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yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 5 - set in the morning after part 2, everybody give a warm welcome to the yakuza universe miya twins, tw yandere behaviour red flags series masterlist

You wake to the clanging sound of pots, pans, and the rush of running tap water—the telltale sound of cooking, you realize, the closer to consciousness you drift.

Slowly, you rouse from your slumber, blinking against the soft light that diffuses through the curtains along the vast wall of windows at your bedside.

No, not your bedside.

You push yourself up, a tenderness in your limbs that makes them wobble under the meagre effort to lift your own body from the soft swaddle of sheets. The gauzy curtains in Suna’s bedroom have rendered the daylight down outside into something gentle, but the face of the digital clock on his bedside table tells you that it’s almost midday, and life in the city outside is already in full-swing. You should have left hours ago. You shouldn’t even have spent the night. 

In truth, you’re not quite sure where your memories from the day before end. You don’t feel particularly well rested, which makes you think you probably haven’t been asleep for very long. What foggy recollection you do have from the very early hours of the morning tell you that there’s a good chance that you’re right.

You look down suddenly.

You don’t have any clothes on.

Your skin doesn’t feel sticky though, you remark as you drag your fingertips gently along your bare thigh. There’s no trace of grime, or sweat, or any other unmentionable mess that you can detect clinging to you—just tender aches that you know are fresh bruises forming underneath the outermost layer of your skin. You lift your forearm up to your nose, sniffing yourself lightly. You smell like soap. Nice soap. The same soap you smell on Suna when you mouth along his throat. He must have cleaned you up before he put you into bed, you realize.

You purse your lips in a pensive little pout.

Outside the bedroom—Suna’s bedroom—the clattering noises continue.

The sounds of activity in the kitchen only grow louder as you pad quietly out from the bedroom, approaching the edge of the second floor landing to peer down to the main floor. There’s not a particularly clear view to the kitchen from the upper level, but you see a pair of hands reaching for a knife from the chopping block in the island, so you know he’s there.

“Suna,” you call down quietly, your voice still hoarse from sleep and possibly overexertion the night before. You step cautiously down along the first few steps of the staircase, conscious of a dangerous weakness in your knees, clinging to the railing as you descend.

The sounds in the kitchen halt—save for the sizzle of something cooking on the stove.

You hadn’t been able to find your clothes in Suna’s bedroom, so you’re still naked—not that you have any particular reservations to nudity, given your line of work. 

You reach the bottom of the staircase and look up.

“Do you know where my clothes a—“

It is not Suna that you find in the kitchen.

In fact, it’s not even someone that you recognize.

The dark-haired man on the other side of the apartment is frozen with his eyes wide, staring at you like he’s just as shocked as you are to be standing there.

In the living room, a little bit closer to you, a head of blonde hair peeks up over the back of the sofa with an identical look of surprise.

Literally identical.

“You’re not Suna,” you remark rather flatly, though it really doesn’t need to be said.

“No ‘m definitely not,” the man in the kitchen nods, averting his stare. As though to preserve your modesty, he picks up a container of orange juice and holds it up in front of his eyes. It’s so unsubtle that you can’t help but think it’s kind of cute.

The guy on the couch shows no such chivalry. 

“Who are you?” he asks, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“’Tsumu at least stop starin’ at her, ya pig,” the guy in the kitchen snaps, and the blonde rolls his eyes before making a big show of holding his hands up to cover his gaze.

(You’re pretty sure you still spot him peeking through his fingers.)

“I, uh,”—the dark haired one clears his throat a bit awkwardly—“I’ve got a hoodie over here if ya need somethin' to put on.”

You don’t know who these two are, but they seem to be right at home in Suna's apartment, so you don’t feel as though you’re in any great degree of danger. You consider this for a moment, and then approach the kitchen tentatively.

The man hidden behind the orange juice is gesturing vaguely to what you’re pretty sure he thinks are the barstools along one side of the kitchen island, but is actually a bowl of fruit—but you find a soft black sweatshirt all the same, tugging it quickly on over you’re head.

