Story Summary: You, the director of HR for the New York City's mayor's office, have had feelings for Mayor's Fisk's personal bodyguard ever since you met him, but you know he'd never be interested in you. However, one day when you accidentally catch him exercising in City Hall's fitness center you find that that may not be quite true...
Tags/Warnings: F!Reader, smut smutty smut smut, oral sex (f receiving) P in V sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks), Buck calls Reader 'good girl' a couple of times, D/S undertones if you squint *really* hard, Daniel and Reader are BFFs, No use of Y/N
A/N: I saw a picture of Arty Froushan as Patrick Bateman in the 2026 London Revival of American Psycho then saw a video of this guy doing the Sportacus/Firefighter pushup challenge and thought "I bet Buck could do those", and this fic was born.
Enjoy, my fellow thirsty Buck stans. 💋
Tag list: @oldcrdgans @bluerobin35
Okay, last one, you thought to yourself as you stepped off of the elevator at City Hall and headed towards the Director of Communications' office.
You knocked on Daniel's open door. "Hey, got a minute?"
Daniel looked away from his computer screen and smiled at you. "For my favorite coworker, I've got two. What's up?"
You chuckled. You and Daniel had become friends in the 10 months Mayor Wilson Fisk had held office, frequently going out for drinks after work with some of the other staff along with Daniel's… well, you weren't exactly sure what B.B. Urich was to Daniel, so you'd just say other friend.
You held up the booklet. "New health insurance packets. The city council voted to switch insurance companies starting next year so everyone has to pick a new plan during open enrollment."
Daniel's eyebrows raised. "Doesn't give us much time, does it? Isn't it in a few weeks?"
You nodded. "That's why I'm delivering them personally. You're the last one on my list."
Daniel grinned. "Saving the best for last?"
You huffed out a laugh. "More like I started at the top floor and worked my way down."
You set the packet down on Daniel's desk. "Because of the time constraints I've made a spreadsheet comparing the old plans with the closest plans the new company offers. I figure it ought to help people narrow it down, at least."
Daniel flipped the booklet open to see the color-coded comparison chart you had created tucked inside. He nodded appreciatively. "Yeah, that'll be useful."
You tapped the screen on the tablet you also carried then handed it and a stylus pen to him. "Sign this saying you received the packet."
Daniel signed the form and handed both the tablet and stylus back to you.
"Thank you." You hit submit, checking to make sure his signature had saved before shutting the tablet down.
Daniel leaned back in his chair. "By the way, a bunch of us are going out for drinks in a bit to celebrate Debra's birthday if you want to come along."
You shook your head. "Can't, I have a date tonight."
Daniel huffed out a laugh. "Another one? Why don't you just go ahead and ask Buck out instead of going out with these losers you matched with on Tinder?"
Your face heated. Buck Cashman was the mayor's personal bodyguard (and from what you had heard through the rumor mill, very good at his job).
To your chagrin, Daniel had known about your feelings for Buck ever since the two of you had participated in a drunken game of Truth or Dare after you had stayed behind to help Daniel clean up from a party at his apartment a few months prior.
Mmm, okay, okay, Daniel had said, taking a sip of his glass of whiskey. Truth or dare?
You had taken a sip of your own drink. Truth.
Daniel had grinned and sat back against his sofa. Have you ever had a crush on anyone at work?
Your mind had instantly gone to Buck. He was tall, with short, styled black hair, brown eyes, and a mysterious, calculating air about him that had drawn you in from the moment you had met him. He was always standing silently at Mayor Fisk's side during staff meetings, eyes scanning the room like an invisible threat might appear at any given moment, and the few times you had actually spoken with him outside of City Hall business you had been left wanting to hear more of his sultry British accent... Preferably while participating in activities that were definitely not appropriate to think about while at work.
Daniel must've read the look on your face, because his grin had widened. You have! Currently? Who is it?
You had shaken your head. Nope, one question per truth. But just for the record, it's not you.
Daniel had let out a chuckle. I don't know whether to be relieved or insulted, but okay.
Once the two of you had settled back on Daniel's sofa after your next turn (during which you had dared Daniel to drink a concoction of pickle and olive juices blended with various leftovers from the party), you had chosen a dare.
Daniel's grin had turned positively wicked as he had leaned forward. I dare you to tell me who you have a crush on at work.
Oh come on, you had groaned. That's not how a dare works.
Daniel had shaken his head. A dare can be anything as long as it isn't illegal, remember?
Unfortunately for you, that had been the terms of the game to which you both had agreed.
You could tell that Daniel wasn't going to let it go, so you had taken a deep breath. Fine. It's… It's Buck.
Buck? Daniel had repeated, his eyebrows raising slightly before he nodded. Yeah, that makes sense I guess. He's got that covert-ops Mr. Darcy thing going for him.
You had huffed out a light laugh. He has a lot more than just that, but… yeah. That's part of it.
You had bitten your lip, suddenly anxious. Please don't tell anyone, especially him. I don't want things to be awkward at work.
Daniel had given you a gentle smile. Hey, don't worry about it. Your secret's safe with me.
And true to his word, he had kept your feelings about Buck to himself.
You shook your head and sighed. "You know that's not going to happen."
"Why not? And don't tell give me some bullshit HR answer, I did the sexual harassment training, I know there's no rule against intra-office dating, especially since neither one of you are the other's superior."
You winced. That actually had been the excuse you were going to use. "Because there's no way he'd be interested in someone like me. I'm just an HR rep that lives in Tribeca, and he's— he's—" Fiercely hot. Sexy as hell. Completely out of my league. "The mayor's personal bodyguard. I might as well save myself the humiliation."
Daniel shook his head with a grin. "Hey, you're not 'just' an HR rep, you're the HR director. Don't sell yourself short."
You huffed out a laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"You're still going to the Governor's Ball tomorrow night, right? I was going to see if you wanted to ride with me instead of carpooling with everyone else."
You nodded. The city had rented several SUVs so staff who needed transportation to and from Albany could all ride together and had also paid for a block of hotel rooms for staff at the hotel hosting the Ball. You had originally been planning on carpooling with the rest of the staff who didn't have cars, but riding with Daniel instead of being cramed into an SUV with 7 other people for 3 hours each way sounded like a much better idea. "Yeah, I'm still planning on going. What time were you planning on leaving?"
"I was thinking we'd leave here around noon when you get off? That way we can get checked into the hotel and get a quick nap in before we have to get ready. And I can pick you up in the morning so you don't have to haul a suitcase around on the subway."
You nodded. "That would be great, thanks. I'll let Shelia know to take me off the carpool list."
You tapped at your tablet. "Anyway, I need to get back upstairs so I can upload all these acknowledgement forms before I leave this afternoon. I'll see you tomorrow though?"
Daniel nodded as his work phone began to ring. "Yeah, see ya."
You left Daniel's office and headed back upstairs, clearing your thoughts of the Mayor's gorgeous bodyguard. It didn't matter what your job title was, you knew that Buck would never see you as anything more than a colleague.
You stretched as you finished uploading, renaming, and sorting everyone's acknowledgement forms into their personnel files. Just in time, too, you thought.
You were lucky enough to have a work schedule that allowed you to work later hours Monday through Thursday and half a day on Friday, which meant that you were frequently one of the last staff members in the building.
You shut your computer down and grabbed your purse from your desk drawer before checking your smartwatch for the time. Ah, good, I have plenty of time to get to the restaurant.
You stepped out of your office and sighed when you heard faint music coming down the hallway from the staff fitness center. Dammit, someone probably forgot to turn the stereo off again.
The "fitness center" was a conference room that the previous administration had renovated into a workout space, with one area containing treadmills and elliptical machines, another area with weight training equipment, and a third area with floor-to-ceiling mirrors dedicated for other exercises that didn't involve the use of equipment.
You headed down the hall, the music growing louder as you approached the door to the fitness center.
You froze as you reached the partially open doorway.
Instead of the fitness center being empty, as you had expected, you spotted Buck in the equipment-free area doing pushups.
You'd always thought he looked hot in the business suits he wore to the office, but it was nothing compared to seeing him shirtless and wearing a pair of gray sweatpants.
You were rooted in place, unable to help but stare as his well-defined shoulder and back muscles flexed at every up and down.
As the music changed to a remix of some early 2000s pop song, so did Buck's moves. Instead of just pushing himself up and lowering himself down using his arms, he began doing what was essentially horizontal jumping jacks with his legs while also doing a bunch of different planks and pushups in quick succession.
You gasped as his eyes flicked over towards the door, your heart beginning to pound in your chest.
You quickly ducked out of sight then hurried back down the hall, bypassing your office and heading towards the elevator.
You glanced down the thankfully empty hallway as you repeatedly pushed the down button, relieved to see on the display that the elevator already happened to be at your floor.
You stepped on the elevator then pressed the button for the ground floor, letting out a breath as the doors closed behind you.
You pulled up your dating app, then sent a message to the guy you were supposed to have dinner with. I'm sorry for the short notice, but something came up at work and I need to cancel for tonight.
There was no way you'd be able to focus on a date, not when you now knew what Buck Cashman looked like shirtless. I am so screwed.
"And so I told her, Beverly, dear, is it really couture if it doesn't cost at least 5 figures?"
You rolled your eyes as you overheard one of the governor's guests gossiping with her friend. Ugh.
You took a sip of the glass of champagne you had been nursing for the past 2 ½ hours. You couldn't wait to get out of there.
"—Eavesdropping?"
Shit. You jumped, your hand flying to your chest as Buck appeared next to you seemingly out of nowhere. "Buck, you startled me. Aren't you supposed to be with the mayor?"
Buck shook his head. "Mayor and Mrs. Fisk have retired for the evening. I'm off the clock, so to speak."
Your eyes darted around the room. Sure enough, the mayor and his wife were nowhere to be seen. "Oh. Well, I should probably be heading upstairs too then, long day, you know—"
You turned to leave.
Buck gently grasped your arm. "Did I do something to offend you?"
You turned back towards him, blinking in surprise. "What? No, of course not."
"Are you sure? Because you've been avoiding me all day."
You inwardly cringed. He wasn't wrong — that morning, you had avoided looking at him during your meeting to personally go over the new insurance options with the mayor and had darted out of the room as soon as it was over, then when you saw him coming down the hallway later you had ducked into the women's restroom and hid until you were sure he had passed. Then right before you left, you had pretended to be on an important phone call when he'd stopped by your office to drop some paperwork off so you could ask him just to leave it in your inbox and not have to actually speak to him. You'd also been careful to not get anywhere near him during the Ball, steering clear of the mayor and Mrs. Fisk and declining when Daniel suggested that the two of you go over to talk to them.
You cleared your throat. "What? No I haven't."
Buck gave you a look that said he clearly didn't believe you. "You practically ran out of the Mayor's office when I tried to speak to you this morning."
You shook your head. "Like I said, busy day, lots to do before I headed up here."
Buck dropped your arm then bent down to whisper into your ear. "Or perhaps you've been avoiding me because I saw you watching me work out yesterday afternoon from the doorway of the fitness center."
Your face flamed with embarrassment. Shit, he had seen you.
"I'm sorry," you said. "I thought someone had left the stereo on in the fitness center again and was just going to go turn it off. I didn't mean to snoop on you or anything, I swear."
"Did you enjoy it?"
You sucked in a breath. "What?"
A small smirk flitted across Buck's lips. "I said, did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy watching me?"
Hell yes. The mental image of Buck's naked back and arms had single-handedly fueled your private fantasy time the previous evening.
Buck must've (correctly) taken your silence as confirmation, because he added, "I could show you those exercises again if you'd like, give you a better view."
Your brow furrowed. "I'm pretty sure the hotel gym is closed this time of night."
Buck shook his head as he took your champagne glass from you and set it on a nearby table. "I was thinking somewhere a little more… private."
Your heart began to race. Was Buck asking you to go up to his room with him?
You licked your lips nervously, then nodded. "Okay."
Buck took your hand in his, then began to lead you towards the ballroom's exit.
You spotted Daniel talking to Shelia in a corner of the room and gave him a little wave to get his attention.
Daniel looked over towards you and Buck, his eyebrows raising as he noticed your linked hands.
You pointed towards the exit and gave him another wave goodbye as Buck led you out of the ballroom, down the hall, and to the main lobby, pausing in front of the elevators.
Buck dropped your hand and pressed the button to call the elevator.
You stood in silence as you waited for the elevator, your heart and mind both racing. You weren't exactly sure what was happening, whether this was some sort of cruel trick or if Buck was actually serious about showing you those pushups he had been doing (and if he was, why).
After what seemed like an eternity, the elevator arrived.
Buck gestured towards the opening doors. "After you."
You stepped inside the elevator, taking a deep breath to try to calm your nerves.
Buck followed you into the elevator then pressed the button for his floor.
"By the way, you look lovely tonight," he said as the elevator began to rise, his eyes on the display panel instead of you.
Your face grew warm. "Thank you. You look nice too."
In what felt like no time at all compared to how long it took the elevator to get to the ground level, it dinged its arrival at Buck's floor and the doors opened.
Buck turned and offered you his hand.
After a brief moment's hesitation, you took it, stepping out of the elevator together.
Buck led you down to a room at the end of the hall, keeping his hand in yours as he took a key card out of his tuxedo jacket pocket and swiped it on the lock, then he opened the door and led you inside.
His hotel room was an upscale version of yours, with a king-size bed, a dresser and TV, and a desk with an armchair next to it.
Buck gestured to the chair. "Have a seat."
You moved past him and sat, your heart beginning to race yet again.
Buck took his tux jacket off and hung it in the small closet next to the bathroom, then slid his gun out of its holster and set it on the table.
You glanced over at it nervously.
Buck gave you a wry smile. "Don't worry, safety's on."
Next, he undid his bowtie, his deft fingers pulling the black length of fabric smoothly from underneath his collar.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen a few times before setting it down next to his gun, one of the songs you had heard coming from the stereo the previous day beginning to play.
Buck got down on the floor, his head tilted up towards you. "Eyes on me, understood?"
You sucked in a breath, then nodded.
Buck began to do the same complicated pushups you had seen him do the previous afternoon, making the transition between hands to fists to arms in quick succession seem effortless — all while his eyes never left yours.
Once again, you were rooted to the spot, heat pooling between your legs. Whether he realized it or not, Buck was giving you prime private fantasy folder material.
As the song ended, Buck hopped up then straightened.
You stared up at him, speechless.
He walked back over towards you. "Now, wasn't that much more enjoyable than lurking in the doorway of the fitness center at work?"
You nodded.
"Mm mmm." Buck shook his head. "Use your words, darling."
You nearly melted into the chair at the term of endearment. "Yes," you whispered.
"Good."
You took a deep breath, unsure of what to do next. Finally, you stood. "Okay, well, um, thank you for that —"
You cut yourself off as Buck took a step closer to you and gently grasped your chin, his warm, still-minty breath fanning your face. "Tell me if I'm about to commit an HR violation here."
You swallowed. "That depends on what you're planning to do."
"This." Buck softly pressed his lips to yours.
Your eyes fluttered closed as you wrapped your arms around him and kissed him back.
Buck huffed out a breath as you broke apart. "Not an HR violation then?"
You shook your head with a light laugh. "Definitely not."
"Good to know."
Buck wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back to him as he kissed you again.
You reached out and began undoing the buttons on his dress shirt, giving up halfway when Buck's hands slid up your back to the zipper of your dress. "Is this okay?" he murmured.
You nodded. "Uh huh."
Buck slowly unzipped your dress then reached up to your shoulders, giving the right one a gentle kiss as he slid the straps down.
You bit your lip as the fabric pooled at your feet, thankful that you had packed your nicer, matching bra and panties to go with that dress.
Buck groaned. "Fuck. You're so beautiful, darling."
He picked you up bridal-style and carried you to the bed, ridding himself of his gun holster, shirt, pants, and shoes before climbing in after you.
You licked your lips. There was a smattering of hair across Buck's chest that continued downwards towards the vee of his hips and disappeared underneath his boxers (which you definitely would be thinking more about later).
