in tandem, making you rock your hips and grind down on his digits. Your hands grab at his wrist, sliding them along his veiny forearm, sometimes pulling to bring him closer. 

“You’re close?” Suguru breathes, beady eyes locked on your panting form, your hips gyrating against his hand, your body moving in waves. You nod your head, lids hooded with pleasure. “Touch your clit,” he suddenly says. 

You pause. But when your brother nods encouragingly at you, you don’t doubt him. 

Suguru observes you licking your fingers and reaching down to that sensitive pearl, his eyes intense and scorching hot. You bite down hard on your bottom lip to bar any sound that you may make, your face crumpling in pleasure. 

Just watching you touch yourself while he pumps in and out of your squelching pussy, the scene before him so obscene yet beautiful, Suguru’s hips start to move along to the strokes of his hand, fucking his hand almost desperately. 

The both of you reach your climaxes at the same time. 

Your fingers on your clit move down to grab hold of his wrist, both hands gripping tight on his carpus as you put your entire weight down on his fingers, burying them between your pulsating walls. Your trembling body falls forward to snuff out your moans on his chest, mind blank and overridden with flashes of pleasure. 

“Shit. Fuck!” Suguru curses, his fist tightening around his cock, hips spasming as ropes of white liquid spurt all over his hand. 

It takes you a while as the both of you come down from your highs, both panting to catch your breaths, mind still reeling from your orgasms. 

Eventually, you let out a hard exhale and twist your neck so your cheek is resting on Suguru’s chest, head turned to face him. Your hands loosen their grip on his wrist as you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. 

He tilts his head to gaze down at you and his chest inflates before letting out a long exhale. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You nod your head wordlessly, only to roll your eyes up to the back of your head and let out a moan when he slides his fingers slowly out of your soaked pussy. 

When your eyes refocus on him again, you realise that Suguru is sucking on his fingers. The ones that had been between your legs. 

Your heart rate picks up. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Must be those damn desserts you always have after your meals.”

Immediately, the fog in your brain clears. You sit up indignantly as you snap at him. 

“What do you mean?!” 

His lips stretch into a grin, though his tongue is still flicking over his digits. His eyes are teasing but provoking, like he’s challenging you to quip back at him again when he answers, “I mean you taste just like them. So damn sweet.” 

You flush red and Suguru laughs. 

“Get me some tissues, Princess.”

Glad for the task, you climb over him to reach for the tissue box on your night stand, pulling out a few pieces before sitting back on your heels. You stare at him, waiting for him to stop licking his fingers and give them to you, but he only holds them up like he’s brandishing a trophy he is proud of. 

“All clean,” he announces. “My other hand, babe.”

Your gaze flies down to his palm that he’s holding up now, coated in translucent white liquid. 

You feel your face burning up even as you clean his hand, wiping his cum off for him. You even polish off the droplets on his hips as you try your best not to look at his half-hard dick. 

When you’re done, you climb over him again to bin the used plies. Suguru’s warm hand circles around your bicep when you lean back again, making you gasp when he pulls you to fall against his chest. 

“Suguru!” you scold as you flop onto his body. 

He merely laughs, his other hand that had been tucking himself back into his shorts now moving to embrace you, shifting you into a comfortable position as you lay half atop of him. 

“You liked that, huh?” 

You don’t say anything, embarrassed and ashamed at the answer you have to his question. But your older brother doesn’t need to hear your response to know what you’re thinking. 

“We should do this again.” 

Despite yourself, you feel yourself wiggle until you’re lying next to his body, cuddling into his chest, head on his shoulder. “What? Masturbate together?” you ask in a disbelieving laugh. 

Suguru only hums, his fingers running along your arm idly. There is a long beat of silence and hesitation, and then you finally, truly, relax in his presence. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

You’re no longer embarrassed around your older brother anymore. 

Not when he’s seen you naked. 

Not when he’s heard you make sounds so filthy and lewd. 

Not when he’s touched you in places only an intimate lover would. 

And it only escalates. 