“I’m decent,” you remark, letting the gentleman in front of you know it’s safe to lower his citrus shield now that you're all covered up.

“Yeah you are,” the blonde in the other room mutters appreciatively under his breath, and you toss an unamused look over your shoulder in his direction. He slumps back onto the sofa, avoiding your gaze.

“Sorry 'bout him,” the man in front of you says with a long sigh that gives you every impression that it’s not the first time he’s had to apologize on the other’s behalf. “He’s like a dog.”

You hum, glancing over at the blonde again. He’s looking your way but quickly busies himself with his cellphone when he sees you turn in his direction.

“He needs better training,” you note, and the dark haired man laughs, loud and sincere.

“I don’t disagree.” 

The man in front of you can at least meet your eyes now that you’re covered up, and he bows politely in your direction to finally greet you properly.

“I’m Osamu,” he says. 

You dip down slightly to do the same. “Yua.”

“What are ya doin’ at our Sunarin’s place, Yua-chan?” the blonde on the couch calls over to you, but you don’t bother sparing him a glance—or offering him any kind of reply.

“That’s my brother, Atsumu,” Osamu explains, and you nod a little—having pieced at least that bit of information together on your own. 

“I see you inherited all the charm,” you remark, and Osamu smiles a little shyly, chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, but I got all the looks.” Suddenly, Atsumu sidles up alongside you, and you startle at his unexpected nearness. You blink up at him in surprise, all at once realizing just how big these twins are—tall, broad, visibly strong frames nearly identical between them. He smiles down at you, dipping closer to your face and batting his eyelashes sweetly. “Dontcha think?”

You don’t have time to tell him what you think, as it turns out, because a figure steps into view on the other side of the kitchen that serves as a distraction.

“What are you doing in my house?” 

Suna’s expression is severe as he takes in the scene before him, though his eyes seem particularly focused on Atsumu at your side.

“There he is,” Osamu remarks lightly, and there’s a lilt of something in his voice that seems like anticipation—like he knows how this is all about to play out.

“We were ‘sposed to meet here after the meeting this morning, remember?” Atsumu says, turning to the man on the other side of the room. He slings an arm around your shoulders, tucking you against his side. “Ya didn’t tell us you’d have company, Sunarin.” 

“Get out.”

You’ve never heard Suna’s voice so cold in all the time you’ve known him.

Impassive, yes. Irritated, on occasion. 

Never so hostile.

Atsumu opens his mouth as if to complain, but his brother doesn’t give him the chance.

“You heard the man, Tsumu,” he says, rounding the kitchen island and closing that gap between him and his brother in two long strides. He grabs Atsumu by the scruff of his t-shirt and drags him towards the door, passing Suna as they go.

You spot the unmistakable glimpse of a tattoo on Atsumu’s back as his brother tows him along by his collar.

Ah.

That explains it.

“Sorry, Suna,” you hear Osamu mutter as the two of them pass the man standing there watching them go.

“Wait,” you call, suddenly finding your voice. 

All three men flinch at the sound, pausing to look at you.

“Your sweater,” you say, holding up your hands where the sleeves of his hoodie have them swallowed.

Osamu smiles stiffly, dipping his head ever so slightly in a nod. “You keep that fer now, I’m not too worried about it.”

You let your hands drop, and the twins disappear from view. You hear a bit of bickering, and then the sound of the front door closing behind them.

Suddenly it’s just you and Suna, all alone.

It’s preternaturally quiet once the twins are gone, their absence acutely noticeable like a storm once it recedes. It makes you shift your weight from one foot to the other nervously.

You glance into the kitchen where there’s still something cooking on the stove—seemingly abandoned in Osamu’s haste to flee. 

“He was cooking something,” you remark quietly. Suna makes no move to tend to it, so you round the kitchen island and take the overcooked eggs off the heat, setting the skillet on an unlit burner and extinguishing the one it had previously been resting on. 

You turn back towards the living room, and find Suna has approached you in the time your back was turned to him, closer now than he has been since he arrived home.