You let out a soft moan as Buck kissed his way down your chest to your stomach, then a louder one as he pulled the left cup of your bra down to lavish attention to your breast.
Buck switched to your other breast, giving it the same attention before moving back up to kiss your lips. "Tell me what you want," he murmured.
"Want you to fuck me," you breathed. "Please, Buck."
Buck groaned. "Fucking hell, darling."
He trailed a hand down the front of your body to your clothed core. "Is this where you want me?"
You ground against his fingers, desperately wanting them inside you. "Yes, yes."
Buck slid his thumb against your soaked underwear. "Patience, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me take care of you first."
You bit back a moan, then nodded.
Buck moved further down the bed and settled himself between your thighs.
He reached up and pulled your underwear down and off of you, groaning at the sight of your already drenched cunt. "Is this all for me?"
You nodded. "Uh huh. All for you, all because of you."
Buck leaned in and swiped his tongue against your glistening folds, then let out a groan. "Jesus Christ, you're delectable."
He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer to his face, his tongue circling your clit before giving it a gentle suck.
You gasped, your hands grasping desperately for something to ground you. Finally you grabbed ahold of the comforter, clenching it tightly as Buck pleasured you.
It wasn't long before you were on the 2precipice, just needing a little something extra to push you over the edge. "Buck," you gasped. "Buck, please —."
Buck switched from his mouth to his fingers, sliding two of them deep into your waiting cunt.
He moved back up to look at you as he circled your clit with his thumb. "That's it, darling," he murmured, his eyes dark with lust. "Let me see your face as you come for me."
You cried out as your orgasm hit, your entire body shaking with pleasure.
Buck worked you through it then carefully withdrew his fingers from inside you before sitting back.
He reached towards the floor, retrieving his pants and removing his wallet before tossing his pants away.
He opened his wallet and pulled out a condom, then set his wallet on the nightstand next to the bed.
You sat up and took the condom from him. "Can I?"
Buck nodded as he shuffled out of his boxers.
You licked your lips at the sight of his hard cock. He was about the size and thickness of your favorite toy — not overly large by any means, but more than enough to satisfy you.
You wrapped your hand around his length, relishing in the groan Buck let out.
You gave him a few strokes before opening the condom and rolling it on him.
Buck gave you another kiss before gently guiding you to lie back underneath him.
He tenderly caressed your face with one hand as he used the other to notch himself at your entrance and slowly push into you.
You gasped. Out of every fantasy scenario you had imagined, none of them had come close to the feeling of actually having Buck inside you.
Buck let out a deep breath as he adjusted above you, then he slowly pulled out until just his tip remained before pushing back inside. "God, darling, you feel fucking amazing. I've wanted you since the moment I first saw you."
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he set a rhythm.
Buck made love like he did everything else: with careful observation and restraint. He hitched your left leg up to get the best possible angle in order to hit that perfect spot inside of you each time, bringing you closer and closer to the edge once again.
He groaned, his thrusts becoming less controlled. "Tell me you're close."
You nodded with a moan, that familiar pressure of an impending orgasm beginning to surface once again. "Yeah, baby, I'm close. Wanna feel you come for me, Buck, please."
Buck reached down and began to circle your clit with his thumb, his body trembling as he held back his own release. "You first, darling. Be a good fucking girl and come for me, yeah?"
You nodded. "Yes, oh God, Buck, yes—"
Your second orgasm was even stronger than your first, washing over you in wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Buck continued to fuck you through it, prolonging your bliss. "Your cunt feels so good, darling," he murmured. "You're so beautiful, so perfect, so — ah—"
The feeling of Buck's cock pulsing inside you triggered a third orgasm, your cunt clenching around him as he came with a groan of your name.
Buck gently kissed your lips before carefully pulling out of you. "I'll be right back."
You nodded, still boneless from the back-to-back orgasms Buck had just given you.
Buck walked into the bathroom, where you could hear water running.
He came back a few moments later, handing you a hotel bathrobe before pulling his boxers back on. He then fetched two bottles of water from a hidden refrigerator and handed one to you.
You sat up, suddenly feeling shy.
You put the bathrobe on and tied it around your waist before taking the bottle of water. "Thank you."
Buck sat back down on the bed. "You're welcome."
The two of you sat in silence for a moment.
Finally, you spoke. "So what happens now?"
Buck shrugged, a small smirk on his face. "You give me about 20 minutes and we have another go?"
You huffed out a laugh even as your face heated. "I'm serious, Buck!"
"So am I." Buck took your hand in his. "What I would like to do is to spend the rest of the night here with you then take you out to dinner tomorrow evening once we're back in the city."
Your heart fluttered. "You mean as like a date?"
Buck smiled. "Yes, as a date, darling, do keep up."
"Yeah, I'd like that." You huffed out another laugh. "I still can't believe this."
Buck shook his head. "I could say the same. If I hadn't spotted you watching me yesterday I'd have had no idea you were even interested in me."
You bit your lip. "I really am sorry about that."
"Don't be." Buck squeezed your hand. "At least it all worked out."
You took another sip of water. "By the way, I've been interested in you since we first met too. I just never thought you'd want someone ordinary like me."
Buck chuckled. "Trust me, darling, in my line of work, 'ordinary' can be a welcome distraction — not that you're anything even close to ordinary."
He nuzzled his nose into your neck as he tugged at the tie on your robe. "Now, I believe we have some lost time to make up for, don't you agree?"
walk him like a dog (benjamin poindexter x reader)
warnings: sub dex x female
i just know he's a soft lover. even a pathetic man beyond that mask.
whenever you're close to him, he can rest. no more thinking about his next breath nor what to do. you want to scold him for getting into trouble again with the brigade? he would stay still and pretty, all stitched up from your hands. you may had put too much pressure on his open wounds to make him listen? that'll go.
however, the fainted scars shattered dex's face even more those days, always stained with fresh traces of blood like he was young. but what you used to joke about—a fool blonde knight in shining armour—was beginning to be streaked with silver hair. he was finding it harder to stifle his groans of pain when you were cleaning him, and you were starting to hate this dynamic.
after a long night, dex came home through the window so as not to wake you up and to bleed out in peace in the kitchen. that didn’t save him from what was already waiting for him. dex saw your shape among the dark, tried to stammer something above the pain, reaching out an arm towards you, but you didn’t move. while he collapsed between the wall and the fridge, you let him trumble to the floor before you reached out some scissors and bandages from the drawers, trying not to step on him.
when you ripped off the fabric, his compression tshirt was alredy too wet and sticky, since the blood was beginning to dry but a trickle of red continued to flow from the open wound. what a sexy thing to watch.
once you have cleared the area, with dex's quiet whines coming out increasingly clenched between the teeth as he started to wake up, you look at his face with lidded eyes, closing the bandage without blinking as if you still wanted more. he looked up at you with his face marked by lines of barely healed cuts. clenched his jaw even more tight, swallowing his grunts to brace himself for any familiar line of criticism you might hurl at him.
dex knows how to deal with you when you're mad, he often enter this state naturally while you are lecturing him, turning off his brain as a wave of calm washed over amidst the anger. all he knew was that he was at home, and you were with him: safe. it didn’t matter whether you were sulking, shouting at him or crying. but not that.
“eyes up hear. where are you at pretty boy?” you uttered, trimming the excess bandage. “we don't want a concussion”. you sighed. a fucking sigh.
dex first looked away, pursing his lips. “why aren't you shouting?”
you took a deep breath first. “i am tired”
“of what? of me?” he answered, more like a bark. “i haven't asked you for help, if that's what's bothering you. i can manage this on my own”
“okey”. you stood up.
“where you going?” dex raised his voice immediately, clutching the bandage on his side as he sat up on the floor. “don't you ever whisper to me!” he growled, partly out of anger and partly out of pain. “Come to me, shout at me that I’m going to kill myself one of these days, that i’ve grown old and too slow; look at me with pity and spit in my face. give me everything you feel. don’t go, please. come back, give me something. come on.”
as he uttered those final words—which seemed to come straight from his gut rather than his chest—his raw voice revealed itself for what it truly was: a plea.
and you stood motionless in the kitchen doorway, giving him the false hope that you had finally realised how futile his cause was and would abdicate. without knowing fully, his glossy eyes started to tear up. “if you don’t you love me enough to shout at me anymore don't say it out loud, please” was his turn to sigh, pushing aside the stinging physic pain.
his begging mingled with the smell of blood, clinging to his flesh. dirty, with sweat giving his skin a glistening sheen and darkening his hair; it was as if he were offering an apology for his actions, knowing they were hurting you but unable to go any further and stop —it was simply his nature. and you knew that. his soul was the key to your heart, you couldn't blame him more than you loved him. beyond the pain that it might cause to you.
so, dex saw you turn around. you knelt down to his level again and, as he looked at you—hiding his trembling behind his laboured breathing—he clung to the sight of you, hoping you’d do something. disdain him, insult him, any action would do. so he welcomed your slap, feeling the jawbone tighten beneath his skin, but smiling at the sensation of your hand. enough to make you look and focus on him.
summary: Your boyfriend comes to the apartment with Dex in tow—except Matt says that some test tubes broke during their fight, and now they're infected with a mysterious airborne substance. And now you're starting to feel it too...
word count: 19.7k+ (pls don't shoot idk how that happened)
pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x dex poindexter
notes: yeah so... this got... out of hand. i spent weeks on this, whenever i had the *horny urge* i wrote a short scene and i kept doing it for weeks. that's what i get for getting my period every 2 weeks, my hormones like to fuck me just like all the fucking in this
warnings/tags: no use of y/n, established relationship (matt and you), sex pollen, EVERYONE IS CONSENTING!!!, threesome (mmf), fingering (f!receiving), handjob(s), oral (f&m!receiving), unprotected piv, cum play (idk kinda? there's a lot of orgasms in this lol), creampie(s), headlock by dex yes plsss, one use of the word 'slut', a little bit of biting, i meant it when i said a lot of orgasms there's so many omg, grinding, honestly dex is a third wheel, teasing, dex kinda has a humiliation kink honestly, you and matt use dex as a table (?), choking - as in matt chokes dex bc i said so, fingers in mouth (or rather dex sucks ur fingers), a lot of kissing (sadly no dexmatt kiss i'm so sorry y'all i'll make up for it next time), slight edging, dex has a praise kink (he just wants to fuck you good!), 69ing with some pizzazz, kinda cum eating?, bratty!dex, dom!matt, sub/switch!dex, it's kinda a competition to see who can fuck u better, lightly proofread
The lock clicks, then the door shoves open like somebody hit it with a shoulder instead of a key, and the first thing you hear is a breath that doesn’t belong in your quiet apartment. It’s too rough, too fast, the kind of breathing that comes after a sprint or a fight, and then there’s the scrape of boots on the wood floor as someone drags weight over the threshold.
You sit up against your pillows, nightgown twisted around your thighs, skin warm from sleep, and you blink hard at the clock because your brain tries to insist this is a nightmare before it accepts that Matt is actually home, and he didn’t come home alone. “Matt?” Your voice comes out husky, still fogged with sleep, and you swing your legs over the side of the bed as your pulse starts climbing. “What the hell is going on?”
“Stay in the bedroom,” Matt says immediately, and the way he says it makes your stomach tighten because it’s not a suggestion. It’s his command-voice—his Daredevil-voice—the one he uses when something is wrong, and he doesn’t want you anywhere near it.
You ignore him anyway, because you always do when it’s your apartment and your life, and you can hear him struggling to keep somebody upright. You move down the hall barefoot, the hardwood cool under your feet, and you catch the shape of him in the living room by the dim kitchen light. He’s still in his suit, mask off, shoulders rising and falling too hard. One of his hands is clamped around an arm that doesn’t belong to him, hauling a second man forward like he’s refusing to let him hit the floor.
The second man stumbles, catches himself at the wall with a palm, then tilts his head toward you with a lazy kind of confidence that doesn’t match how unsteady he is. He’s dressed in blue gear that looks expensive and ruined at the same time, and the second his eyes land on you, his mouth curls like he just found something amusing. “Well,” he says, drawing it out like he’s tasting the word. “Hi.”
You stare at him, then back at Matt, and you don’t bother lowering your voice. “Why is there a stranger in my apartment, and why does he look like he crawled out of a fire?”
Matt’s head turns in your direction with that pinpoint focus he always has when he’s tracking your voice. “He’s not a stranger to me,” he says, and you can hear how carefully controlled he’s being. “He’s hurt and I didn’t have another choice.”
Dex laughs under his breath like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard all week. “You make it sound like you rescued a kitten. I’m touched.”
Matt’s grip tightens on Dex’s arm, and Dex hisses like it actually hurts. “Watch your mouth,” Matt snaps, then forces his voice back down when he speaks to you again. “We ran into each other on a call. There was a lab. Something broke. There were… containers.”
“Containers,” you repeat, flat, because it’s absurd and vague and you can see the way Matt’s suit is flecked with something that might be dust or dried chemical residue. “You’re bleeding?”
“I’m fine,” Matt says too fast, which is how you know he isn’t, and his shoulders hunch like he’s bracing against heat or pain. “It’s not bad.”
Dex slides down the wall like he’s trying to sit without admitting he needs to, then he looks at you again with that same sharp interest that makes your skin crawl. His gaze drags, slow and deliberate, from your face to the thin fabric of your nightgown and back up, and he doesn’t even pretend he’s being subtle.
You fold your arms over your chest and let your expression go cold. “Can I help you?”
His smile widens a fraction. “You’re prettier than I pictured.”
Matt’s head snaps toward Dex so sharply it’s almost violent, and for a second you see the exact moment his restraint threatens to split. “Don’t,” Matt says, low and dangerous.
Dex’s eyes flick up, mocking. “Don’t what? Look? Talk? Breathe in her general direction?”
You step closer without thinking, because you hate the way Dex is taking up space in your living room like he belongs here, and you hate even more that Matt is shaking with something that looks like exhaustion mixed with anger. Up close you can see the sweat at Matt’s temples, the damp hair stuck to his forehead, and the way his chest rises like he’s struggling to pull air deep enough.
“Matt,” you say, softer now, because whatever this is, it’s making him feel wrong in his own body. “Talk to me. What happened?”
Matt swallows, and his jaw flexes. “We fought,” he admits, like it costs him to say it with you standing there. “He showed up where he shouldn’t have been. We went through a glass enclosure, and there were test tubes inside it. They shattered.”
Dex shifts, his voice turning conversational like he’s discussing the weather instead of the aftermath of a fight. “You should’ve seen his face when the thing popped. Real dramatic. Whole room went sparkly.”
“You’re enjoying this,” you say, and you don’t bother hiding how much you dislike him.
Dex tips his head. “I enjoy most things.”
Matt exhales through his nose like he’s trying not to say something that would turn this into an even bigger disaster. “There was a chemical. I don’t know what it was. I just know the heat hit fast, and then we both went down for a minute.”
He shifts his grip, reaches into his suit with his free hand, and you instinctively lean forward because the motion looks clumsy, like his hands don’t want to cooperate. When he pulls his fist back out, he’s holding a broken length of glass, the snapped end jagged and cloudy like something coated the inside.
“I kept a piece,” Matt says, and his voice is tight with the kind of practicality that always kicks in when he’s scared. “I didn’t want to leave without something. If we can figure out what it was—”
“Matt,” you cut in, because the glass makes your stomach drop. “Why are you holding that with your bare hand?”
“I’m not cut,” he says, and you can tell he’s telling the truth, because his voice doesn’t hitch the way it does when he lies to you. “It’s not sharp on this end.”
Dex snorts. “Sure. He’s very careful, your boyfriend. Extremely careful. That’s why he dragged his enemy into your apartment at midnight, wearing his murder pajamas.”
Your eyes cut to Dex. “Stop talking.”
Dex’s grin turns delighted. “Aw. You tell him what to do too? That’s cute.”
Matt’s patience finally cracks in a way that has nothing to do with you. He yanks Dex’s arm up, not enough to dislocate anything, but enough to remind Dex who’s stronger, then he shoves him toward the couch with a controlled kind of force. Dex stumbles, catches himself on the back cushion, and laughs again like it’s foreplay.