From just him touching you, it has become the both of you jerking each other off, him finger fucking you while you lean over to pump his cock in your fist, the both of you just watching each other with half-lidded eyes.  

Then, that mutual masturbation has turned to you getting on your knees before him, giving him a blowjob in the bathroom; in the living room when no one else is around; in his room on his bed or under his desk. And him, wrapping his arms around your thighs with his face between them, eating you out on the edge of the toilet sink; on the kitchen table after breakfast when your parents have left to play golf with their friends; on your bed with your hands in his long hair while you try to keep it down at night.

And now here you are, staring up at Suguru with dilated, trembling pupils when he forces your head away from his cock by tugging on your locks, and nearly throws you onto his bed where he towers over you, panting with desire. 

“Ever tried dry humping?” he wonders breathlessly, gentle hands already lifting your thighs and widening them. 

When he gazes down at your crotch, he laughs, just bordering on condescending and amused. 

“Or wet humping. Considering how soaked you are from just sucking your brother off.”

A shy whine had been escaping your lips when you feel Suguru’s hard length resting heavily on your clothed pussy, and it turns into a choked moan. 

His big hands on the creases of your inner thighs, Suguru presses his cock down with his thumbs. His hips start to move, sliding his meat along the saturated patch of your cotton panties. You let out a relieved moan at the friction he gives you, yet he is unsatisfied when he stops, only to move almost hurriedly to his bedside table. 

You watch him with panted breaths as he pulls on a drawer and fishes out a tube of lubricant. He finds his place between your legs again and the lid cracks open. 

Cool, wet ropes drip onto the material of your panties, soaking them through so that they cling onto the fat of your pussy, creasing between your folds. 

Suguru lets out a breathy sigh at the sight of it, his hand unthinkingly reaching down to caress your clothed cunt. 

“Suguru,” you breathe. 

Eyes flickering up to your begging face, your brother stops stalling. His hefty weight is back on your pussy, hips moving again to glide along your womanhood. 

The room is filled with your quiet mewls and Suguru’s low moans every time he moves his hips, so dirty and charged with lust. 

It always feels good doing whatever you’ve been doing with your brother, but to have your sexes finally touch, even through a piece of wet fabric, this feels like another level of bliss. Especially when he puts more weight down on your thighs and speeds up his thrusts. Hair falls from his bun. 

“Mm, Princess,” Suguru moans, lifting his gaze from where his cock is sliding on your panties to your face, his eyelids heavy. “Y’like this?” 

You bite your bottom lip as you bob your head. “Feels good, Sugu…” 

“Yeah?” he breathes. 

Your brother leans back and you watch him line the hem of your underwear before pulling the crotch aside, exposing the mess that is your womanhood. Raising his gaze again to meet yours, he takes in the way your eyes roll and your lips part to let out purrs and moans every time he slides his cock along your wet lips, no barrier between you this time. 

“Oh, fuuuck,” Suguru groans, eyes shutting with pleasure. 

This feels like a whole new level of wrong, but your mind is numb with sex-filled contentment, your body completely pliant as you let your older brother do what he wants with you. You weakly tell yourself that it’s at least not penetrative sex. 

Suguru opens the tube of lube again, adding more to your connected parts. His hands go back to your hips, thumbs pressing down his member to fit his girthy length between your folds again. You let out a whine when his cockhead catches on your clit at one long stroke of his hips, yet you cannot help your hips from moving in rhythm with his thrusts. 

Your brother’s hooded eyes are unwavering as he watches you slowly crumble beneath him, eyes watery with pleasure, bottom lip almost white from being bitten down on. 

He knows you’re close. 

He’s touched you enough and witnessed too many times the face you make right before and during your orgasms. It is the most beautiful face he’s ever seen on anyone. 

“Gonna cum, baby?” Suguru coos, his hand on your hip moving to cover your clit with his thumb. 

His cock twitches angrily against your wet folds at your answering mewl, too dazed to actually give a reply. Your brother quickens his pace, putting more pressure on his cock to rub along your lips, his thumb pad circling your red pearl. 