“I thought it was you,” you explain quietly after a moment, fiddling with the sleeve of the sweatshirt on your frame. “I heard noises when I woke up so I just thought…”

Suna catches your hand in his own, his eyes fixed to the hoodie that you wear.

“I couldn’t find my clothes,” you explain, sensing what’s making the unhappy little expression tug at the corner of his mouth.

Suna’s eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“I took them to be dry cleaned,” he replies, glancing over to the counter. He’d been carrying a few things when he came in, but you hadn’t paid them much attention. There’s a garment bag resting across the marble, and a shopping bag from a familiar store on top.

A lingerie store.

“Well, I took whatever could be salvaged anyway,” Suna murmurs, tugging you into his chest and nosing at your ear. 

Your cheeks feel warm.

Suna’s hands slip up underneath the sweatshirt, peeling it slowly up off of your body. You let him do so without complaint, watching as he tosses it aside haplessly into the living room once he’s fully removed it. 

“Better?” you ask him dryly as he peers down at you.

He smiles a little, leaning down so his mouth is poised just over your own.

“Much.”

In between needy, feverish kisses, Suna lifts you up to sit atop the kitchen island, slotting himself in between your parted legs.

“Suna,” you mumble as he mouths his way down your throat, your lips kiss-bitten and stinging. He ignores your call of his name, running his tongue along your clavicle before nipping at it gently. You grip gently at the hair of his nape, tugging a bit. “Suna.”

He pulls away, his expression hazy and his breaths coming fast.

“I should go,” you say to him quietly, and you’re sure the regret you feel is evident in your words. “I have to go home. I have to work tonight.”

Suna’s expression changes, hardens a bit, he tucks his face back into the crook of your neck.

This time when he bites it isn’t gentle.

You moan at the feeling of his teeth pressing into your skin, your legs tightening where they're wrapped around his waist, your hands holding him to your neck a little tighter where they're tangled in his hair. He presses a series of kisses to the spot he’s just marked, soft like an apology.

A chiming sound from the end of the counter tears your attention away from the ache of your throat.

Your head turns towards the sound, but Suna is quick to guide your face back towards his, kissing you sweetly. He leans you back until you're flat against the counter, his broad frame hovering over you like he's shielding the rest of the world from view.

It almost works.

“Did you take my phone with you this morning when you left?” you ask him, panting the question out against his beseeching mouth.

Suna pulls away slightly.

“I took your purse by accident,” he explains. “I didn’t realize until I went to pick your clothes up from the dry cleaners. They set it aside in a separate bag.”

You purse your lips, letting your head loll to the side and turning your face away from him.

“I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon,” Suna insists, pressing a kiss to the edge of your jaw. “I had to go somewhere for work, and I didn’t know it would take me as long as it did.”

He places a chaste peck to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your mouth.

Your eyes search his, but you can’t seem to find any guilt behind them.

You soften after taking a moment to mull over his apology, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he pulls you upright on the counter.

“Let’s get you home,” he says, running his hands along your thighs, kneading his thumbs into them every so often. 

“If you pass me my phone, I’ll call the club. They may have a driver they can send for me,” you say, glancing towards the pile of your things at the other end of the island. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Suna says, and you tilt your head to the side as you turn to face him again.

He fishes a set of car keys out from the pocket of his joggers, and they jingle as he twirls them around his finger.

“I can take you home myself.”

You pause, hesitating.

He picks up instantly on your reluctance.

“Or I could call the driver from last night,” he assures you, his tone even and obliging. He presses another featherlight kiss to your lips. “It’s entirely up to you.”

Your fingers twist in the material of his sweatshirt, considering it for a moment. You fiddle idly with the strings of his hoodie, twirling them around our fingers until the blood flow starts to slow, deprivation prickling in the very tips.

You’ve never let a client drive you home before.

Never even let a client know what neighbourhood you live in.

But this is Suna.

And Suna’s different…

“Yeah, okay,” you murmur, peeking up at him shyly. “You can take me if you want.”