“Sit,” Matt says, clipped. “And if you say one more thing about her, I’m putting you through the wall.”
Dex settles onto the couch with exaggerated ease, stretching his legs out like he’s in a waiting room. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Matt turns back to you, and the aggression falls away from his face like it was never there, replaced by something strained and urgent. He holds the broken tube out in your direction, and you take it because you don’t want it in his hand anymore, even though you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with it.
The glass is warm, warmer than it should be, and the cloudy residue inside catches the light faintly. You angle it away from your body on instinct, then look up at Matt. “Okay. You brought me… a dirty shard of a test tube.”
“I know,” Matt says, and he sounds frustrated with himself, like he can hear how ridiculous it is. “I didn’t think. I just—I wanted it here. Safe.”
“You couldn’t have put it in a bag?” you say, and you can’t help it, because your nerves are trying to get relief through sarcasm. “Or a sock? Or literally anything that isn’t my bare hands?”
Matt’s mouth twitches, but it’s not a smile, not really. “I’ll clean up after. I just need you to—” He cuts himself off, breath stuttering like the heat is spiking again. “I need you to help me keep a clear head.”
You don’t say what you’re thinking, which is that he doesn’t look like he has one right now. Instead, you lift your chin toward the bathroom. “Both of you need to change, shower if you can. At least get those suits off, because whatever this was, it’s on you.”
Dex’s voice floats over, bright with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Tell him to take it off.”
Your eyes flick to him again, and you don’t bother masking the disgust. “You can shut up and do as you’re told too.”
Dex raises an eyebrow. “Bossy. I like it.”
Matt takes a step toward him like he’s about to make good on the wall threat, but you touch Matt’s forearm before he can. “Matt,” you say, grounding him, and his head turns back to you immediately. “Bathroom. Now.”
His throat works, and he nods once, sharp and obedient, because he trusts you. “Dex first. I’m not letting him wander.”
Dex pushes himself up with a lazy stretch, then pauses just long enough to look you up and down again, slow as he pleases. “Your nightgown’s a nice touch,” he murmurs.
Matt’s hand shoots out and clamps on Dex’s shoulder, and Dex makes a sound that’s half laugh, half choke. “Move,” Matt growls.
Dex lifts both hands like he’s surrendering, but the grin never leaves. “Okay, okay. Lead the way.”
You step back to give them space, holding the broken glass out away from your body like it’s something that might bite you. Matt herds Dex down the hall, and you watch them disappear into the bathroom, the door shutting with a firm click that sounds like Matt trying to lock his temper away in the same place.
For a second, the apartment is quieter, except for the muffled sound of water turning on and the rough edge of Matt’s breathing bleeding through the door. You look down at the test tube shard in your hand, then at your nightgown, then toward the kitchen where you keep plastic bags and gloves under the sink, and you mutter to yourself because you can’t believe this is your life. “Okay,” you say under your breath, moving toward the kitchen. “Cold water. Towels. Gloves. Something to cool them down. Then we figure out what the hell you two brought home.”
From the bathroom, Dex’s voice carries, too clear, too smug. “So, this is the girlfriend.”
Matt’s reply is low and sharp enough that even through the door you hear the warning. “Don’t.”
Dex laughs again, softer this time, like he’s savoring it. “God, you’re fun.”
You grab a roll of paper towels with one hand, dig for a plastic bag with the other, and you tell yourself you’re not going to let Dex get under your skin, because you’ve dealt with Matt’s stubbornness, his bruises, his secrets, and the way he tries to carry the whole city alone, and you can handle one sarcastic asshole on your couch.
Then the warmth hits you, subtle at first, like your apartment suddenly got too hot even though the thermostat hasn’t changed, and you pause with your fingers still in the cabinet because your skin prickles in a way that makes no sense.
You take a breath, then another, and the air feels thick in your lungs, not choking, just… heavy, like it’s carrying something you didn’t notice before. “Matt,” you call, raising your voice toward the bathroom. “How sure are you that stuff wasn’t airborne?”
There’s a pause, water still running, and then his voice comes back through the door, tight with a kind of grim certainty. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “But I think it was.”
Your stomach drops, and you stare down at the glass shard in your hand like it just turned into a live wire. You shove it carefully into the plastic bag, seal it with shaking fingers, and tell yourself you’re being dramatic, because you’re fine, you’re just warm, it’s probably stress, it’s probably adrenaline—
Except your nightgown suddenly feels too soft and too clingy, and your thighs press together on instinct like you’re trying to get friction from nothing. You swallow hard, forcing your hands to keep moving, forcing your brain to stay on the list of practical tasks you can control.
Cold packs. Water. Clothes. Get them out of the contaminated suits.
You grab two bottles of water from the fridge, then a third, because Dex can suffer but dehydration is still dehydration, and you yank the freezer open for ice packs. The cold air hits your face, and it should feel good, but it only makes the heat under your skin feel sharper by contrast.
You stand there longer than you mean to, letting the freezer’s cold wash over you while your pulse kicks harder for no reason you want to name. Your nipples tighten under the nightgown, your stomach flips, and you force your mouth into a hard line because this cannot be happening, not tonight, not with Dex in your living room and Matt barely holding himself together.
The water shuts off and then there are two sets of footsteps. One steady, one dragging with theatrical exaggeration.
You straighten up, slam the freezer closed, and turn with the water bottles in hand like you’re about to run a triage station, because if you keep moving, you can pretend your body isn’t suddenly acting like you’re the one who came home from a fight covered in whatever the hell was in that lab.
You hand them the water bottles like you’re running a field hospital out of your kitchen, and the second Matt’s fingers brush yours you feel how hot he is, like his skin is holding heat instead of just warming you the way it normally does. Dex takes his bottle without a thank you, of course, twisting the cap with a lazy flick and drinking like he’s trying to look unbothered, even though sweat is still beading at his hairline.
“Sit,” you tell them, nodding toward the couch and the armchair like you’re assigning stations. “Both of you. If either of you falls over, I’m not catching you.”
“I’m not going to fall,” Matt says, and he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. He’s in a dark t-shirt and sweatpants now, hair damp from the quick rinse, suit shoved somewhere in the bathroom, and he’s still breathing like his lungs are running behind his body. He stands there for a second, head slightly tilted, listening to the room like he’s trying to find the chemical in the air by sound alone.
Dex drops onto the couch and sprawls like he lives there, one arm slung over the back cushion. Matt doesn’t sit, not yet, and you can tell he’s vibrating with it, the need to keep moving, to keep control, to not let his body win.
“You said you don’t know what it was,” you say, and you keep your voice even because if you let yourself sound scared, you’ll make Matt spiral. “Did you see labels? Any markings? Anything at all?”
Dex snorts into his water bottle. “He didn’t see shit.”
Matt’s jaw tightens hard enough that you can see it. “There were racks. Glass. It was like a display enclosure more than storage. Maybe a demonstration.” He pauses, then adds like he hates the words, “there was a sweet smell. Like… hot metal and sugar.”
“That’s helpful,” you say automatically, even though it isn’t, and you can feel your own skin prickling again, that wrong warmth spreading across your chest and down your stomach. You shift your weight, trying to ignore it, trying to treat it like the apartment just got stuffy because two overheated men dragged themselves in and your adrenaline is still high.
Dex’s gaze drifts to you again, and this time it lingers longer, sharper. “You’re sweating,” he says, like it’s an observation and a victory at the same time.
“I’m fine,” you snap without thinking, and it comes out too fast, too defensive, which is annoying because it makes it sound like you aren’t fine.
Matt’s head turns toward you immediately, and his voice drops into that careful calm he uses when he’s trying not to panic. “You’re sweating?”
“Matt,” you say, trying to laugh it off, but it sounds thin. “It’s late, my boyfriend came home half-dead with a lunatic, I’m running on caffeine and anxiety. I’m allowed to sweat.”
Dex’s mouth curls. “He’s not your boyfriend right now. He’s a furnace.”
“Okay,” you say, too bright, already done with him. You point toward the hallway. “No more commentary from the peanut gallery. You’re sitting there, you’re drinking water, and you’re shutting up.”
Dex lifts his hands in fake surrender again, then settles back with an obnoxiously pleased look on his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
Matt finally lowers himself into the armchair, but he doesn’t relax into it. His hands stay on his thighs like he’s bracing, and when he exhales it’s rough, like the air drags. You set the ice packs on the coffee table and slide one toward him, and another toward Dex, trying to keep this practical because practical means you’re not thinking about the heat crawling under your nightgown.
“Put those on your neck,” you tell them. “Or your wrists. Something.”
Dex picks his up, presses it to his throat, and groans like he’s being dramatic on purpose. “Oh, that’s nice.”
Matt takes his, but he doesn’t immediately put it on. He lifts it, then pauses like he’s listening again, and his head tilts toward you in a way that makes your stomach drop because he’s noticed something, and Matt noticing something is never casual. “You’re breathing differently,” he says.
You stare at him. “What?”
“You’re breathing differently,” he repeats, steady, like he’s trying to keep it neutral. “It’s… faster.”
Dex’s eyes flick between you and Matt, and his smile turns sharp, like he’s watching a show start. “Uh-oh.”
“I’m fine,” you insist again, and you hate how your voice shakes at the end, because it makes Matt’s posture go even tighter.
Matt’s hands curl around the ice pack, and he forces himself to stay seated. “Tell me if you feel anything,” he says, and there’s a hard edge beneath the calm. “If it’s airborne, you’re exposed too.”
“I know,” you say, and you hate that the admission makes the warmth in your body flare like it’s responding to being acknowledged. You swallow and shift again, rubbing your thighs together without meaning to, then stopping when you realize you did it. “I’m going to look it up. Something has to match those symptoms.”
Dex’s gaze drops to your legs like he’s cataloging the movement, and your cheeks go hot in a way that isn’t just temperature. You pick up your phone before you can think too hard about that, because thinking too hard about Dex watching you is a problem you don’t want tonight.
You walk into the kitchen with your phone in hand, because if you stay in the living room with both of them staring at you in different ways, you’re going to lose your mind. You type fast, thumbs slipping a little because your hands feel clammy.
You stare at the results like they’re in another language, and you scroll anyway, because you’re stubborn and you need something concrete. Your mind keeps snagging on the words sweet smell, heat, exposure, and every time you try to force it back onto “poison” or “irritant” your body does something else entirely, like it’s dragging you toward a different conclusion. Your nipples ache against the thin fabric of your nightgown, your stomach tightens low, and the slick heat between your thighs becomes impossible to pretend is stress.
You type again, more frantic.
Your phone gives you a bunch of useless articles, clickbait and vague warnings and the word aphrodisiac showing up in places that make your pulse jump. You read half a sentence, then realize you’re not reading at all because the heat in your body is swallowing your attention. You grip the counter and try to breathe slowly like that will fix it, but the second you inhale, the air feels thick again, and the warmth in your lungs makes your thighs clench.
From the living room, you hear Dex’s voice carrying, casual and taunting. “So, how long you think before she starts climbing you like a tree?”
Matt’s voice is low, dangerous. “Don’t talk about her.”
Dex laughs, and you hate that the sound makes something flutter in your stomach, like your body is reacting to the idea before your brain can slam the door on it. You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to think about anything else. Cold water. Ice packs. Gloves. Cleaning supplies. Bag the glass shard. Call someone. Call—
You realize you’re holding your breath, and when you exhale it trembles.
Your nightgown clings to your stomach and thighs, damp where you’re sweating, and the sensation is suddenly unbearable, too soft, too much. You tug at the fabric like it’s suffocating you, then stop because your hands shake, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or need. Your phone is still in your hand, screen glowing with the word arousal, and you want to throw it across the room.
Instead, you set it down on the counter, hard, like you can punish it into giving you a better answer. “Okay,” you mutter to yourself, voice tight. “Okay. I’m not doing this. I’m not—”
You walk out of the kitchen, meaning to go back to the living room, meaning to keep control of the situation, meaning to tell Matt what you found and keep Dex from running his mouth. Halfway down the hall, the heat spikes again, sharper, and you stop like you ran into a wall.
Your skin feels too sensitive, like every brush of air is a touch. Your panties suddenly feel like a cruel joke, a thin strip of fabric that’s rubbing exactly where you can’t stand it, and you press your thighs together hard enough that it almost hurts. You try to keep walking, you really do, but your knees go a little weak and your breath catches, and you end up turning into the bedroom without making the decision out loud.
The room is dim and familiar and smells like you and Matt, clean sheets and laundry detergent and something warm underneath, and that makes it worse, because it makes the need feel safe enough to bloom.
You shut the door halfway behind you, not all the way because you don’t want to look suspicious, and you stand against the wall with your back against it like you’re steadying yourself. Your nightgown rides up when you shift, and the cool air hits your thighs, and your body reacts so hard you actually gasp.
“Fuck,” you whisper.
You try to be rational again, you try to talk yourself down like you’ve never been turned on before in your life, like this is just horny and not chemical and not dangerous. You tell yourself you can take a cold shower, you can drink water, you can breathe it out, and then your fingers slide under the hem of your nightgown anyway, because your body is done waiting for your permission.
Your hand slips into your panties, and the second your fingertips find your slick pussy you go still, eyes squeezed shut, because the relief is immediate and dizzying. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, because the sound that wants to come out of you is not something you can let Dex hear from your bedroom, not when he’s sitting on your couch like a smug parasite.
You circle your clit carefully at first, trying to keep it quiet, trying to keep it controlled, and it doesn’t work. Your hips rock into your hand without you telling them to, and the wet sound of your fingers moving makes your cheeks burn. You press your head against the wall, breathing through your nose, trying to keep your mouth shut, but the heat keeps climbing, building like pressure under your skin.
“Come on,” you whisper to yourself, harsh and frustrated, like you can bully your body into settling down. “Just—just calm down.”
You don’t calm down. Your fingers slide lower, two of them pushing into your cunt with a slow, shaking thrust, and you have to clamp your other hand over your mouth momentarily because the moan nearly spills out anyway. The stretch makes your stomach flip, makes your thighs tremble, and you can’t decide which is worse: the relief or the fact that it’s making you want more instead of fixing anything.
You pull your fingers out, then push them back in again, deeper this time, and your knees flex like you’re about to sink to the floor. You grip the fabric of your nightgown at your waist with your free hand, bunching it up so you can spread your legs wider, because you’re chasing friction now, chasing anything that makes the burning need feel like it has a direction.
The thought of Matt flashes through your head, automatic, grounding and devastating. Matt’s hands. Matt’s mouth. Matt’s voice telling you what to do when you can’t think straight.
Then Dex’s voice flashes too, the way he looked at you, the way he said you’re sweating, the way he keeps pressing at Matt like he wants a reaction. The idea of Dex hearing you through the wall makes your stomach clench again, and it’s not all disgust, and that realization pisses you off so much that you shove your fingers in deeper like you can punish yourself back into sense.
You’re panting now, sweat slick on your back, nightgown twisted up around your ribs, and you can’t get enough air. Your clit throbs under your thumb, oversensitive, and you move faster even though you’re trying not to. The sound of your own wetness fills your ears, and you tilt your head back like you’re trying to keep your mouth away from the urge to moan.
From the living room, you hear a muffled sound, probably Dex shifting, maybe Matt saying something sharp, and you freeze for half a second, panic jolting through you. You listen hard, holding your breath, fingers still buried in your cunt.
No footsteps yet.
You swallow, shaky, and start moving again because stopping feels like dying. You bite your lip again, harder, and the sting makes your eyes water, but it keeps you quiet. Your body builds toward the edge anyway, tightening and tightening until it feels like your skin is going to split open with it.
“Fuck,” you breathe, almost silent, and you chase the pressure harder because you need it to break. Right as you feel your orgasm start to crest, the sound of footsteps hits the hallway, steady and purposeful, and your whole body jolts like you’ve been caught doing something criminal.
Matt’s footsteps.