You nearly combust as a white hot flash shoots up from your core, spreading to the rest of your body. Your ears are momentarily blocked, eyes unfocused, your jaw slack with pleasure. 

Suguru never lasts long after you. 

In a few more thrusts, your brother moans your name, eyes rolled to the back of his head as he cums all over your glistening pussy, adding to the mix of lubricant and the juices of your arousal.  

The both of you take a few moments to calm down. When you do, you notice Suguru’s face getting closer as he leans toward you. A small gasp arises from your mouth just as his lips press against yours. 

Your entire body stiffens. 

Despite all the things you’ve done together, kissing is not one of them. It just feels…not right. Well, more wrong than all the touching that happens every night without fail, under an almost fever dream-like state. As if having your lips touch would mean making this whole thing real. 

Suguru’s lips part from yours slightly as he tilts his head. He comes in for another kiss, this time nipping on your bottom lip gently, tongue flicking out to give you kitten lick at intervals. You feel his cock twitching against your pussy despite his release, ready to go again. You realise belatedly that you’re staring at the long lashes resting on your brother’s cheeks, his eyes closed. 

With a hand on the bed supporting his weight, his other hand slides along your waist, gently tracing your side. Slowly, your body relaxes and your eyelids flutter shut. 

It is a small movement, but when your lips close around his upper one, Suguru moans. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue along your parted lips before entering your wet cavern. 

Your lips lock for what feels like a long time, the both of you lost in the taste of each other. It is only until you choke on your breath and a whine slips out, that Suguru finally breaks the kiss, pulling away slowly, carefully. 

You flutter your eyes open to him already staring at you, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Love you, baby sis.”

Suguru and you are lounging on the couch with him sitting up at one end of it and you sprawling across the length of it, legs propped up on his thighs, his calloused hands skimming along your shin and ankles in a light caress. 

The both of you turn when you hear your mother coming to stand behind the couch, inquisitive eyes on the both of you. 

“Not going out?” she wonders. 

Suguru shakes his head and goes back to watching the romcom movie you picked out on TV. You reply, “Nope.”

“It’s a Friday night,” is all she says. 

“So?” 

“You guys aren’t usually home on Fridays. And Saturdays,” she notes. You just shrug at her. “You two used to go out so much.”

You scoff. “When we did, you always nagged at us that we were staying out too much. Now that we’re staying home, you’re asking us to leave?”

She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “It was just an observation. I like that you guys are staying home more.” 

Finally, she leans down and pat your head, then moves to kiss the top of Suguru’s. 

“I’m going to bed. Your dad and I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“Golf?” 

Your mom hums. “With the Itadori’s. Sure you guys don’t wanna come?” 

You grin at her. “Nope!” 

She rolls her eyes and turns away as she greets, “Good night. Remember to turn the fan off when you’re done.”

Suguru and you stay in the living room to finish the movie. When it ends, Suguru turns everything off while you stand and stretch, yawning. He slips an arm around your waist and drops his head to kiss your temple. Your head naturally tilts in his direction. 

“Wanna go to sleep together?” he murmurs against your skin. 

You have never slept over in each other’s bed despite what you’ve been doing. It feels all too intimate. To you, at least. But now that your brother is the one who initiated it, you hesitate. 

“Is that… okay?” you muse. 

He noses your cheek as he drops another kiss below your cheekbone, his fingers already finding their way under your top to touch skin. 

“Why wouldn’t it be? We can cuddle and go to sleep together.”

You think about it. Maybe it isn’t that bad. After all, what you do together is already considered intimate. Beyond intimate. This can’t be worse than what you’ve done with him. 

“‘Kay,” you murmur. “My room though, because yours is uncomfortable.”

You yelp when Suguru pinches your waist as he pulls away. He gives your ass a smack. “Your room is uncomfortable.”

Even as the both of you walk to the bathroom to brush your teeth, you grumble, “Mine is perfect! And it smells nice.”

The both of you continue bickering even in the toilet, toothpaste foam almost spitting at each other. In the end, you still end up in your room, because Suguru, though he can be a bit of a bully sometimes, will always give in to his little sister. 