… Isn’t he?

instead of you [part thirty] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of menstruation, pain, smut (mdni)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

additional smut warnings: face sitting, protected sex, multiple orgasms

That night, Jisung took you to a pharmacy that was right by the resort. It was within walking distance but since you had a bad foot, you took a cab. He tipped the driver extra to leave the meter running and stay parked outside while you ran in together to grab what you needed, and then tipped him again when you made it back to the hotel since the whole journey was more of an inconvenience than an actual ride. 

After taking a shower, you soaked your foot like Amir had instructed you to and then fell asleep almost immediately. Surfing had completely sapped you of all of your energy, even without the whole sea urchin incident. 

Everything hurt when you woke up. It felt similar to the morning after having sex with Minho for the first time but ten times worse. You groaned as you rolled over, the sound splintering off into a whimper when you tried sitting up. 

“Quiet, they’re going to think we’re messing around in here,” Jisung said, shushing you. You’d woken him up with your noises. 

“Can’t help it,” you grumbled back. 

“Sore?” he asked. 

“Incredibly.”

“It’s brutal after your first time.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

“I’ll grab you some ibuprofen and a glass of water.”

“Thank you.”

-

The morning was spent lazily. Jisung made breakfast for everyone and you all ate together in the kitchen, listening to Dom explain the concept of the new book he was writing. You couldn’t really follow the plot but you still nodded along like you did and let the boys do all of the question asking. 

After breakfast, everyone got ready for the day and met in the lobby where you were picked up by a cab and taken to a marina. Jisung had told you that you would be snorkeling most of the day, but you hadn’t expected it to be deep sea snorkeling. The idea was a bit daunting but it turned out that it wasn’t actually as deep as the name suggested. The water was clear enough to see everything and the ocean floor was only about thirty feet below you. 

The captain of the boat you’d taken out to this spot had assured you that the area was shallow and full of marine life.

“We just like to take visitors out here because it’s less busy than right by the shore,” he said. 

Obviously, the man knew what he was talking about. The snorkeling was one of the highlights of the entire trip thus far for you. You had never seen so many fish in one place before, or coral for that matter. Everything was so vibrant that it felt right out of a page of NatGeo. It was nice just to be able to relax and let the water carry your body weight as you floated on the surface, especially since you were still so sore. You barely had to move at all. It was so peaceful that you almost fell asleep in the water. 

The only thing that startled you out of your half-asleep daze was Minho purposefully splashing you as he swam past you. 

You broke the news of your newfound dedication to celibacy to him once you got back to the resort that night. You’d stayed up to finish a movie with him after everyone else had gone to sleep and he’d invited you back to his room as soon as the credits rolled. 

“I just can’t keep going behind Jisung’s back,” you explained. 

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” he replied. You could tell he was disappointed but was trying not to let it show. You were disappointed too. You’d only slept with him twice but it was some of the best sex of your fucking life and you didn’t want to just throw that away. “Any reason to want to stop is reason enough, and it’s not my business,” he added. 

“It kind of is, though,” you reasoned with a sigh. He just shrugged. “I just thought you deserved to know.”

“Thanks for being honest.” He stood from the couch unceremoniously and turned back to you. “Uh, goodnight, I guess.”

You didn’t respond right away, taking a moment to admire the way the light from the television illuminated his features. 

“Goodnight, Minho.” 

You cringed inwardly at how weak you sounded, forcing a polite smile. The second his back was turned you started rethinking everything. Were you really going to let him just walk away?

“Wait-” you called out after him. “One more time couldn’t hurt, right?”

-

Your back hit the mattress as soon as the door shut behind you, Minho having pushed you onto his bed at the same time. You bounced a little, giggling as he jumped on top of you. He moved his way up your body until he was able to kiss you, sliding a hand under your head to lift you up to him. You kissed him back eagerly, slipping your tongue into his mouth as soon as the chance presented itself. Minho moaned quietly and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer. 

“We have to be quiet,” he reminded you after breaking away from the kiss. “Felix is right next door.”

You nodded. “I can be quiet.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“Mhm, you’ll just have to find something to keep my mouth busy.”