They’re careful, controlled, and they stop outside your bedroom door for half a beat like he’s listening, like he already knows exactly what you’re doing, because he always knows. Matt’s footsteps stay outside the door for a beat too long, and you can feel him there the way you always can when he’s focused, like the air in the room shifts around his attention. You freeze with your hand still in your panties, fingers slick, thighs trembling, breath coming in shallow, broken pulls that you’re trying to force quieter.
The door nudges open, not hard, just enough that it moves on its hinges with a soft click, and Matt’s voice follows immediately, low and careful like he’s holding himself back by the teeth. “Sweetheart… are you okay?”
You swallow, throat tight, and you try to make your face normal even though you can’t stop shaking. Your fingers twitch against your cunt, and the tiny movement shoots a hot jolt straight up your spine. “Yeah,” you say too fast, and it comes out wrecked anyway, breathy and cracked like you’re already begging. “I’m fine. I just—I’m hot. I’m just—”
Matt steps in and closes the door behind him with the gentlest touch, like he doesn’t want the sound to carry, and then he stops again, head tilted, listening to you the way he listens to everything. You know he can hear your pulse slamming in your throat, can hear how wet you are, can hear the way you’re trying to keep your breathing from turning into moans.
“You’re not fine,” he says, and it isn’t accusing, it’s steady, like he’s naming a fact. “Talk to me.”
You laugh once, short and sharp, because it’s either that or cry. “I tried to look it up. I tried to be normal about it. I—” You cut yourself off when your hips rock into your own hand again, helpless, and your eyes squeeze shut. “Matt, I can’t—I can’t think.”
He crosses the room fast, but not frantic, and the difference matters because it’s Matt; even when he’s losing control, he tries to make you feel safe first. His hand finds your wrist unerringly, gentle but firm, stopping your movement for a second, not taking it away, just holding you still long enough that you have to breathe.
“Hey,” he murmurs, closer now, and his other hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s checking if you’re real. “Look at me.”
You do, because you always do, and the sight of him in the dim light makes something inside you twist. He looks wrecked too, sweat still at his temples, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest, and his mouth is set in this tight line like he’s trying to be your anchor while his own body is on fire.
“You don’t have to lie,” he says softly, and his thumb drags across your lower lip, slow and grounding. “Do you want help?”
Your throat bobs, and you try to answer like a normal person instead of somebody with their panties soaked through, but it comes out raw. “Yes.”
Matt doesn’t move right away. He holds your face, keeps his thumb at your lip like he’s keeping you from spinning out, and his voice drops even lower. “Say it again.”
Your breath shudders, and you nod even though you know he doesn’t need the nod, he needs the words. “Yes, Matt. I want help.”
His jaw flexes. His shoulders rise and fall once like he’s pulling himself together on purpose, and then he asks you the question that always matters more than anything else, even now, even like this. “Tell me what you want,” he says, and his voice is steady enough that it makes your eyes sting. “Use words.”
You wet your lips, and your cheeks burn because it feels too explicit to say out loud when he can already hear it, when he already knows, but he makes you do it anyway because that’s how he keeps you safe in the middle of chaos. “I want your fingers,” you manage, breath shaking. “I want you to make it stop—or make it better, I don’t know, just… please.”
Matt makes a sound in the back of his throat like the words hit him in the gut, and then his grip on your wrist loosens. He slides your hand out of your panties and brings it up, pressing your slick fingers to his mouth in a way that makes your stomach flip so hard you almost lose your balance.
He kisses your fingertips, slow and wet, and then he licks them, once, deliberate, like he’s tasting exactly what you need. His breath is hot against your skin, and he exhales through his nose like it hurts. “Okay,” he says against your fingers, voice rougher now. “I’ve got you.”
You barely have time to nod before his hand replaces yours, sliding down into your panties like he belongs there, like he owns the space because you gave it to him. He moves slow at first, two fingers brushing through your wetness, spreading it, teasing your entrance like he’s forcing himself to be careful even though your hips buck toward him immediately.
“Fuck,” you whisper, and it’s tiny, but Matt hears it anyway. His mouth finds yours, messy and hungry, like he’s starving and trying not to scare you with it. The kiss turns into something hot and open-mouthed almost instantly, your lips parting because you can’t do anything else, your hands grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself upright.
Matt’s fingers sink into you, steady and deep, curling just right, and you make a strangled sound into his mouth because it’s too much relief and not enough at the same time. He keeps kissing you like he’s trying to swallow your noises, and the way he breathes tells you his control is fraying too, his exhale stuttering against your cheek.
“Good,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, then kissing you again before you can answer. “That’s it. Let me.”
You whine, hips chasing his hand, and your back hits the wall harder as you try to grind into him. Matt adjusts instantly, stepping closer, pinning you with his body without crushing you, and it’s the best kind of pressure because it keeps you from sliding apart.
Your hands are everywhere, grabbing at him like you need proof he’s here, and then your palms find the front of his sweatpants and you can feel him through them, hard and thick, and it makes you gasp into his mouth.
“Matt,” you breathe, half warning, half plea, and you rub him without thinking, dragging your hand over his cock through the fabric because the friction makes your whole body light up. He shudders, and his fingers thrust deeper like his restraint slipped a notch.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing hard enough that you feel it. “Jesus,” he mutters, and it’s the closest you’ve ever heard him come to sounding undone. “You’re soaked.”
“I can’t—” you start, and your voice breaks when his thumb finds your clit and presses in firm, circling just right. “I can’t, I’m gonna—”
“Go on,” Matt says, and his tone turns quietly possessive, not harsh, just certain. “Come for me.”
Your body snaps tight, knees shaking, and you clamp a hand over your mouth too late because the sound still leaks, broken and desperate. You grind into his hand, rubbing his cock harder because you can’t help it, and Matt’s breath turns ragged as he holds you steady and keeps working you through it.
You come fast, like your body was right at the edge already and he just pushed you over, shaking so hard your shoulders hit the wall again. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, wet and tight, and you moan his name into your palm like it’s a prayer and a plea all at once.
Matt doesn’t stop when you finish. He slows down, but he keeps moving, stroking you through the aftershocks with a tenderness that’s almost cruel because it drags the sensation out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, hips twitching away and then back again because you don’t want it to end.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, mouth at your cheek, kissing the corner of your jaw, then the side of your throat. “That’s my girl. Breathe.”
You try to, but every breath comes out shaky, and you can feel him shaking too. His chest rises hard against yours, his heart hammering so loud you can feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt, and his hand at your clit presses a little firmer like he’s fighting his own need by pouring it into you instead.
“Matt,” you whisper, voice ruined, and you tug him closer by the shirt like you need him to anchor you. “You’re… you’re not okay either.”
“I’m fine,” he lies automatically, and then exhales like he hates himself for it. His thumb keeps circling your clit, his fingers still inside you, and his hips jerk once when you brush his cock again through his sweats. “I’m managing.”
“You’re breathing like you ran a marathon,” you say, a shaky attempt at normal that falls apart when his hand hits a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. “And you’re hard.”
Matt lets out a rough laugh that doesn’t sound amused. “Yeah,” he admits, and his voice goes lower, tighter. “I noticed.”
You slide your hand over him again, slower this time, feeling the heat of him through the fabric, and Matt’s fingers stutter inside you like he lost the rhythm for a second. He pulls his mouth away from yours just enough to speak, and the words come out controlled only by force.
“Tell me you want me to keep going,” he says, because even now he needs it said. “Tell me.”
Your stomach flips, your cunt clenches around his fingers, and you nod too hard before you remember he wants words.
“I want you to keep going,” you say, breathless and shameless. “Don’t stop. Please, Matt, don’t stop.”
His hand flexes inside you again, and you feel him shudder against you like the fever is chewing through his restraint. He kisses you hard, messy, and keeps fingering you like he’s trying to chase the chemical out of both your bodies one orgasm at a time, even though you can hear it in his breath that he’s right on the edge of losing control too.
“You guys gonna do that all night, or are we sharing?”
Dex’s voice carries through the door like he’s leaning right up against it, like he wants you to know he’s listening on purpose, and it makes your whole body clench around Matt’s fingers.
Matt doesn’t flinch the way a normal person would. He goes still in that specific way he does when he’s deciding whether to be a man or a weapon, and his hand doesn’t stop moving even while his head turns toward the sound like he can see Dex perfectly through the wood. “Get out,” Matt says, and his voice is calm enough to be terrifying.
The doorknob turns anyway, and then the door opens just enough for light from the hallway to cut across the room, and Dex fills the gap with a grin and a body language that screams entitlement. He’s in Matt’s clothes like it’s a joke he’s telling with his whole presence, sweat darkening the collar of the t-shirt, hair damp, cheeks flushed. His eyes flick right to Matt’s hand between your thighs, then slide up your body, lingering on your bunched nightgown and your bare legs like he’s taking inventory.
“Wow,” Dex drawls. “And here I was thinking we were gonna be civilized about it.”
Matt’s hand tightens at your jaw, thumb still at your lip like he’s anchoring you there, and his other hand stays inside your panties like it belongs. “I said get out,” he repeats, and it’s not louder, it’s just sharper.
Dex leans on the doorframe like he lives there, like this is his apartment too and he’s just wandered into the room for a snack. “What, you gonna hit me? You gonna throw me out with your big righteousness routine?”
“Dex,” Matt says, and the warning in his tone is the same one you’ve heard on rooftops when he’s cornered someone and hasn’t decided yet how merciful he’s feeling. “Leave.”
You should say it—you should tell Dex to fuck off. You should tell Matt to shut the door, lock it, and keep taking care of you like he was. You can feel your body screaming for that simple outcome, begging for just Matt’s hand and his mouth and no complications.
Instead you hear yourself say, breathless and wrecked, “don’t leave.”
The words hang in the air for a beat, and it’s so quiet you can hear your own pulse thundering. Matt freezes like somebody stabbed him with the sentence, and Dex’s expression changes instantly, the grin turning sharp and delighted like you just handed him a key.
Matt’s head turns back to you, and his thumb presses at your lower lip, a soft demand. “Sweetheart,” he says carefully, “tell me what you mean.”
Your throat works, and your cheeks burn because you know how it sounds, you know how this looks, you know you’re standing here with Matt’s fingers inside you and your panties soaked and your nightgown twisted up like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t. You still say it anyway because the heat in your body doesn’t care about dignity, and because Matt asked you for words.
“I mean,” you manage, voice shaking, “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want him—” You swallow hard, and your hips twitch against Matt’s hand like your body is trying to talk for you. “I don’t want him to leave either.”
Matt’s jaw flexes, and his fingers don’t move for a second, like he’s forcing himself to prioritize the conversation over the way you’re clenching around him, and then he speaks like he’s laying down law in his own bedroom.
“You don’t touch her,” Matt says to Dex, voice flat. “You don’t come near her unless she says so again while you’re standing right here and I can hear her say it. You understand me?”
Dex’s smile turns almost polite, which is somehow worse. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Consent. Boundaries. Gold star, counselor.”
Matt doesn’t look at him, but his hand at your jaw tightens a fraction. “Tell me,” Matt says to you, slow and steady, “if you want him involved right now. Say it clearly.”
Your lungs pull in a shaky breath. You can feel Dex’s eyes on you like a physical pressure, and you can feel Matt’s body heat pressed close, the steady weight of him holding you upright. You don’t want Dex to have power over this, you want it to be yours. You nod, then force the words out because Matt needs the words. “I want him,” you say, and it comes out filthy in a way that makes you shiver. “I want… both of you. I want it to feel good. I want it to stop feeling like I’m gonna crawl out of my skin.”
Matt inhales through his nose, the sound tight. “Okay,” he says, like he’s agreeing to something dangerous because you asked. “Then it happens my way.”
Dex pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room like he’s been invited to a party he already planned to crash. “Your way,” Dex repeats, amused, and his gaze drops again to your thighs, to the wet line at the edge of your panties. “Sure. I’m flexible.”
Matt’s hand slips out of your panties, and you make a small, involuntary sound because the sudden emptiness is almost painful. He immediately replaces it with his palm over your cunt through the fabric, pressing firm enough to keep you from chasing him, and he leans in close to your ear. “We’re moving,” he murmurs. “Bed. Hold onto me.”
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Matt lifts you like it’s nothing, like your body is just another thing he knows by weight and balance and memory. He carries you the few steps to the bed, guiding you down onto the mattress with a gentleness that doesn’t match the heat burning through the room. The sheets are cool for half a second before your skin turns them warm.
Dex circles closer, eyes bright. “This is adorable,” he says, and the sarcasm doesn’t hide the hunger in his voice.
“Shut up,” you tell him, and it comes out breathless, half a laugh and half a warning, because your body is already arching for touch again.
Dex’s grin widens. “Yes, ma’am.”
Matt kneels on the bed beside you, then over you, and the way he positions himself is so Matt it almost makes you dizzy. His palm slides up your thigh, fingers splaying like he’s mapping you, grounding you. He hooks a finger under the strap of your nightgown and drags it down your shoulder just to kiss the skin there, slow and possessive, like he’s reminding you whose mouth you’re about to be moaning into.
Dex reaches for you, and Matt catches his wrist without even looking, grip iron. “Ask,” Matt says.
Dex holds your gaze, and his voice drops just enough to feel more real. “Can I?”
You swallow. You’re still trembling, still slick, still aching in a way that feels endless, and you nod once before forcing it into words, because Matt made you do that, and it matters. “Yes,” you say.
Dex exhales like that was the only permission he needed, and then he’s climbing onto the mattress like he belongs there, pushing your knees apart with hands that are firm and unashamed. His grip isn’t rough enough to hurt, but it’s controlling, pinning you open like you’re something he’s been hungry for since the moment he saw you.
“You’re gonna hate how much you like this,” Dex murmurs, and then he tugs once, hard, and your panties tear with a quick rip that makes you gasp.
“Dex!” you start, half shocked, half turned on by the audacity, and Matt’s hand slides up your throat at the same time, not choking, just holding you steady, thumb under your jaw like he’s keeping you anchored in your own body.
“Breathe,” Matt says against your mouth, then kisses you before you can say anything else.
Dex doesn’t waste a second, he grabs your thighs and drags you closer, burying his face between your legs like he’s trying to inhale you. His mouth is hot and wet and mean about it, tongue flattening and pressing hard against your clit like he wants you to break fast. The sound is obscene immediately, loud enough that you jerk and try to clamp your legs shut on instinct.
Dex’s hands tighten on your thighs and hold you open. “Nah,” he mutters into you, voice vibrating against your pussy. “Not running.”
Your back arches off the bed with a strangled noise, and Matt is there instantly, crowding your space above, one hand still at your throat and the other sliding up under your nightgown to cup your breast. His thumb circles your nipple slow at first, then harder when you whimper, and he kisses you like he’s stealing your breath on purpose.
“Put your hand on me,” Matt says, guiding your wrist down to the front of his sweatpants. His cock is hard and heavy under the fabric, and the second your fingers curl around him you moan into Matt’s mouth like you can’t help it. “Slow,” Matt warns, voice rough. “Touch me slow. Keep breathing.”
Dex hears Matt directing you, and he gets worse on purpose. His tongue pushes deeper, his mouth noisier, suction turning brutal on your clit until your hips buck hard enough you nearly slide up the bed. Dex holds you in place like he’s built for restraint, palms on your hips now, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel it.
Matt makes a sound in his throat that you feel against your lips more than you hear, and his hand at your breast squeezes like he’s fighting the urge to grab Dex by the hair and drag him off you. Instead he uses it, and the fact that he uses it makes your stomach flip.
“What do you think it is?” Matt asks, voice low against your mouth.
You try to answer, you really do, but Dex sucks harder on your clit like he’s punishing you for even attempting to talk, and Matt kisses you again like he doesn’t want the words out of you either. You break the kiss with a gasp, trying to speak, and Dex shifts his mouth just enough to drag his tongue along you in a slow, vicious stroke that makes your eyes roll back.
“Matt,” you choke out, voice fractured, “I—I don’t—”
Matt’s thumb presses under your jaw, steadying your head. “Use your words,” he says, and his tone turns gentle in the middle of all this like he’s still your anchor. “Tell me.”