That night, you cuddle with your brother in the most innocent sense of the word, for the first time in a long time neither of you touching each other appropriately. And even though it is your first time cuddling to sleep, it feels so natural, so comfortable, so domestic, that you fall asleep almost immediately. 

The next morning, you’re awoken by your own moans. Too late, you realise that your legs are spread wide open, panty crotch pulled aside, your brother situated in between your thighs. 

At once, you let out a long moan and your hand flies down to entangle your fingers in his locks. Suguru’s eyes fly open, though heavy-lidded, like he’d also just woken up from his slumber. 

“Mom and dad…” Your voice is breathless and rough from sleep. 

Suguru parts from your cunt and you notice how wet the lower half of his face is. 

How long has he been awake, eating you out? 

“Already left,” he reassures in a quiet gravelling murmur. 

Sliding your panties back into place, he gets up, quickly doffing his boxers before he reaches for your bedside drawer where he’s bought another tube of lubricant to be stashed in your room. 

You move to tug on the waistband of your underwear, but you’re quickly stopped. “Keep it on,” Suguru breathes. 

You don’t say anything back because he is between your legs again, his throbbing erection already leaning on your clothed pussy. He douses lube all over the both of you, drenching the thin material of your cotton panties completely. 

“I want to feel you, Sugu,” you whine, pulling on your panties once more. 

But your brother catches your wrist, his hold tight. “Oh, you’ll feel me, Princess,” is all he says, a certain glint in his eyes. 

You’re not sure if that’s a reassuring statement, or a threat. Either way, you let him lead. 

So you lay there, mewling at the feeling of Suguru rubbing his cock along the crotch of your panties. As he holds the base of his member and puts more pressure on it against your pussy, he pulls aside the crotch of your undies, allowing himself to slide his cock between your pink lips. 

Your breathing becomes ragged, eyes shutting in bliss as you bite down on your lip. Suguru slips his cock under the crotch of your panties, letting the elastic trap his length against your folds, freeing his hands to support himself when he leans down to kiss you. 

You can feel almost every vein on his dick, your own hips twitching every time your clit catches the edge of his bulbous tip. 

You’re a moaning mess, yet your brother is willingly swallowing up the sounds you make. If anything, he seems to enjoy hearing them, especially when he continuously rubs his cockhead against your sensitive pearl, just to hear more of your mewls. 

With a hand on his firm chest, you let out a whine as you turn your face away, breaking the kiss. “Suguru,” you pant, though sounding more like you’re begging, just not sure for what. 

Your brother hums and leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of your parted lips. He finally stands up tall again and stares down at his thick member grinding all over your slobbering pussy. 

“This the pair I bought for you, baby?” your brother wonders, a finger lining under your panties, the back of his digit brushing the fat of your cunt, adding to the sensation of his cock rubbing against your wet slit. 

You nod wordlessly. Suguru slips out from under the cotton fabric, letting it cling onto your pussy again, hugging every curve of your fat lips and digging into the crevices between your folds. He hums. 

“Mm… It’s so thin I can see your pussy. So pretty and puffy for me.”

With a hand circled around the base of his cock, he presses his tip on your clothed clit, drawing a line down the crease between your legs. 

When he reaches your hidden hole, you gasp and grasp at your bedsheets in surprise as he pushes his cockhead between your lips, the mushroom tip resisting the wet material of your panties and poking just slightly at your entrance. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groans.

“Suguru…” you moan shakily, dilated pupils trembling as you gaze up at him. 

He pulls away, but very quickly regrets it. 

He wants to feel your thighs clench around him again like you’re not sure if you want to keep him there or to stop him from going further. 

So he makes another thrust, and you swear you feel the globular head of his cock violate your entrance, the only thing stopping your sexes from physically touching being your cotton panties that are so thin and wet that Suguru can practically feel your heat wrapping around the head of his member. 

“Sugu…” you try to call out firmly, but it only comes out in a purr. You place a palm on his pec, the tips of your fingers pressing down on his muscled chest. “S-stop. This is wrong…”

Your brother’s hand circles your wrist lightly and strokes his hand down your forearm in a loving caress. When he brings it up to your wrist again, he lifts your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles, the entire time his eyes on yours. 