“Fuck.”

He began undressing you slowly, taking his time with you like you knew he liked to do. You were already in your pajamas so everything came off easily. Your t-shirt, your stolen boxer shorts that Minho had probably once thought to be his brother’s, your panties. You were lying naked underneath him in no time.

“I’m off my period, by the way,” you added. 

“You know I don’t care about that.”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d want to know… just in case.”

He narrowed his eyes, not following. “Just in case… of what?”

You sighed and flung your arms to the side dramatically. “Oh my god, are you really going to make me spell it out for you?”

“Spell out what?” he hissed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I already told you I don’t care about whether you’re on your period or not.”

“Okay, but there are certain things you can’t do on your period.”

“Like what?”

You rolled your eyes. He really was hopeless. At this point, you weren’t sure if he was actually oblivious or being obtuse on purpose. You had been under the impression that Minho liked eating pussy but maybe he had just been pretending to enjoy it for your benefit. 

“Do you want to go down on me or not?”

His eyes widened in realization and he nodded eagerly. “Oh, you should’ve just said that.”

“I was trying to!”

“You kept skirting around it!” he argued. 

“I didn’t want to say it outright…” you trailed off. 

“Why? Are you embarrassed?” He was teasing you and you knew it.

“A little,” you admitted. “I’m not used to asking for what I want.”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you on the mouth as he answered. “Well, you’d better get used to it.”

You were tempted to tell him it was pointless since this was the last time you were going to sleep together but you didn’t want to bring the mood down so you just nodded into the kiss and tried your best to forget about the depressing reality. 

He broke away again, this time to take off his own clothes. You watched him pull his shirt over his head, bottom lip between your teeth as your gaze trailed the defined lines of his body. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and touch him. Your fingers followed the same path as your eyes had and Minho shivered beneath your touch. You expected him to quip back with something smart, something to defuse the sincerity in your voice, but he didn’t. Instead, he pushed his hips forward so that he could grind against you. 

A moan caught in your throat and you arched your back, meeting him halfway. The fabric felt good on your clit and the motion of his hips created the friction you had been searching for but you were worried about staining the material. You were already turned on, and your arousal was only building as Minho kissed his way down your neck. You would be mortified if there was a noticeable wet spot on the front of his pants when he pulled away. 

For Minho, though, that seemed to be the last thing on his mind. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize each and every curve, like he was an artist, committing your figure to memory so that he could sketch it in graphite once you left his bed. 

“Did you want me to?” he asked suddenly. 

“Want you to what?”

“Eat you out?”

You shifted a bit on the bed, shy all of the sudden. “Um, only if you want to.”

“Of course I want to, but I wanted to make sure you wanted me to.”

“I don’t know any girl who would turn that down,” you said, half chuckling, then rushed to add, “well there are some people who don’t like it, or prefer other things over it, you know? Or can’t enjoy it because they’re insecure and I mean, I’m not one of those people but-” 

“Baby,” Minho cut you off. “A simple yes or no is all I need.”

“Yes. Please.”

Minho grinned and leaned back in to kiss you. “You’re cute.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue so you just pouted as you accepted the kiss. Minho groaned into your mouth, hands coming down to cup your breasts. His thumbs ran over your nipples making you gasp. You got lost in each other for a moment, original goal forgotten until Minho began kissing his way down your neck. He replaced one of the hands on your boobs with his mouth, tongue laving over your nipple just like it would your clit. 

You didn’t want to rush him but you were also beginning to feel desperate so you brought a hand to his hair, running your fingers through it before pushing down lightly, trying to signal what you needed. The salt water had left his hair more tousled than usual, leaving it just long enough to fall into his eyes. Even after a shower, it was more wavy than anything. You thought it suited him. Then again, you thought everything suited him. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Minho finally spoke. 

“Want you to sit on my face,” he mumbled against your skin. “Please?”

You sat up a bit, unsure you’d heard him correctly. “Are you serious?”

“Are you going to make me beg?” he asked, not answering the question. 