Dex’s mouth goes back to your clit, relentless, and you clutch at Matt’s shoulder and stroke his cock through his sweats harder just to keep yourself from losing it. Matt’s hips jerk once into your hand, and his breath turns ragged, but he doesn’t stop you. He wants you to feel how much you’re getting to him.
You force your eyes open, force your brain to drag itself back from the edge. “It’s—it’s gotta be an aphrodisiac,” you gasp, and Dex growls into your thigh like he approves. “Airborne. It’s—it’s making us… like this.”
Matt hums like he already knew, mouth brushing your cheek. “And?”
You swallow, shaking, because your orgasm is building again, fast and merciless, and Dex is not giving you a single second to calm down. “And I think—” you try, then choke when Dex’s tongue hits exactly right and your whole body jolts. “I think it needs… multiple… releases. To burn off. To… feel normal.”
Dex mutters something into your thigh, words you feel more than hear, and his grip tightens like he’s proud and furious at the same time. Matt’s hand slides from your breast down your stomach, then between your legs, and for a second you think he’s going to push Dex away.
He doesn’t—Matt’s fingers slide into you from above while Dex keeps working your clit, and the double sensation is so sharp you make a broken sound that you can’t hide. Matt’s palm presses to your lower belly like he’s holding you in place, and his other hand returns to your throat, steady, not choking, just making you feel owned and safe in the same breath.
“That’s it,” Matt says, mouth at your ear now, voice so low it feels like a secret. “Let it happen. I’ve got you.”
Dex’s mouth doesn’t let up, and you can’t stop your hips from bucking against him. Your hand clenches around Matt through his sweats, stroking him in short, desperate movements, and Matt’s breath stutters like he’s right there with you, trying to hold control and failing.
You come hard, the orgasm ripping through you so fast your vision goes white at the edges. Your cunt tightens around Matt’s fingers, your thighs shake against Dex’s hands, and the sound that finally comes out of you is loud and wrecked and absolutely not quiet enough for anyone to pretend this isn’t happening.
Matt keeps you steady through it, hand firm at your throat, mouth on yours, kissing you messy while you shake. Dex stays between your legs like he’s starving, licking you through the aftershocks with a stubborn, hungry intensity that makes you twitch and try to squirm away.
“Don’t,” Matt warns softly, and the word isn’t a reprimand, it’s an instruction. “Breathe. Stay with me.”
Dex lifts his head just enough to look up at you, lips wet, chin shining, eyes bright with something sharp and satisfied. He smirks like he’s won a round, then glances toward Matt like he wants a fight. “See?” Dex says, voice rough. “Sharing. We can all be adults about it.”
Matt’s hand tightens on your throat just a fraction, enough that you feel the threat and the control. “Don’t push it,” he says, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes people smarter.
Dex’s smirk only widens, because of course it does, but Matt doesn’t let Dex’s little victory sit in the air for long. His hand stays firm at your throat as you ride out the aftershocks, thumb resting under your jaw like a reminder that you’re still right here with him, still safe, still his responsibility even when you’re begging for things that make him grit his teeth. “Up,” Matt says, voice low, and his palm slides over your hip, guiding you before your legs can decide to give out. “Come here.”
Dex makes a sound like he wants to argue, like he wants to make a joke about being ordered around in another man’s bedroom, but Matt doesn’t give him the space. Matt doesn’t look at him, he doesn’t have to, and the stillness in his posture makes Dex go quieter in the way predators do when they realize they’re not the only one in the room.
Matt shifts back against the pillows, bracing himself with one hand behind him while the other finds your waist again. He pulls you up by feel, thumbs digging in just enough that it grounds you, and you end up straddling him before you can overthink it. Your nightgown is still bunched up around your hips, your thighs are slick from Dex, your pussy is swollen and oversensitive, and Matt’s sweatpants are a problem you can’t ignore.
Dex stays close, kneeling behind you on the mattress, crowding your back without touching yet, like he’s waiting to see what Matt allows. He’s breathing hard too, the heat in the room making everything feel too close, too intimate, too dangerous.
Matt’s hands map you like he’s memorizing all over again. He starts at your hips, then your waist, then slides up your spine with a slow drag of his fingertips that makes you shiver. He cups the back of your head, and he angles your face down so he can take your mouth the way he wants, slow at first, then deeper when you whimper into him. “Tell me you’re with me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it isn’t poetic, it’s practical. It’s Matt making sure you’re still choosing.
“I’m with you,” you breathe, and your voice shakes because the need keeps pulsing through you like a fever.
“Good,” Matt says, and his thumbs press into your hips, guiding you forward. “Now take it.”
He tugs his sweatpants down just enough, and you do the same motion with clumsy fingers, because your hands don’t feel coordinated anymore. His cock is hot in your palm, heavy and hard, and the second you brush the head you feel him flinch under you like he’s been holding back since the moment he walked into the apartment.
You line yourself up and sink down, slow because your body is already wrecked, but you still gasp when he fills you. Matt’s hands lock in on your hips, steadying you, and he exhales like it hurts and feels good at the same time.
“Fuck,” you whisper, and your forehead drops to his shoulder, because the stretch is perfect and too much, your cunt fluttering around him like it’s trying to pull him deeper.
Matt kisses the side of your head, mouth rough and greedy now that he’s inside you. “That’s it. Slow. Let me feel you.”
You rock your hips on instinct, searching for the angle that makes your nerves light up, and Matt gives it to you without you even having to ask. He shifts his grip, thumbs digging in, guiding you into a steady rhythm, easing you up and down on him like he’s taking control so you don’t have to.
Dex leans closer behind you, breath hot at your ear. “Jesus,” he mutters, voice thick, and you can hear the way he’s trying not to sound needy. “He gets to sit there and you just… slide right onto him.”
Matt’s head turns slightly, attention flicking toward Dex without his face changing. “Keep your mouth under control,” Matt says, quiet and deadly. “Or I’ll remind you whose bed you’re kneeling on.”
Dex lets out a low laugh, but it comes out strained, like the chemical has him by the throat too. “Yeah, yeah. Big scary—”
You gasp because Matt’s hips buck up, suddenly deeper, catching a spot inside you that makes your thighs tremble and your pussy clamp around him. Matt’s hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you down so he can kiss you again, messy and hungry, like he’s using your mouth to keep himself from snapping at Dex with his fists.
Dex’s fingers sneak around your front like he can’t help himself. His hand slides between your thighs, finding your clit with a practiced ease that makes you jerk. His touch is rougher than Matt’s, more impatient, rubbing hard enough that it makes your nerves spark and your stomach tighten.
“Dex—” you start, voice breaking, and your hips stutter.
Matt’s grip tightens on your hips, keeping you steady on his cock. “Breathe,” he tells you, and he says it like an order because your body needs one. “Stay on me.”
Dex’s fingers keep going, rubbing your clit faster, and he presses his mouth to your shoulder like he wants to bite but settles for breathing you in. “You’re gonna come again,” Dex whispers, too pleased with himself. “You’re gonna come on his cock and he’s gonna feel it, and I’m gonna—”
“Dex,” Matt says, and the warning in his voice makes the air feel sharper.
Dex doesn’t stop, he can’t. He’s too much of a problem, too much of a little shit, and the heat is making him reckless. “What?” he taunts, rubbing your clit harder like he’s trying to make you cry. “You want her to beg? She’s already—”
Matt’s hand slides up from your hip to your jaw, and he tilts your face toward his, kissing you hard enough that it steals your breath. When he pulls back, his voice is low, controlled, and it lands like a line drawn in ink. “Shut him up.”
You blink, dazed, and your lips part on a shaky inhale. “Matt…”
Matt’s thumb presses at your chin, guiding, not forcing, and the look on his face—tight, heated, possessive—makes your whole body clench around him. “If you want him here,” Matt says, “then you listen. Shut him up.”
Dex makes a pleased, ugly sound behind you, like he’s thrilled to be included and furious that it’s on Matt’s terms. “Go on,” Dex murmurs, leaning in closer. “Do what he says.”
You reach back with shaking hands and grab Dex by the collar, yanking him forward. His breath hits your mouth, and then you kiss him, rough and immediate, because you’re too hot for hesitation and because Matt told you to.
Dex melts into it in a way that’s almost shocking, mouth opening for you like he’s starving, kissing you like he wants to prove something with his tongue. There’s anger in it, too, a bitter edge that feels like he’s biting down on his own resentment just to keep kissing you anyway.
Matt fucks up into you while you’re kissing Dex, slow at first, then harder when you whimper into Dex’s mouth. The movement jolts your whole body, makes you cling to Dex’s collar tighter to keep from falling forward, and Matt’s hands keep you anchored on his cock like he refuses to let you slip away into the haze.
Dex’s fingers never stop rubbing your clit. He’s using you and being used at the same time, and you can feel him shaking behind you like he hates how much he wants it.
Matt’s mouth finds your throat, kissing the skin there, and his voice drops against you. “Say it,” he murmurs. “Who do you belong to?”
Dex goes still for half a second behind you, like the words hit him in a place he didn’t want exposed. His kiss turns sharper, almost punishing, like he wants to keep you from answering.
Matt’s hand cups your skull, steady, guiding you through it. “Say it,” he repeats, and it’s quiet, certain.
You pull back just enough to breathe, lips swollen, eyes unfocused. Dex’s hand keeps rubbing your clit like he’s trying to make you forget language entirely, but you force it out anyway because the control in Matt’s voice is grounding in the middle of all this.
“I belong to you,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “Matt. I belong to you.”
Dex shudders behind you like it physically hurts, and the sound he makes is torn between a growl and a laugh. He kisses you again anyway, swallowing the words like he’s furious you said them and even more furious he liked hearing you say them.
Matt’s hips snap up, deeper, harder, and you cry out into Dex’s mouth because the pressure hits perfectly. Your cunt clenches around Matt, slick and tight, and Dex’s fingers press your clit in relentless circles until your nerves feel like they’re sparking.
You break the kiss with a gasp, head falling back onto Dex’s shoulder, and Dex grabs your jaw, possessive and mean, forcing you to look at him while Matt keeps thrusting up into you.
“You hear her?” Dex mutters, voice low and rough. “She said it. She’s yours. Doesn’t mean I can’t make her come, though.”
Matt’s hands clamp on your hips, and he takes control of the pace fully now, rocking up into you in a steady, relentless rhythm that makes your breath stutter. His mouth is at your ear, and you can hear the strain in his control finally cracking.
“That’s it,” Matt murmurs. “Hold on. Don’t you dare stop.”
Dex’s fingers go faster, brutal on your clit, and your body tightens like it’s being drawn into a knot. You grab at Matt’s shoulders, nails digging through his t-shirt, and you feel your orgasm build fast, almost too fast, the chemical making it sharp and unavoidable.
“I’m gonna—” you gasp, and you don’t even finish the sentence because your body does it for you.
You come hard on Matt’s cock, shaking, pussy clenching tight around him, and the way Matt groans is low and wrecked, like your orgasm pulled him right to the edge. Dex’s hand stays on your clit through it, not letting you escape the sensation, and you cry out again, broken and breathy, head tipped back against Dex’s shoulder.
Matt keeps thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his own, breath turning ragged. His hands hold you in place like he refuses to let you slide off him, and his mouth finds your throat, biting lightly, then kissing the spot like an apology he doesn’t have time for.
“Fuck,” Matt groans, and then his whole body tenses under you. His hips snap up once more, deep, and he comes hard, spilling inside you with a rough sound that turns into your name against your skin.
He doesn’t collapse afterward. He stays braced, arms around you, holding you chest-to-chest like he needs to keep you there, keep you claimed, keep you safe while the heat still burns. His breathing is too fast, his hands still tight on you, and you can feel the way his body is already refusing to settle, like one release didn’t fix anything.
Dex’s fingers finally slow on your clit, but he doesn’t pull away. He stays behind you, crowding your back, mouth at your shoulder, and when he speaks his voice is low with something sharp and pleased. “Damn,” Dex murmurs. “He came in you. That’s… cute.”
Matt’s head turns toward him, and the calm in his expression is the kind that makes your skin prickle for a different reason. “Don’t,” Matt says, voice even. “Not right now.”
Dex smiles against your shoulder like he can’t help himself, like he’s already planning the next push, and your body is still too hot, still too needy, still trembling on the edge of another want you haven’t even named yet. Dex’s fingers hook under the hem of your nightgown, and he doesn’t ask permission with words this time because he already did, because you already told him yes, but he still looks at you first anyway, eyes bright and sharp. “Still want it?” he murmurs, voice rough. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” you manage, and it comes out small and wrecked, because you’re still trembling on Matt’s cock and everything feels too sensitive. “I want it.”
Dex yanks the nightgown up and off in one impatient motion, tugging it over your head like it’s in his way, then tosses it somewhere behind him. The air hits your bare skin and you shiver hard, goosebumps rising and then flattening instantly under the heat. Matt’s hands spread over your ribs and stomach like he’s making sure you’re steady, like he’s keeping track of you the way he always does, and then he shifts you carefully off his lap because he isn’t going to let you fall in the middle of this.
“Easy,” Matt murmurs against your jaw, kissing you once, slow and grounding. “I’ve got you.”
Dex doesn’t wait for you to fully settle before he’s pulling you back into him, knees on the mattress behind yours, his chest pressed to your back. He loops an arm around your neck in a headlock hold that’s controlled, not crushing, forearm across your collarbone, hand braced at your shoulder so he can keep you upright and close. The position is meant to make you feel pinned, meant to make you feel owned, and your body answers with a violent clench that makes you gasp.
Matt’s head turns toward the sound immediately, like the gasp is a flare he can’t ignore. His hand slides to your hip and stays there, thumb rubbing slow circles into the skin like a quiet claim. “Breathe,” he says, calm and firm. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you breathe, and your voice shakes anyway. “It’s not too much.”
Dex laughs softly against your ear, the sound more bite than humor. “Of course it isn’t,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking soaked.”
He frees himself from his sweatpants with a quick, impatient shove, and you feel the blunt heat of him press against your ass, then slide down between your thighs. The second his cock drags through your slickness, you whimper and your knees flex like you’re going to collapse forward, but Dex tightens his arm and holds you in place. He doesn’t thrust in right away; he grinds against you first, spreading you open, pushing the mess around, making it obscene on purpose, like he needs you to feel exactly what’s still inside you.
“You feel that?” Dex whispers, mouth brushing your ear, and his tone turns mean in a way that makes your stomach flip. “That’s him. Still in you. Still there, even when it’s me.”
Matt’s thumb stops for a second against your hip, then starts again, slow and steady like he refuses to react the way Dex wants. “Dex,” Matt says quietly, warning without raising his voice. “Don’t.”
Dex ignores him, because of course he does, because he can’t help digging for the bruise. He lines himself up and pushes in with one hard, deliberate thrust that knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, sharp and broken, and Dex’s arm around your neck keeps you upright while his hips press tight to your ass, burying himself deep like he’s trying to overwrite what Matt just did.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, hands scrabbling for something to hold, and Matt’s hand catches yours immediately, fingers lacing with yours so you don’t have to search. The touch is steady and warm, anchoring you even while your body is being pulled in two directions.
“That’s it,” Matt murmurs, lips near your cheek, voice close enough that you feel the air of it. “Take what you need. Keep breathing.”
Dex starts to move, slow at first, grinding deeper on every thrust, making sure you feel the drag of him against your swollen cunt. The mess inside you turns it slicker, filthier, and you can feel it in the obscene sound of it, the wet slap of his hips against your ass, the way your body takes him like it’s desperate for anything that pushes back against the heat.
Dex’s mouth finds your shoulder and he bites down, not hard enough to break skin, just enough to make you gasp again. “Listen to you,” he mutters, voice low and sharp. “You sound like a fucking slut when you’re full.”
Matt’s hand tightens around yours, and his other hand slides up your side to your jaw, tilting your chin slightly like he’s guiding you back from the edge. “Hey,” Matt says, calm and deadly at the same time. “Watch your mouth.”