“It’s alright, Princess. It’s not so bad. You’re still wearing your panties, see?” 

And to prove his point, he bucks his hips again, penetrating your entrance as much as he can before the both of you feel the strain on your panties. You let out a pornographic moan, your fingers curling to dig your nails into his chest. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

You can only nod as he keeps up with fucking against the barrier of your panties. 

It does feel so good. After doing all kinds of foreplay and touching, this feels a hundred times more pleasurable. 

“Ha…” Suguru moans when he feels your walls fluttering around his cockhead. 

He lets go of your wrist and leans down to hover over you, making sure he watches the expressions on your face while he goes on to do what he does. 

And is he glad he did. 

With his tip still inside of you, he makes short thrusts of his hips. 

Your jaw falls open as you let out mewls and whimpers that put pornstars to shame. Suguru makes a mental note to record your beautiful sounds the next time. Even your eyes are glossy as you look at him, dazed and completely fucked out. 

He decides he would film you instead, because he has to enshrine everything about you in this moment when you’re being pleasured by your older brother. 

Suguru keeps pumping the tip of his cock into your pussy, enjoying your thrumming heat, savouring your moans of pleasure. 

“Ah… Suguru… yeah…” you breathe, spurring your brother on to pick up his speed. 

This only causes the cotton material of your panties to stretch more and you let out a long groan, so sure that he’s getting deeper with every thrust. 

“Fuck, Princess,” Suguru curses, quickly pulling out completely of your pulsing walls. “You’re going to make me cum.” 

Wrapping his hand around his member, he presses his cockhead on your clit. He starts fucking his fist, at the same time rubbing against your hypersensitive bud. 

You’re a moaning mess now and Suguru knows you’re close. And now that he’s felt the heat of your tight hole, he’s going to need to feel you unravel around him. 

So your brother quickly plunges back between your folds, making you arch your back and cry out in response. He has a thumb circling on your clit as he keeps fucking his tip into you, prolonging your orgasm.

His eyes are trained on the way your body trembles, the fat of your breasts jiggling at your impending orgasm; the way your eyes roll to the back of your head; the way your lips part and drool is starting to dribble down the side of your mouth. 

You look so beautiful as you come undone before your big brother. 

And his little sister will always be Suguru’s downfall. 

He pulls out of you and replaces his thumb with his red tip as he continues fucking his hand, at the same time rubbing your clit with his cockhead. 

“Sugu… feels so good, ah…” 

Your purring moan is what tips him over the edge. In the next thrust, Suguru groans out your name and cums all over your panties, soaking them even more, his breathing loud and irregular. 

You’re whining, hips bucking as he grips your waist tightly with his other hand, keeping you there. Suguru releases his hot seed relentlessly, always so much for you in spite of the daily orgasms you give each other. 

Finally, when the height of your pleasure has waned and the room is charged with your familiar pants, Suguru sighs. He presses a kiss between your brows and rolls to flop onto the mattress next to you, spent. 

“Is this really okay, Suguru…?” 

Your brother turns his head to face you looking up at him apprehensively. He licks his lips and swallows.

Reaching out to cradle your cheek, he coos, “Of course, baby sis. It’s not really sex. We’re not really fucking.” He swipes his thumb under your eye tenderly. “It’s alright, Princess.”

You nod your head, letting go of your worries and wholly allowing yourself to trust your brother. A grin slides on his face when he sees you relax. Leaning in, he gives you a loving kiss to your lips. 

After all, big brother Suguru has never been wrong. 

You’re not sure how many times, and in how many positions you’ve done this pseudo-fucking with your brother. 

It happens in the afternoon sometimes when your father is taking his nap and your mother is out getting groceries. It happens in the evening every so often when your parents have retired for the night and you’re trying to finish a movie you’ve missed out the ending on, twice, because this keeps happening. It happens in the middle of the night occasionally when you’re asleep and he comes home late after a night of drinking with his friends. 