“No, I just… no one’s ever asked me to do that before.”

Minho seemed surprised, likely due to his knowledge of your sexual experience. “Really?”

You nodded. “The guys I usually go for aren’t very-”

“Good in bed?” he supplied.

“Well, yeah. And I’m usually the one asking the girls, so…”

A smirk passed over his face briefly as he processed the information before his expression fell into one of concern again. “Don’t feel like you have to do it just because I want to.”

“No, I know. I’m just a little nervous, I guess.”

“We can stop whenever you want. Just let me know.”

You shook your head and exhaled. “Okay. How should I…”

Minho rolled off of you and onto his back so that you could position yourself on top of him. He helped you straddle his face, big hands rubbing soothing circles on each of your thighs. 

“Just so you know, my entire body still feels like jelly from surfing so you’re going to have to do all of the work.”

“I can do that.”

“Are you sure?”

Minho scoffed as if he was offended you’d even ask. “Positive. Do you think I’m weak?”

“N-no! I just-”

“I’ve got you, okay?”

You gulped. “Okay.”

“And that means don’t hover. When I say sit on my face I mean sit. You won’t crush me, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

It was like he could read your mind. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Yes,” you whispered in response. 

He coaxed you into lowering yourself little by little until you were close enough for him to taste. You balanced your weight on your knees, still not confident enough to fully rest on him despite his words. 

But Minho ended up getting his way in the end because as soon as his tongue touched your pussy, you were suddenly unable to hold yourself upright. You were barely two seconds in and your legs gave out on you, just like you predicted. You weren’t sure why you even tried to ‘hover’ in the first place. 

You tried to soften the fall by throwing yourself forward so that at least the top half of your body weight wouldn’t come crashing down on his face but he caught you before your hands hit the mattress and pulled you back on top of him. 

“I said not to hover.” It was muffled but you could still make it out. 

After that, it was a blur. You couldn’t even worry about whether or not you were suffocating Minho. All you could think about was how fucking good his mouth felt on your cunt. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you whimpered, still trying to keep your voice down. 

Minho could only hum in affirmation but you were sure he would’ve had a thousand cocky lines on the tip of his tongue had the tip of his tongue not been inside of you.  

You came hard with a quiet yelp of his name, thighs clenching around his head. He helped you through your orgasm as always, trying to make it as long as possible by encouraging you to ride his face. 

You collapsed on the bed as soon as the aftershocks ebbed away, clutching your chest as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Fuck, that was so hot,” Minho complimented.  

“It… was… hot for me… too.”

He chuckled lightheartedly and reached for his crumpled t-shirt that he’d set against one of the pillows, using it to wipe his mouth and chin before dropping it on the floor. You made a face and he just shrugged, same stupid grin on his face.

“I’m going to wash it.”

You sighed. “I know, just…”

“Figured you wouldn’t want me dripping when I kissed you.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I? I think the stain on my pants would say otherwise.”

You didn’t even have time to be mortified because Minho was pressing his lips to yours, effectively erasing whatever you had been about to say from your mind. It was exactly what you’d been afraid of happening but he didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he seemed to be even more aroused by it. You could feel how hard he was through his sweats as he rocked his hips against yours, all because of you. 

“Don’t be embarrassed about it,” he murmured. 

“How did you-”

“Because I know you. And I know you overthink everything. But I think it’s hot, I promise.”

You whined in response, not used to hearing sweet words in bed. His eyes softened as he gazed at you. They were still dark with lust but you could see flecks of fondness peeking through the desire. It made you remember what he said the first time you hooked up. 

Who the fuck ever told you to apologize for being turned on?

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it,” he added with a peck to your nose. “Are you good to keep going?”

You nodded. “Yes, please. Need you.”

“I can tell.”

He was back to teasing you like nothing had happened which was oddly more comfortable. The sincerity of his words had scared you a little, reignited feelings you’d rather not address. It was already hard enough to repress them in intimate moments like these. The thought of Minho actually caring about you was more than you could handle. 

“Let me grab a condom,” he mumbled, leaning towards the dresser. 