Dex’s thrusts get harder, like the warning turned him on or pissed him off or both. He keeps talking anyway, because he wants Matt to hear it, wants Matt to hate it, wants to provoke something ugly. “She’s taking me so fucking easy,” Dex whispers, breath ragged at your ear. “Like she’s made for it. Like she wants it dirty.”
You try to pull air in through your nose, but every time Dex drives into you your breath breaks, the sound spilling out of you in helpless little moans. Your cunt clamps around him, slick and tight, and Dex makes a rough noise like he’s losing control faster than he wants to admit.
Matt doesn’t insult him, he doesn’t even rise to it with words. He corrects Dex with touch, the way he always does when he’s angry and refusing to show it. His fingers slide to your chin and guide your face toward him, and his mouth finds yours in a kiss that’s slow and possessive, claiming without needing to look at Dex at all. His lips are warm, firm, steady, and it makes you melt even while Dex is fucking you hard from behind. “Say my name,” Matt murmurs into your mouth, barely audible. “Let me hear you.”
Dex’s arm around your neck tightens just enough to remind you he’s there, and he thrusts harder like he’s punishing you for obeying. The sensation spikes sharp, makes your eyes flutter shut, makes your pussy clench around him so hard he stutters.
“Matt,” you moan, the name spilling out as a broken sound against Matt’s lips.
Matt kisses you deeper, like he’s swallowing it, like he’s keeping it. “Good,” he murmurs, and his thumb strokes your jawline, calming and possessive all at once. “That’s it.”
Dex makes a furious, ragged sound behind you and snaps his hips faster, chasing his own relief in hard, brutal thrusts. “Say it again,” Dex growls into your shoulder, and you can hear the ugly need in it, like he wants you to say his name and hates that Matt’s making you say something else.
Matt doesn’t change his tone. He doesn’t have to. “Breathe,” he tells you, then kisses your mouth again, slower, and it makes your whole body soften into him even while Dex is trying to wreck you from behind. “Stay with me.”
Dex’s thrusts turn frantic, the heat and the jealousy and the chemical all smashing together into something that makes him reckless. His arm holds you pinned upright, cock driving deep, and the mess inside you makes every shove obscene, slick and loud. Your legs start to tremble, not from fear, but from overload, your cunt tightening and fluttering like it’s trying to drag both men into the same spiral.
Dex bites your shoulder again, harder this time, and you hiss at the sting. “Fuck,” Dex mutters, voice shaking. “You feel so good it makes me fucking mad.”
Matt’s hand slides down to your hip again, thumb rubbing slow circles, calm and steady, and you hate how much you love the contrast. Dex is all sharp edges and spite, Matt is quiet control, and your body is greedy enough to want both.
Dex’s breathing goes ragged, and his thrusts turn brutal for a few seconds like he’s trying to force his orgasm out of himself. He jerks once, then again, hips stuttering, and you feel him go rigid behind you. He clamps his teeth into your shoulder, not as a threat this time but as a way to stop himself from making a sound he’d hate, and his whole body shakes as he comes hard inside you, hot and thick, filling you in messy pulses that make you gasp.
He stays buried for a second, trembling, arm still around your neck, forehead pressed to the side of your head like he can’t pull away yet. Matt’s hand remains on your hip, thumb still moving, and his lips brush your cheek in a kiss that feels like reassurance and possession at the same time.
“That’s it,” Matt murmurs in your ear, steady. “Good. Breathe.”
Dex finally loosens his hold, just enough that you can take a fuller breath, but he doesn’t move away. He’s still behind you, still crowding your back, still panting like he ran a mile. When he lifts his head, his eyes flick to Matt with something sharp and furious, like he hates that Matt is still calm, still in control, still close.
Dex swallows, voice rough and bitter when he finally speaks. “Happy now?” he mutters, not really to you, not really to Matt, just to the room.
Matt’s hand stays on your hip, thumb still moving in slow circles like he’s keeping you anchored while your body tries to float right out of itself. Dex is still inside you, still trembling from his release, still crowding your back like he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he got what he wanted and it didn’t fix the burn.
Matt shifts first, practical even when he’s wrecked. He eases Dex out of you with a controlled pull of your hips, not yanking, not careless, and you whine at the empty feeling because your cunt is greedy and overstimulated and already angry about losing the pressure. Dex makes a sharp sound behind you, half frustration, half hunger, and he starts to reach like he’s going to drag you back.
“On your back,” Matt tells him, and it’s not a suggestion.
Dex laughs breathlessly, but he listens, because even he can hear the edge in Matt’s voice. He drops onto the pillows with a rough exhale, legs spreading a little like he’s trying to pretend it’s his idea, cock already hard again and shiny with slick. His eyes track you the whole time, bright and feral, like he’s daring either of you to deny him.
Matt guides you forward with both hands on your waist, turning you and pushing you down until your knees sink into the mattress. He nudges you back so you’re over Dex, straddling him, your pussy hovering over his cock. You’re slick enough that the slide of your cunt over him feels obscene even before you take him, wetness smearing over his shaft with every tiny shift.
Dex’s hands clamp onto your hips immediately, grip firm, thumbs digging into the soft skin like he’s marking where you belong right now. “Yeah,” Dex mutters, voice rough. “Right there. Don’t be shy.”
You try to roll your hips, trying to find friction, and Dex helps, guiding you in short, grinding strokes so his cock drags against your clit and the swollen lips of your cunt. You’re not fully taking him yet, just teasing, just rubbing, and it still makes you gasp because everything is too sensitive. Your thighs tremble as the wet, hot slide keeps building pressure that you can’t relieve.
Matt kneels behind you, close enough that you feel his heat at your back before he touches you. His hands land on your hips over Dex’s, and the difference between them makes you shiver. Dex is possessive and impatient, Matt is steady and precise, and you’re trapped between them like a bad decision you can’t stop making.
“Stay right there,” Matt murmurs, mouth brushing your ear. “I’m going to fuck you from behind.”
Your breath stutters, and you nod too fast. “Please,” you whisper, because you’ve lost any ability to pretend you’re in control.
Matt lines himself up behind you, guiding you back onto him. The first press of his cock at your entrance makes your whole body clench, and Dex’s grip tightens like he’s furious that Matt is taking what Dex wants. Matt doesn’t rush. He slides in slow, inch by inch, making you take him fully, making you feel him again after Dex, and the stretch turns sharp and perfect.
“Fuck,” you choke, hands flying to Dex’s chest because you need something to hold. Dex’s skin is hot under your palms, his heartbeat too fast. He glares up at you like he wants to bite, like he wants to pull you down and ruin you, but he stays still because Matt’s hands are on your hips and Matt is in charge.
Matt sinks all the way in and stills for a beat, pressed tight to your ass. He leans forward until his chest meets your back, his mouth at your ear again, voice low and commanding. “Moan my name,” Matt says. “Right there. Into his shoulder.”
You make a helpless sound, and your body obeys before your brain catches up. You lean forward, mouth landing against Dex’s shoulder, and the next breath that leaves you is Matt’s name, broken and desperate like you’re confessing something you can’t take back.
Dex snarls, half-laughing, half-livid. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Matt starts to move, slow at first, deep thrusts that use the angle of your body to hit exactly where you’re already trembling. Every push drives you forward onto Dex, and every pull drags Matt’s cock through your soaked cunt in a way that makes your vision blur.
Dex’s hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bruise later. “You’re using me as furniture,” he growls, then his voice goes strained because the grind of your pussy over his cock is driving him insane. “And it’s—fuck—it’s working.”
Matt leans over you more, pressing his weight into your back, pushing your chest closer to Dex until your back arches. His hands slide from your hips up your sides, then one of them reaches forward and clamps around Dex’s throat. Not choking him out, not cutting off air, just holding him there, forcing him to stay still and feel it.
Dex’s eyes widen, then narrow, the rage and the thrill mixing into something ugly. “Touchy,” he spits, but his cock jumps under you anyway.
“Shut up,” Matt murmurs, calm as sin. “Take it.”
Your hips stop grinding on their own because Matt’s hold and the arch of your back locks you into the position he wants. Now all you can do is take Matt’s thrusts from behind, feel the deep roll of him in your cunt, and feel Dex under you getting more desperate with every movement.
“Matt—” you gasp, cheek pressed to Dex’s shoulder now, lips dragging over the skin because you need something to do with your mouth besides scream.
Matt’s pace picks up, still deep, still controlled, and his breath turns rough against your ear. “Good,” he says, like he’s praising you for falling apart exactly the way he wants. “That’s it. Stay open.”
Dex’s hands shift, one sliding down your thigh like he’s about to pull you down onto him properly, and Matt’s grip at his throat tightens just enough to stop him.
“You get what I give you,” Matt says softly, and it’s the kind of possessive that makes your cunt clench hard around him.
Dex laughs through his teeth, breathless and furious. “You’re insane.”
Matt doesn’t argue, he just fucks you harder, using you like you’re his, and every thrust makes your pussy flutter and drip, wetness smearing over Dex’s cock underneath you. The sound is filthy, slick and loud, and it makes Dex jerk under you like he’s about to lose it again.
Your hand moves between your bodies and you push two fingers into Dex’s mouth, because you need leverage and because the idea hits you like a spark. Dex’s lips part instantly, tongue sliding over your fingers with a hungry, spiteful eagerness. He sucks like he’s trying to prove a point, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on yours as if daring you to flinch.
You pull your fingers out shining with spit and use it to stroke Dex, slow and cruel, palm sliding down his shaft, thumb smearing over the head. Dex’s head falls back into the pillow with a broken sound, eyes rolling, hands tightening on your hips like he’s trying not to buck.
“Fuck,” Dex breathes. “You’re—you’re doing that on purpose.”
“Yeah,” you manage, voice shaking, because Matt’s cock keeps hitting that spot inside you and you can’t think straight. “Shut up.”
Dex’s gaze snaps back to you, bright and pissed and turned on. He drags you down by the hips just enough to steal your mouth, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing a messy tongue kiss that tastes like heat and spit and something too sharp to be sweet. You whimper into it, and the sound gets swallowed between you.
Behind you, Matt’s breath catches like the sight and the sound hits him somewhere deep. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you from behind, hand still around Dex’s throat, using the hold to keep Dex right where he wants him while you fall apart on top of him.
“Eyes on me,” Dex mutters against your mouth, possessive and mean.
Matt’s mouth brushes your ear again, and his voice is quieter, steadier, like a blade. “Say my name.”
Your body clenches hard, and the next moan that spills out is Matt’s name again, muffled into Dex’s mouth. Dex shudders like it hurts, like it makes him want to bite, and he kisses you harder anyway. Matt’s thrusts turn relentless, hips snapping in tighter rhythm, and you feel his control thinning. His hand at Dex’s throat tightens, then loosens, then tightens again like he’s gripping the last thread of restraint.
You stroke Dex faster now, spit making it slick, your fist sliding up and down his cock while your cunt takes Matt from behind. Dex’s breath turns ragged, hips twitching under you, and his hands clamp down like he’s trying not to shove you down and take what he wants.
“Jesus—” Dex gasps. “You’re gonna make me—”
“Not yet,” Matt says, and it isn’t loud, but it lands like a command anyway. “Hold it.”
Dex’s eyes flash, furious, and he trembles through it. “Go to hell.”
Matt’s answer is a hard thrust that makes you cry out and clench around him so tight his breath breaks. You feel his cock pulse, feel his whole body go rigid behind you, and then Matt groans low against your back as he comes again, deep and hot, holding you still with both hands while he rides it out. One hand stays on your hip, the other keeps Dex pinned by the throat, and the control in it makes your whole body melt even while you shake.
Matt doesn’t collapse afterward. He stays pressed to you, chest to your back, breathing hard, lips at your shoulder like he needs to keep contact. His grip loosens slowly, like he’s easing himself back from the edge by inches.
“That’s it,” Matt murmurs, voice rough, thumb stroking your hip again. “Breathe. Stay with me.”
Dex is staring up at you like he wants to kill someone and kiss you at the same time, cock twitching in your hand, frustration and need making his jaw clench. He swallows, then drags his thumb across your lower belly like he’s claiming a piece of you he doesn’t have the right to claim.
“You two are disgusting,” Dex mutters.
Dex doesn’t wait for Matt to answer, because Dex isn’t actually asking. He’s already moving, already reaching, already turning that restless, hungry energy into action like he can’t stand sitting in the aftermath for even one more second.
He hooks an arm under your thigh and drags you off him with a sharp pull, flipping you onto your back in one quick motion that knocks the air out of you. The mattress dips hard, sheets bunching under your shoulders, and your head ends up near the edge of the bed, slightly hanging off. Dex climbs over you immediately, sweat shining on his throat, eyes wild and focused like you just became his target.
“You think you’re done?” Dex mutters, and his hands clamp down on your thighs, spreading you open like he owns the right to. “You’re not done. I’m not done.”
Matt is close enough that you can feel him shift, and you can hear his breathing change, sharper, more controlled. He doesn’t grab Dex off you, but his hand lands on your ankle for a second, thumb pressing into your skin like a quiet check-in. It’s Matt’s way of asking without interrupting, and you answer the same way, flexing your foot gently against his touch because you’re too wrecked to form a full sentence without it turning into a moan.
Dex lines himself up and pushes back into you with a rough thrust that makes your whole body jolt. Your cunt takes him easily because you’re soaked and overstimulated, and the obscene slick sound that comes with it makes Dex’s mouth twist like he’s pleased and pissed at the same time.
“Fuck,” you gasp, hands grabbing at his shoulders because you need something to hold while he starts moving. Dex doesn’t build slowly, he drives into you like he’s determined to make you forget how Matt felt, like he’s trying to pound the comparison out of your body with brute force.
Matt moves to your head, not away, not sulking, just repositioning like he’s doing damage control the way he always does. He sits beside you on the bed and cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone, then your lower lip. His voice is low and steady, close enough to be private even with Dex right there.
“Breathe,” Matt murmurs. “You’re okay. You tell me if you need anything.”
Dex hears it and gets worse on purpose. He leans down and kisses you mid-thrust, mouth hot and messy, swallowing the sounds you can’t keep back. His tongue pushes in like he’s trying to claim your mouth the same way he’s claiming your cunt, and you whine into it because the pace is brutal and the heat in your blood makes it feel too good.
When Dex pulls back for air, he keeps one hand on your jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make you look at him. “Look at me,” Dex demands, voice rough. “Say it. Say my name.”
Your eyes flutter, unfocused, and you try to glare at him because he’s being an asshole, but your body betrays you immediately. Dex thrusts deep again, hitting a spot that makes your thighs shake, and the sound that breaks out of you is helpless. “Dex,” you gasp, and his grin turns sharp and satisfied like he just scored a hit.
“Again,” he says, and he thrusts harder, making the bed creak, making your breath break. “Come on. Louder. I want him to hear it.”
Matt’s hand slides down to your shoulder, thumb pressing into the muscle like he’s keeping you grounded. He doesn’t argue with Dex, he just stays there, close, letting you hold onto him, letting you decide what comes out of your mouth.
Dex keeps driving into you, rhythm turning relentless, and you grab Matt’s wrist with shaking fingers because you need something solid. Matt’s palm flips and catches your hand, squeezing once, and you feel your stomach flip because even with Dex fucking you like he’s trying to win, Matt’s touch still feels like home.
Dex’s eyes flick to Matt’s hand holding yours, and something mean flashes across his face. He leans down again, kissing you hard, swallowing your moans, then breaks the kiss just to speak right at your mouth. “You like me?” Dex spits, like it’s an insult. “You like how I fuck you? Tell me.”
“Fuck, yes,” you choke out, because you’re too hot to lie and too far gone to be polite. Dex’s thrusts stutter for half a beat like the answer hit him hard, then he snaps back into a faster pace that makes you see stars.
Matt shifts slightly, moving closer to your head, and you turn into him automatically. His mouth brushes your forehead, then the corner of your lips, and you can tell he’s holding his restraint by force, breathing too hard for someone who’s “fine.”