Though sometimes, you go back to basics: the sweet finger fucking, the messy oral sex, the intimate wet humping. 

And every now and then, Suguru records these sessions. Mostly just you, but sometimes he props his phone up somewhere to document the both of you. 

You had obviously said no at first. But he coaxed you into allowing it when he swears it’s only for his own keepsake. That if he could bottle up the sounds and faces you make, he would. Instead, he has to resort to filming. 

Just like today. 

Your parents are gone on a weekend cruise and you’ve just gotten back from a dinner “date” with your brother, as he dubbed it. 

You’re lying on the bed, legs spread wide with him standing between them, his hard cock lubed up against the g-string he bought you. Suguru has set up his phone on a holder on your bedside table, filming the both of you. 

“You looked so beautiful today, baby,” your brother sighs as he stares down at you, his dark orbs holding so much love and affection. 

Pulling up the expensive cloth of your lingerie, you whine when you feel the sliver of fabric slip between your lips, providing pleasurable friction against your pussy that has you arching your back slightly. 

Suguru is pumping his member as he watches you intensely, like you could be his favourite video to watch if he was jerking off. 

Still tugging on your g-string, your brother places his girthy meat on your puffy lips and starts sliding his tip between them, letting your arousal coat his meat. You mewl when he taps his cockhead on your pussy, your sticky slick making it sound almost like he is slapping his weight on your flesh. 

“So wet, sweet girl,” he coos and clicks his tongue, as if in reprimand. “Did wearing slutty panties for your big brother turn you on?”

Your cheeks are burning, but you’re not embarrassed to reach down to stroke the smooth tip of your brother’s cock, letting him know wordlessly that he’s right. 

Suguru’s chuckle is breathy as he watches you rut your hips against the line of your g-string and his member, your hooded eyes on him though not really seeing, your chest rising and falling with the pants you let out. 

Then, he drags his cockhead down your lips, positioning himself at your entrance he has come to know so well, except this time without the expansive barrier of your cotton panties. You don’t notice him loosening his grip of your g-string. 

“Oh, Suguru!” you drawl in a lewd moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

He’s pushed his head between your lips, against the thin line of your g-string that barely covers anything. 

You’re so wet. So warm. So tight. 

“Fuck,” your brother curses. 

Your entrance is pulsing around his tip, trying to get used to his size, to get used to his heat, the raw feeling of his cock against your walls. 

You’re still trying to relax your muscles from clamping down on him when he breaches your hole deeper, scraping the bump of his cockhead and the fabric of your g-string on your gummy walls. You almost scream out in pleasure. 

“Oh, fuuuck, baby,” Suguru groans, eyes shut in bliss and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Suguru,” you breathe, voice trembling. 

Only when he opens his eyes again and lands his gaze on you, does he realise that tears are slipping down your cheeks from the corners of your eyes. Yet the expression you wear is not that of pain or sadness or anger at him for doing what he did without your permission. 

No. 

You’re on a high — body flushed, heart swelling and pounding against your ribcage, skin prickling with heat, eyes glassy with tears of pleasure. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Suguru growls. 

“W-why?” you whine, your hand messily reaching down to grasp at his wrist still pulling on your g-string. “You’re s-so big.”

Just as you say that last word, Suguru pushes another inch into you as he finally releases the fabric of your lingerie so it has more give to push against. You arch your back, pushing your hips out, your walls fluttering around his thick meat. 

Without the material of your panties in the way, you can actually feel how veiny he is despite that thin strip of your g-string in the way of you reaching complete pleasure. 

And fuck, did he feel good. 

“I can’t stop myself if you look at me like that,” Suguru admits, his voice almost squeaky as he endures another squeeze of your gummy walls. 

All sane thoughts leave you. Those morals that you loosely gripped onto the past few months of getting involved with your brother slip through cracks of pleasure. 

“Then don’t,” you breathe, begging. “Give me more, Sugu… please.”

Suguru feels like he could nut right there and then. 

He’s been playing the long game. Been conditioning you, been prepping you. He’s been so patient. And now you're right where he wants you to be. 