He rifled through the top drawer for one and then shimmied out of his pants and underwear. You laid there motionless as you waited for him to roll one on, still a little out of it from cumming so hard the first time. 

“You’re really going to have to do all of the work this time,” you told him. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Not a problem,” he replied with a wink. “Do you want my fingers first?”

You considered it for a second. You did love his fingers but it was getting late and you both needed to get up relatively early in the morning. And you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t getting impatient for his dick. 

“No, just go slow.”

“I’ll go as slow as you need me to.”

You winced as he pushed himself inside of you, hissing through your teeth at the stretch. It wasn’t bad, just a bit overwhelming, but Minho took your reaction as one of pain. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” he grunted. “Should I stop?”

You shook your head. “Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please keep going.”

He brought one of his hands down to where you were connected and began to rub your clit with his thumb to distract you from the slight discomfort. Soon, all of the feelings bled into pleasure, indistinguishable from each other, and you started pushing your hips up, weakly fucking yourself on Minho’s cock. 

“Needy all of the sudden, aren’t we?” he mused. 

“Always needy for you,” you moaned back.

You swore you could feel him twitching inside of you as he cursed. “Want me to move?”

“Please…”

He matched your pace in no time, fully taking over for you just like you’d wanted him to. He kept one hand on the headboard, half to keep his balance, half to keep it from banging against the wall. The other hand had moved from your clit to your face, where he was stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

It was different than the other times you’d slept together. He was fucking you slow and deep, each thrust making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

“Fuck, how are you always so tight?” he asked. 

You were too fucked out to answer. He didn’t seem to mind. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before he stopped suddenly, telling you to hold on for just as a second as he grabbed a pillow from behind you. 

“Does that actually work?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows so that he could position it under your lower back. 

“I’ve read great reviews.” He ignored the way you rolled your eyes. “Lay back down. How’s that?” He gave an experimental thrust, smiling cockily when your jaw went slack and your mouth fell open. 

The change in angle allowed the head of his cock to rest against your g-spot, meaning whenever he moved he was hitting it dead-on. every. time. 

“Minho, fuck!” you cried. 

“Baby,” he warned. 

You moaned again and he immediately shushed you. “What did I say about being quiet?” he growled. 

“I t-told you that you’d have to figure out a way to make me,” you choked out. 

Minho must have taken that as a challenge because as soon as you got the words out he was shoving two fingers into your mouth, making you suck on them. You moaned around them. 

“That’s it, darling. Better?”

You nodded to the best of your ability. You wanted to tell Minho how hot he looked, how good he made you feel, how close you were to cumming but you couldn’t do any of that. To be fair, you doubted you’d be able to string a sentence together even if his fingers weren’t in your mouth. 

“‘M close,” he admitted, sounding a little embarrassed. You weren’t sure why. He’d lasted a lot longer than a lot of your other partners. If anything it was impressive.

You tried mumbling out a me too but it was difficult with your mouth full. He seemed to get the idea, though and motioned for you to rub your clit to help you get there. 

Minho came first, muffling a shout by biting your shoulder. You wished you could see his face, he was always so pretty when he came, but the sting from the bite was enough to throw you into your own orgasm. 

Afterward, when you had both stopped trembling and regained enough muscle strength to move, Minho helped you get redressed. He instructed you to raise your arms above your head so that he could pull your shirt back on, laughing with you when your head got stuck. 

You found yourself wishing that you could spend the night with him. It would be so nice to be able to fall asleep in his arms, to wake up next to him. You knew you couldn’t. It was just wishful thinking. You weren’t even sure if he wanted the same thing. You had always assumed that this was just sex to him, but his behavior towards you had made you start to think otherwise. 

“You should shower,” Minho said softly, breaking the silence. He was suddenly unable to meet your gaze and you didn’t want to think about what that meant. “Got you all sweaty.”

“What about you?” you asked.  

“I’ll go after you. We probably shouldn’t…” he trailed off. “Not that I don’t want to-”

“No, I get it,” you said. “Goodnight, Minho.”

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