“You can hold onto me,” Matt murmurs, voice rougher now. “Do what you need.”
Dex hears that too, and it makes him furious. He grabs your thigh and hikes it higher over his hip, angling you so he can go deeper, harder. The change punches a sharp moan out of you, and Dex makes a satisfied sound like he’s collecting it. “There,” Dex says, grinning. “There you go. That’s what I want. That’s mine.”
Matt’s thumb slides along your cheek again, and his voice stays calm even if the tension in it is obvious. “Don’t,” he warns quietly, like he’s reminding Dex he’s allowed to be here but not allowed to claim.
Dex doesn’t care, he leans down and kisses you again, filthy and hungry, and the way he thrusts turns almost frantic. He’s chasing something now, not just relief, but proof, and he wants it so badly it’s making him reckless.
Your hand slips down between your bodies, reaching for Dex’s wrist like you’re trying to steady him, and he catches it, pins it above your head with one hand while the other stays on your jaw. You’re spread wide, legs shaking around his hips, pussy clenching and fluttering around him like you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm you can’t control.
“Say it,” Dex demands again, breath ragged. “Say my name. Please me. Come on.”
“Dex,” you moan, and then it turns into a breathless string of it because he won’t stop hitting that spot. “Dex—fuck—Dex—please—”
Dex’s eyes blow wide, and his mouth twists like he hates how good it feels to hear you beg. He thrusts harder, faster, the slick sound turning obscene, and you feel his control shredding.
Matt’s hand tightens around yours at your side, a steady squeeze that keeps you from floating away completely. He doesn’t interrupt, but his mouth brushes your temple, and his voice is low enough that only you can catch it. “I’m here,” Matt murmurs. “Stay with me.”
Dex’s breath turns jagged, and he makes a harsh sound like a laugh that got twisted into a groan. “Yeah, yeah,” he grits out, then thrusts deep and holds it there, shaking. “Fuck—”
Dex comes hard, angry and shaking, cock pulsing inside you in thick, hot spurts that make your body clench around him. He squeezes your jaw, then releases it like he just realized he was holding too tight, and he drops his forehead to your shoulder with a rough exhale that sounds like he wants to scream and refuses to give anyone the satisfaction.
He stays there for a second, still buried, breathing like he’s furious at his own body. Then he lets out a low, bitter laugh under his breath, the kind that doesn’t sound happy at all. “God,” Dex mutters, voice shaking. “That felt… so fucking good.”
Matt doesn’t let the silence after Dex’s last laugh turn into another round of posturing. He’s breathing hard, his palm still warm against your skin, and you can feel the difference now that the worst of the chemical spike isn’t clawing at your throat anymore. The heat is still there, still sticky under your ribs, but it isn’t as sharp as it was ten minutes ago, and that almost makes it worse because you can think again just enough to realize how fucking wrung out you are.
Dex shifts off you with a rough exhale, rolling onto his side like he’s trying to hide how shaky he feels. He looks at you like he wants to say something clever, something mean, something that puts him back on top of the moment, but the words don’t come as easily now. He settles for a tight smile and a hand on your thigh, thumb pressing into your skin like he’s reminding you he’s still here.
Matt’s voice cuts in, low and steady. “We’re close.”
Dex scoffs, but it’s weak. “Close to what, the end of your little domestic nightmare?”
“Close to it wearing off,” Matt says, and he shifts closer by sound and feel, his hand finding your hip like it always does. His fingers spread, grounding, and his thumb starts that slow circle that’s become the rhythm of the whole night. “You’re not shaking as much. Your breathing’s different.”
You swallow and nod even though he can’t see it, then force the words out because that’s how you’ve stayed sane through all of this. “It’s not gone,” you say, voice raw. “It’s still there. It’s just… not screaming.”
Matt hums once, like he agrees. Dex drags the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes flicking between you and Matt like he’s trying to decide if he hates the idea of it ending more than he hates the fact that Matt’s right about it.
“We finish it,” Matt says, simple as that.
Dex’s smile sharpens. “We?”
Matt turns his head slightly toward him, and even without eye contact it’s obvious who’s in control. “You’ve been in my apartment for hours,” Matt says, tone flat. “You can handle ten more minutes without trying to start a fight.”
Dex opens his mouth and then closes it again, jaw working like he’s biting down on the urge to run it. His gaze drops to you, then to Matt’s hand on you, then back up to your face like he’s looking for the crack he can wedge himself into.
You breathe in, slow, then say it before Dex can poison the moment. “If it’s fading, I want the last part to… end. Like, actually end.”
Matt’s hand slides from your hip up your side, his palm flattening over your stomach for a second like he’s checking you’re steady, then he kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and grounding. “Alright,” Matt says, and his voice drops into that calm command that makes your body settle even while it’s on fire. “Dex. On your back. Head on the pillow. Hands where I can find them.”
Dex stares at him for a beat, then smirks like he’s about to refuse on principle, but he doesn’t. He flops back onto the pillows with exaggerated ease, arms spreading out like he’s presenting himself for inspection, cock already half-hard again and twitching like the chemical is refusing to fully let go. “Bossy,” Dex mutters. “Thought you were the Catholic one.”
Matt’s answer is quiet. “Keep talking and you don’t get anything.”
Dex shuts up immediately, which would be hilarious if it wasn’t also obscene. Matt guides you by your waist, turning you carefully, helping you get your knees under you again because your legs are still shaky from everything. He doesn’t look at Dex to place you, he doesn’t need to; he uses touch the way he always does, hands firm on your hips, moving you inch by inch until you’re positioned over Dex’s face.
Dex’s eyes go bright, and his hands lift like he can’t help himself, then he freezes when Matt’s fingers press into his wrist as a reminder. Dex’s mouth opens slightly, tongue visible, and he looks up at you like he’s about to ruin you just to prove he can. “Sit,” Dex murmurs, voice rough. “C’mon.”
Matt’s hands tighten on your hips. “Slow,” he tells you, close to your ear. “You tell me if you get dizzy. You tell me if you can’t breathe.”
“I can breathe,” you manage, and you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, because the position alone makes your cunt throb. “I’m good.”
Matt helps you lower, guiding you down until you’re hovering right above Dex’s mouth, then another inch, until Dex’s lips brush your slick skin and you jerk with a gasp. Dex’s hands clamp onto your thighs immediately, holding you open, and he moans into you like he’s been denied air for hours.
“Fuck,” Dex breathes against your pussy, and the vibration makes your thighs tremble. “That’s—yeah. That’s it.”
He starts eating you out like he’s making a point. His tongue is flat and heavy, pressure too much and perfect, and you have to grab Matt’s forearm to keep from collapsing forward. Matt steadies you instantly, one hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back, holding you upright while Dex’s mouth works you open and greedy.
Your head ends up near Dex’s cock, and the sight of it—hard and flushed, twitching—makes your stomach flip. Dex notices, of course he notices, and his fingers squeeze your thighs like he’s trying to keep you exactly where he wants you.
“Go on,” Dex says, voice muffled against your cunt. “Use your mouth.”
You lean forward and wrap your lips around him, and Dex makes a harsh sound that turns into another groan into your pussy. The combination is instantly overwhelming: Dex’s mouth on your clit, your mouth on his cock, and Matt behind you, hands steady on your hips like he’s preparing to do the last thing your body needs to finally stop buzzing.
Matt shifts behind you, and you feel him press in close, his breath hot at your shoulder. His fingers slide down your spine, then to your hips again, and he nudges you forward just enough to get the angle he wants.
“Breathe,” Matt murmurs, and he kisses your shoulder once, slow.
You moan around Dex’s cock, the sound vibrating, and Dex’s hands tighten on your thighs like he’s losing patience. Matt pushes in slowly, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water, and the moment he’s inside you, the world narrows down to sensation again. It’s not the frantic, desperate edge from earlier; it’s heavy and deep, like you’re so sensitive that every inch feels doubled.
Dex’s tongue goes meaner the second he feels Matt moving inside you. He sucks hard at your clit like he’s trying to pull your orgasm out of you first, like he’s trying to prove he can still win something even in a setup Matt arranged.
You pull off Dex’s cock just long enough to gasp, “fuck—Dex,” then you take him again, because the heat is still there and the only way through it is more. Dex’s cock jerks in your mouth, and his groan turns into another muffled sound against your pussy as he eats you out harder.
Matt sets a pace behind you, steady and controlled. His hands stay on your hips, guiding the motion when your body tries to squirm away from the overstimulation, and every time you wobble, he corrects you with touch instead of words, keeping you upright, keeping you open, keeping you from falling apart too early.
Dex tries to talk again, of course he does, and it comes out broken between breaths. “You taste—fuck—you taste so good,” he mutters against your cunt, loud enough that Matt can hear it. “You’re gonna—yeah, you’re gonna come all over my mouth.”
Matt leans closer and his mouth brushes your ear. “Stay with me,” he says, and his voice is calm even though his thrusts get a little deeper, a little firmer. “Don’t rush it. Let it build.”
Dex’s hands slide up your thighs like he wants to drag you down harder onto his face. Matt’s grip on your hips tightens, and he pushes you down just enough that Dex’s mouth is fully buried, your pussy pressed into his face. Dex groans into you like he’s in heaven and hell at the same time, and the vibration nearly makes you lose your grip on his cock.
You gag slightly when Dex twitches hard in your mouth, and you pull back for air, spit shining on your lips. Matt’s hand slides to the back of your head immediately, not forcing, just guiding, and his voice turns low and firm. “Back on him,” Matt murmurs. “Just like that. Take what you need.”
You do it because you can’t not, because the structure is the only thing keeping you from going dizzy. You take Dex again, sucking him slow and deep, and Dex makes a strangled noise that turns into a growl into your pussy. His tongue keeps working your clit with brutal, perfect pressure, and his fingers dig into your thighs like he’s trying to hold you still while his whole body wants to buck.
Matt’s thrusts deepen, steady and relentless, and the way his cock hits inside you makes your entire body tighten. You moan around Dex’s cock, the sound wet and obscene, and Dex shudders under you like that noise just tipped him closer to the edge.
“Fuck,” Dex gasps into you. “Matt—stop—she’s—”
Matt doesn’t stop, he doesn’t even acknowledge the plea with words. He simply changes the angle, lifting your hips slightly with his hands and driving into you a little harder, and the shift makes Dex choke on a groan because your pussy grinds down on his tongue in a way that feels like punishment and reward at the same time.
You can’t keep quiet anymore. The orgasm builds fast and heavy, not the sharp frantic spike from earlier, but a thick wave that keeps rising, and you’re trapped between them—Matt filling you, Dex swallowing you—until your whole body starts trembling.
“Matt,” you gasp, pulling off Dex’s cock just long enough to say it, voice broken. “I’m gonna—”
“I know,” Matt says immediately, and his voice turns softer even while he keeps thrusting. “Let it happen. Breathe.”
Dex doesn’t give you time to breathe. He sucks hard at your clit like he’s trying to make you black out, and your thighs shake around his head as your orgasm hits. You come hard, cunt clenching around Matt, hips jerking downward onto Dex’s face, and the sound you make is messy and loud and completely uncontrolled.
Matt holds you through it, hands locked on your hips to keep you from collapsing. His thrusts turn shorter and tighter, chasing his own edge as your pussy clamps around him, and you feel him go rigid behind you. His breath breaks against your shoulder, and he groans low as he comes, deep and hot, holding you still while he rides it out.
Dex’s cock twitches in your hand as he hears Matt lose control, and Dex makes a furious, needy sound like he hates that it turns him on. You take him back into your mouth without thinking, sucking him through it, and Dex’s hands squeeze your thighs hard enough to leave marks.
You don’t. You keep sucking him, spit slick, rhythm steady even while your body is still shaking from your orgasm. Dex’s mouth is still on your pussy, tongue slower now but stubborn, like he refuses to give up the contact. The chemical is fading, but Dex is greedy and spiteful and desperate to get his last release before it fully lets him go.
Dex bucks once under you, hard, and Matt’s hands tighten on your hips again to keep you balanced. Dex’s cock throbs in your mouth, and he comes with a rough, broken groan that he tries to swallow, but fails. His orgasm makes him tremble under you, hands clamping down like he’s trying to hold onto something while it slips away.
For a few seconds none of you move. You’re panting, slick, shaking, and the heat in your body finally starts to ebb in a way that feels real, like the pressure is draining out instead of building again.
Matt stays behind you, chest pressed to your back, mouth at your shoulder, breathing hard but slower now. His hands soften on your hips, turning from control into support.
Dex lies under you with his eyes half-lidded, still flushed, lips wet, chin shining, and he looks up at you like he wants to say something cruel just to prove he can. What comes out is a rough exhale and a bitter, shaky laugh. “Holy shit,” Dex mutters, and he sounds like he hates that he means it. “I think it’s actually… wearing off.”
Matt’s hands stay on you for a while after, not gripping anymore, just steadying, like he’s making sure you’re actually present and not drifting. He shifts carefully to get you off Dex, guiding you by the waist and shoulders so you don’t topple on shaky legs. The second your feet touch the floor your knees threaten to give, and Matt catches you like he’s done it a thousand times, one hand at the back of your neck, the other braced at your hip.
“Slow,” Matt murmurs, mouth near your temple. “Breathe for me. In and out, don’t rush it.”
“I’m breathing,” you rasp, then immediately prove you’re not by sucking in a short, shaky inhale that turns into a laugh because it’s either that or cry. Your skin feels too warm, tacky with sweat, and the air in the room feels thick even though the worst of the fever is finally fading.
Matt steers you to the edge of the bed and sits you down, then disappears for a second. You hear the faucet run, cabinets opening, the muted clink of a glass, and then he’s back with water and a cold washcloth. He presses the cloth to the back of your neck first, then your forehead, then your cheeks, gentle and methodical.
“Drink,” he says, and he guides the glass into your hands like he’s worried you’ll spill it.
You take a few sips and immediately realize how dry your throat is. “Jesus,” you mutter, swallowing again. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”
“You kind of did,” Matt says, dry but not teasing. His thumb drags over your pulse point at your wrist in a small check, then his palm settles there like he wants to feel you steady. “Any dizziness? Any nausea?”
“No,” you say, then pause because your stomach flips once as the room tilts slightly. “Okay, maybe a little dizzy.”
Matt’s hand tightens lightly on the back of your neck. “Then you sit,” he says, calm and firm. “You don’t try to be brave right now.”
Across the bed, Dex is quieter than he has been all night, which is almost unsettling. He’s sitting on the floor with his back against the side of the mattress, head tipped back, forearm over his eyes like he’s trying to hide the fact that he needs a minute. His breathing is still too fast, but it’s not frantic anymore, and the sharp edge of him looks blunted, like somebody finally turned the volume down.
He lifts his arm just enough to peer at you and Matt, and even now he can’t help himself. “You always this domesticated?” he asks, voice rough. The line is clearly meant to be snarky, but it lands thin, like he didn’t have the energy to sharpen it.
Matt doesn’t take the bait. He wipes your cheek with the cloth again, then sets it on your shoulder and keeps his hand there. “You’re leaving as soon as you can stand without falling,” he says, like he’s reading a grocery list.
Dex’s mouth quirks. “So romantic.”
“You’re still in my apartment,” Matt replies, and the calm in his voice is the kind that makes the room feel smaller. “Don’t make me regret letting you walk out instead of dragging you.”
Dex’s eyes flick up toward Matt’s face, then down to Matt’s hand on your shoulder like he’s cataloging the claim again, even if he’s too wrung out to argue with it. “Relax,” he mutters. “I’m not staying for brunch.”
You take another sip of water, then set the glass down on the nightstand with a careful clink. Your muscles feel heavy, and your skin feels too sensitive in that post-overload way that makes the idea of putting on clothes feel like work. You grab the sheet and pull it over your lap because you need one normal human action to latch onto. “Okay,” you say, voice steadier now. “We’re not doing the ‘stand around and glare at each other’ thing. We need to clean. We need air. And we need to get rid of anything that might still have that chemical on it.”