But he wants to hear it. 

He wants to hear you beg. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he grunts, breathless. 

His pupils are so blown out, but of course you couldn’t see that. Not with the pleasure clouding your senses. 

Your hips tremble when he drags his cock out slowly, only a little, just enough for you to tighten your hold on his wrist, not wanting him to leave you empty. 

“Please!” you cry up at your brother. “I want you to fuck me, Sugu… without my panties.” More tears fall from your waterline. “Without my panties,” you repeat louder, firmer. 

“But this definitely isn’t okay,” he coos in mock sadness, like he is concerned. 

You shake your head. “Please, Suguru,” you plead. “I want to…” You let out a loud moan when he pulls out again, taking his time. “I need you, Sugu. Don’t you want to fuck me?” 

That is what does it for him. 

He slips out of you in a second, followed by ripping out your g-string. Suguru breaks your hold of his wrist as he bends over to take your lips in his, his tongue already messily playing with yours. 

His other hand that’s not supporting him on the mattress reaches down to pull your g-string aside as he aligns his tip at your entrance again, this time with no obstruction at all. 

Your head tips back the moment he splits you open, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth parted in a silent scream. 

Suguru moans into your mouth. Fuck, did you feel like heaven. 

Grunting at how tight you’re squeezing him, he continues entering deeper into your pulsating cunt, his mind already blanking the moment his cockhead kissed your cervix, deaf to your gurgled cries at him stretching you out. 

He’s never been so deep. 

And your wet heat is making his dick throb. 

A whimper escapes your lips at the sensation of his thick meat twitching inside you, raw against the velvety walls of your intoxicating pussy. 

Suguru is immediately brought back to the present, staring down at you with your lips still parted. 

“Tongue out for me, Princess,” he breathes. 

The way your body reacts to his pet names for you only makes him smirk. The tight squeeze of your walls around him just makes him want to whisper all the sweet names he knows in your ear all day. 

Completely buried inside you still, Suguru lets you get used to his size for the first time while he laps at your exposed appendage. No lip locking, just pure spit swapping and licking tongues. 

It’s filthy. So messy. And so sensual. 

His ears pick up the sound of your cunt squelching around him, getting wetter and tighter at this sloppy tongue dance. 

He speaks around your tongue, some words muffled, “Y’like this, huh?”

You flutter your eyes to stare up at him to make it known that you’re serious when you nod your head. Suguru scoffs out a chuckle. Pulling away, he grips your chin with a tight hand, making sure your mouth stays open. 

And you watch in real time as your brother churns his saliva in his mouth for a few seconds and finally spits the slobber right down your tongue, the warm liquid sliding down to the back of your throat. A string of drool is still hanging from Suguru’s bottom lip when he lets go of your face to wipe it off with the back of his hand. 

“Swallow it, bunny. Oh, shit…” A curse rips out from the back of his throat when your walls clamp down on him again. 

You really do like your brother calling you all kinds of pet names.

Suguru keeps his eyes on you. The moment he sees comprehension behind your dazed look, he flickers his eyes down to your mouth where your tongue is curling around the remaining glob of his saliva, keeping it, cherishing it. 

And the moment you swallow it, a low growl cuts through Suguru's chest and he starts pounding your pussy like it belongs to him. Like your entire body belongs to him. 

Because you have no control over the wanton moans you make, nor the way your thighs are widening to give him more access, nor the scratches you give him on his chest with your nails. 

Everything feels so good; the wet stickiness of his hips slapping against your ass, his thick cock fucking your tight pussy, the way your body recoils with every thrust. 

Everything sounds so good; the mix of your pants and moans, the slight creaking of the bedframe with every pounding your brother gives you, the loud squelching of your pussy being impaled by your brother’s cock. 

Everything looks so good; the way Suguru is hovering over you with a tendril of hair falling from his half-bun over his forehead, the flexing of his muscles with every motion he makes, the sight of the pink, thick cock disappearing in your cunt with every thrust when you look down. 

Your back arches into a bow against the mattress and Suguru takes this opportunity to loop his arm around your waist, pulling you up against him. 

You’re just a limp doll in his arms as he supports you fully with his strength, fucking himself into you like you’re his own personal flashlight. 

You cling onto him, nails digging into his shoulders. You’re a drooling mess, eyes at the back of your head. Suguru’s dick twitches at the sight of his baby sister getting fucked dumb. He's close. 

He knows that right now, he could say anything to you, and you would probably listen. So he embraces you closer with a hand at the back of your head and buries his face in your neck, nose in your ear. You moan loudly when he takes a deep breath through his nose and speeds up his thrust. 

“Gonna cum for your big brother, baby?” he coos in your ear. He feels the change in your pulsating walls as you whimper in response. “Yeah? Want Sugu to go faster?” 

You can’t even whine at the way he mocks your childhood nickname for him. And Suguru doesn’t need you to say yes. Because he knows by the way your thighs are already tightening around his waist. 

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Suguru murmurs hotly against your ear. “Oh, yes, just like that, my love. Cum all over your big brother’s cock just like that. Such a good girl.”

You’re a crying mess as you unravel around him, your pussy clenching unrelentlessly on his member, thighs tight around his waist, nails embedded in his back, body jerking in his hold. 

Suguru doesn’t stop fucking you. In fact, he speeds up his thrusts. 

“Squeeze tight for me now, baby,” he coos. “Yes, good girl. Gonna cum in you, yeah, Princess? Fill you up real good?”

You don’t even realise you’re nodding your head. In a few pumps, Suguru drags out a groan in your ear as he shoots his load into you. 

On his last thrust, he bottoms out inside your cunt and presses his face in the crook of your neck as he hugs you to him, his cock twitching erratically in your orifice, pouring more seed into your womb. 

He moans your name several times but you are so out of it that you can’t hear anything but your own mewls and moans, nor feel anything but the numbing pleasure that has taken over your body. 

It is only until Suguru has completely offloaded in your warm pussy and he lifts his head to take in your flushed face, his broad hand brushing your hair away from your face gently, that you finally wake up from your pleasure-induced unconsciousness. 

You blink up at your older brother, disoriented. He smiles and drops a kiss on your furrowed eyebrow. 

“Alright, my pretty doll?” 

You let out a quiet whimper when your walls make one last clench around him, thighs tightening around his waist again. Suguru grins. He knows your weakness now. 

“So cute, angel.”

Another squeeze. 

“Trying to make me hard again, Princess?”

You shake your head in embarrassment but your walls constrict around him once more. He chuckles and you whine at him with a slap to his shoulder. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s just sit, okay?” 

Not trusting yourself to speak yet, you nod your head. Your brother turns to sit on the edge of your bed, the both of you still connected. His hands slide down to your thighs as he strokes your skin. Suguru drops his head to press a kiss to your shoulder. 

“You really alright?” You bob your head wordlessly but his brows furrow as he looks up at you, worried. “So quiet, baby. Not gonna ask me if what we just did is really okay?” 

Blood rushes up to your cheeks. You nibble on your bottom lip and look away before shaking your head. “I know it’s not okay,” you whisper. 

Silence stretches between the both of you for a long moment but Suguru doesn’t stop caressing you. 

Finally, you dart your eyes back to meet his and say quietly, “This is not right, Sugu.” 

Your brother doesn’t even know he has stopped breathing or has halted in touching you. Until you continue,

“But I want it. Wanna keep doing things together.”

Suguru finally breathes, his body relaxing again and his palms go back to rubbing along your thighs. He feels his heart expand with love and relief. 

“Yeah?”

You nod with a shy smile. He cups your cheek and leans in, kissing the tip of your nose, then your lips. 

“Of course, my love. You know your brother will always want to make you happy.”

And Suguru keeps this video of your first time together in his Favourites.

-

© chocochipsushi 2026 all works are mine, please do not rewrite/plagiarise

[wreckitwrites]

just found your blog was wondering if you take requests like yandere aemond x reader?

Yes!! Although I can’t guarantee how quickly I’ll get to them, I write when I have the time/energy

Do you have anything specific in mind??