Dex makes a noncommittal sound, but he pushes himself upright with a small wince, like his body is protesting. Matt’s head turns toward you immediately, attentive. “You want windows?” Matt asks.
“Yes,” you say. “All of them. Bedroom, living room. And we need trash bags. Gloves. Anything that touched your suits needs to get bagged.”
Matt nods once and stands, moving with that careful efficiency he slips into when he’s trying not to think about what just happened. You hear the bedroom window slide up, then the living room windows. Air drifts in, cool and city-dirty, and it helps. It doesn’t erase the heat in your blood, but it takes the edge off the room.
Dex gets to his feet and stretches like he’s trying to shake out the last of the chemical from his bones. He looks steadier now, but his gaze keeps drifting to you like he’s trying to memorize the situation and file it away for later. You point at him. “Bathroom. Wash your hands. Like, actually wash them.”
Dex’s brows lift. “Bossy.”
“Not negotiable,” you shoot back, and you’re proud your voice doesn’t wobble.
Dex’s smile twitches, then he actually goes, disappearing down the hall. You hear the faucet turn on and, shockingly, soap.
Matt comes back in with trash bags and a roll of paper towels. “I’ll bag the suits,” he says, and you can hear him trying to keep it neutral, trying to turn it into a task so he doesn’t have to sit in the reality of having Dex here at all.
“I’ll wipe down surfaces,” you say, already standing carefully, sheet clutched at your waist. “Coffee table, counters, doorknobs. Anything you two touched.”
Matt’s hand finds your elbow immediately, steadying you without smothering. “If you start to sway, you sit,” he says quietly.
“I will,” you promise, then add, because you know he needs to hear it, “I’m okay.”
He pauses like he’s listening to your heartbeat, then leans in and presses his forehead lightly to yours. “Okay,” he says back, softer than he’s been all night.
You move into the kitchen and find the plastic bag with the broken test tube shard where you left it. Seeing it again makes your stomach tighten, because it’s a stupid little piece of glass that caused all of this, and it feels unreal that it’s still sitting there like any other mess.
Dex comes back from the bathroom wiping his hands on a towel he definitely didn’t ask permission to use. He stops when he sees the bag on the counter, eyes narrowing slightly like his brain is finally catching up to the mission part of the night.
“That the souvenir?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say, and you keep your tone flat. “And you’re not touching it.”
Dex gives you a look that says he’s annoyed you clocked him so easily. “Wasn’t going to.”
Matt’s voice comes from the hallway, calm and cold. “You were.”
Dex turns his head toward the sound with a sharp little grin. “You can’t prove that.”
Matt doesn’t move closer, doesn’t raise his voice. “Try it,” he says simply.
For a second the room feels like it’s on the edge of snapping again, not chemical this time, just old hatred and pride and the fact that Dex is Dex. You step between it before it can happen, because you’re done with men trying to make your apartment a battleground.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” you say, and you make your voice firm enough that it cuts through both of them. “Dex, you’re leaving. Not later when you feel like it—when you can walk straight, which looks like it’s basically now. You don’t take anything from this apartment. You don’t touch that bag. And you do not come back.”
Dex’s eyes flick to you, then soften into something sharper. “Aw,” he says, quiet and ugly-sweet. “You’re making rules.”
“Yes,” you say. “Because you clearly don’t know how to exist without someone making them for you.”
Dex’s jaw flexes, and you can see the irritation, the spite, the obsession all mixing behind his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something cutting, then his gaze flicks past you to Matt. “You hear that?” Dex says, voice low. “Your girl’s got a spine. I like that.”
Matt’s answer is immediate and controlled. “Leave.”
Dex takes a step backward toward the door, then pauses like he can’t help himself. “This isn’t over,” he says, and it’s not even a threat that’s trying to sound cool. It’s just a fact in his tone, like he’s already decided he gets to stay in your orbit.
You stare at him, letting your expression go flat. “It is for me.”
Dex’s smile twitches like you slapped him. He looks at you too long, then turns and walks out. He doesn’t slam the door; he lets it click shut behind him like he’s leaving on purpose instead of being thrown out.
Matt locks it immediately. The sound of the deadbolt sliding home is the first thing all night that makes your shoulders drop. Matt stands there for a second with his hand still on the lock, head bowed slightly like he’s listening for Dex’s footsteps in the hall, for the elevator, for proof he’s actually gone.
Then Matt turns and comes back to you, and the moment he reaches you he cups the back of your neck and leans his forehead to yours again, breathing like he’s finally allowing his lungs to work.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“You can apologize later,” you murmur, and you squeeze his wrist. “Right now, I want a shower and clean sheets and, ideally, a world where nobody ever breaks a glass cage full of mystery chemicals again.”
Matt lets out a strained laugh that sounds like relief more than humor. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
---
Two weeks later, the apartment feels normal again in the way it always does after something violent tries to stain it. The sheets are clean, the couch has been scrubbed, the trash bags are long gone, and you’ve managed to file the whole night into that mental drawer labeled “never talk about this unless you absolutely have to.”
Matt comes home with groceries and bruises and a tired kiss that makes you feel like your body belongs to you again. You make dinner, you argue about whether he needs more sleep, and you pretend you don’t flinch when you hear sirens outside.
On a Tuesday afternoon, you bring the mail upstairs in a messy stack, flipping through the usual junk with your thumb. Matt’s at the kitchen counter, rinsing fruit, head tilted toward you like he’s listening for the tone of your voice more than the words.
“Bills,” you mutter. “Ads. Something for you from the bar association.” You pause, because one envelope doesn’t match the rest. It’s a plain envelope with no return address, and your name printed neatly on the front like somebody took their time. “Matt,” you call, trying to keep your voice casual and failing.
“What is it?” He asks, turning off the faucet.
“There’s… a letter,” you say, and you pick it up carefully, like it might bite. “No return address.”
Matt’s footsteps are quiet, controlled, and he stops close enough that you can feel him beside you. “Don’t open it yet,” he says, and his voice goes tight in that way it does when his instincts are screaming.
You don’t, not until he’s right there, one hand hovering near your wrist like he’s ready to pull you back if something goes wrong. You slide a finger under the flap and open it slowly, trying not to tear the paper. Inside is a single card, thick and clean, like it came from a nice stationery shop.
There’s no long message; no rant, no explanation. Just a small circle drawn in black ink, and inside it, a clean bullseye.
Your stomach drops.
Matt’s hand closes around your wrist gently but firmly. “What is it?” he asks, already knowing it’s bad from your breathing.
You swallow and slide the card toward him even though he can’t see it. “It’s… a symbol,” you say, voice tight. “A bullseye.”
Matt goes very still. His jaw clenches. His thumb presses once at your pulse point, not to calm you, but like he’s grounding himself too. “Is there anything written?” he asks, voice low.
You flip the card over with shaking fingers. There’s one line in the same neat print as the envelope:
Thanks for the hospitality.
You look at Matt, and his face is calm in the way it gets right before violence, right before he turns into Daredevil instead of your boyfriend.
“Was he here?” you whisper.
Matt’s hand slides from your wrist to your cheek, warm and steady. “No,” he says quietly. “He wants us to think he was.”
You stare at the stupid little card, anger and fear twisting together in your chest. “He’s not done.”
Matt’s mouth tightens, and he leans in until his forehead touches yours again, voice low enough that it feels like a promise. “Neither am I.”
extra notes: look, all i'm gonna say is, i prob will come back to this as my horny release, lol. mostly because i feel betrayed by myself and really want to write a dexmatt kiss. like could you imagine them fucking you from each end while kissing over you?????? yeah can't believe i didn't write that
What do you think about Dex with a reader who cries during sex (cause it feels so good) and he licks the tears off her cheeks (maybe has her taste them too 😈). Also your writing has me in a chokehold and I would like to call dibs on this emoji pls if possible “🫧”
yes this is so dex, your mind!! 🙂↔️
this is literally the goal for dex every time he fucks you, to have you cumming and sobbing beneath him because he made you feel good. the image alone gets him painfully hard. of your marked up body, covered in dark purple hickies and bruises where he held you just a bit too rough. tear stains all over your face as your shaking and hiccuping his name in pleasure. that’s what he lives for.
he’s tries to prompt the tears out of you too, praising and doing anything to get the water works flowing, even teasing you for being a crybaby. “you look so pretty when you cry for me you know that? taking my dick like a fucking champ sweetheart.. keep your eyes on me.” dex will insist, you know better than to look away in embarrassment. he doesn’t let you hide, he wants to see that pathetic look on your face.
dex probably would have made you cum about 4 times now, and your legs can’t stop shaking and your tears won’t stop. forcing your trembling thighs apart and thrusting himself so deep into your hole that it makes you wince, then he starts rubbing at your little bud and that’s when the sobs start. “aw baby sh shh I know, you can do it. always take me so good.” he’ll say grinning down at you, rubbing your thighs mockingly as your gasping for your breath on the messed up bed from another intense orgasm.
and the pace he goes is dizzying, bullying his length as far as he can into your pussy. his hand gripping your waist while the other holds both hands above your head, making you whine and wrap your legs around his abdomen from the overwhelming feeling. cunt dripping a mixture of both of your arousal, and it’s filthy really, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass drilling into your ears. probably makes you even more sensitive. whimpering, “mm-dex s’too much!” your face in a permanent frown of pleasure, moaning for your boyfriend of how good it feels.
tears start to stain your cheeks and that’s when dex slows down, rocking his hips into you more sloppy rhythm as he comes to a stop. suddenly kissing you, all over your lips and neck until he gets to your cheek. licking long stripes next to your eyes. the salty taste makes him so happy, even more evidence aside from your sopping pussy that he made you feel good. “you liked that huh baby, making this pretty pussy feel good? touching all the right spots for my crybaby?” he’ll say, wiping a incoming tear from your eye with his thumb and sliding it across your lips as you nod, “mhm..” and he’s nodding along with a smile.
CONTENT — 18+ minors dni | established relationship, kitchen sex, rough sex, pet names (sweetheart, darling, baby), breast play, oral (f! receiving), fingering, brief hand job, external ejaculation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), clark bends you over the counter & gets you in a headlock, multiple orgasms, creampie. let me know if i’ve missed anything!
WC — 5.2k
NOTE — thank you to the anon who sent in this request! now i need to go touch some grass…
MASTERLIST | REQUEST
Clark doesn’t make a show of being a gentleman—it isn’t performative, not something he switched on for appearances. It was simply who he was, in the quiet, steady way the sun rose every morning.
Doors, for example. He always got them. His hand would find the handle just before yours did, opening it with an easy motion. Sometimes his palm brushed lightly against your back as you walked through. And he always waited. Even if you were distracted, even if you took a second longer, he never let the door swing shut between you.
Chairs were the same. At dinner, whether it was at home or somewhere nicer in Metropolis, he was already stepping behind you, pulling your chair out smoothly. His hands would hover just slightly at your shoulder as you sit just making sure you’re settled before he’d gently slide the chair back in.
At home, it was even more noticeable. Clark was all quiet domestic habits and thoughtful touches. He’d fold laundry like it actually mattered, his large hands surprisingly precise as he smoothed out creases before stacking everything neatly.
If you were cooking, he was there without needing to be asked. He’d reach past you to grab something from a cupboard, pausing just enough to say a soft ‘sorry’ even though you barely had to move. His hand might settle at your waist for a second as he passed behind you, warm and steady, gone before it lingered too long.
And if you were tired? He noticed. Before you could even say anything, he was already pulling a blanket over the couch, fluffing a pillow with a gentleness that didn’t match his strength. He’d press a lingering kiss to your temple before saying something simple like, ‘c’mere,’ in that warm Kansas drawl.
Even things like carrying groceries turned into something quietly telling. You’d reach for a bag, and he’d give you one—just one—while he effortlessly gathered the rest. Not to prove anything, not to make you feel small, but because taking care of you felt as natural to him as breathing. If you insisted on carrying more, he’d just smile that shy, crooked smile and say, ‘Alright… but I’m still taking the heavy ones.’
It was in those quiet, ordinary moments that his gentleness settled you. So when he wasn’t there, you felt it. The door that you opened yourself, the chair that stayed tucked in, the space beside you in the kitchen that wasn't quietly filled by his presence.
You didn’t think much of it, not really. You just moved through your evening the way you always did, letting routine take over where his quiet care usually lived. And outside, the world carried on.
Rain drummed against the window, streaking the glass in blurred lines that caught the glow of the city outside Metropolis. Thunder rolled somewhere far off as you moved around the kitchen in a pair of sleep shorts and one of Clark’s old tops. Something sizzled on the stove, garlic and onions filling the space with a comforting, familiar scent.
Music played low from the radio—background noise more than anything—while you focused on chopping, stirring, grounding yourself in the routine. You were just reaching for the salt when you heard the door open and you glanced up instinctively, turning halfway toward the sound.
Clark stood in the doorway, glasses wonky and shoulders slumped. His tie was loose, hanging crooked around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, his sleeves rolled up unevenly, and the fabric clung to his body outlining every inch of him. His hair, usually so carefully styled, was an absolute mess, dark curls stuck to his forehead, water dripping along the line of his jaw.
He looked exhausted and there was something almost endearing about it. For a second, he just stood there, watching you.
“There you are,” he said, his voice low, almost relieved—like he’d been searching for you all day.
You shook your head fondly and turned back to the stove, smiling to yourself. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea,” he muttered, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot as he toed off his shoes. He shrugged out of his jacket and let it fall over the back of a chair, already loosening his tie further as he made his way toward you. “I spent the entire afternoon thinking about how unfair it is that I didn’t get to see you until now.”
You felt him before he touched you—his warmth, his presence filling the space behind you. Then his arms wrapped around your waist, snug and familiar, pulling you back against his chest.
“Hey,” he said softly, the word brushing against your ear.
“Clark—” you laughed under your breath, trying to keep stirring despite the way he’d completely anchored you in place.
“Nope,” he cut in immediately, resting his chin against your shoulder, the faint scratch of stubble warm against your skin. “I missed you all day. I deserve this.” He tightened his hold just to prove the point, swaying you slightly. “Do you have any idea how many times I thought about coming home to you cooking dinner like this?
“Oh, did you?” you teased, though your voice had softened too.
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder. “Especially this part. Where I get to steal hugs and pretend I help.”
You huffed a small laugh and placed your free hand over his where it rested against your stomach, your fingers threading between his without thinking. Clark let out a deep, slow exhale and you felt his body relax against yours.
“This smells amazing,” he added after a moment, his voice dipping lower as he nudged his face closer, brushing his nose lightly along the curve of your neck. “You’re really setting the bar high. If you keep this up, I’m never leaving.”
You smiled, leaning back into him just slightly, letting your weight rest against his chest. “Pretty sure that’s the plan.”
His lips curved against your skin at that, the ghost of a smile pressed just beneath your ear as his arms stayed wrapped around you. Clark stayed right there, loosely draped around you, his weight relaxed but constant. Every so often, he shifted just enough to press another kiss to your shoulder, or your neck, or wherever he could reach without moving too far.
After a moment, you shifted, turning slightly in his arms. Clark hummed, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle grin as you reached a hand up and straightened his glasses. Giving his cheek a gentle pat, you turned again, dipping the spoon into the pan and scooping up a small taste before lifting it toward him.
“Here,” you said. “Try this.”
His eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, I get privileges?”
“Don’t push it,” you warned, though there was no real bite behind it as you held the spoon just in front of his mouth.
He leaned in, lips parting slightly as he took the bite and a low, involuntary groan slipped out of him. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second as he actually processed the taste, his brows lifting just slightly in quiet disbelief.
“Oh—wow,” he breathed, voice softer now, roughened at the edges in a way that made heat immediately rush to your face.
“Is that a good ‘wow’ or…?” you started, but you could already feel yourself flushing, the warmth creeping up your neck to your cheeks.
“That’s—” he shook his head a little, letting out a quiet huff of a laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s really good.”
“You’re being dramatic,” you muttered quickly, already turning back toward the stove to hide the way you were smiling, focusing a little too hard on stirring.
“I’m not,” he insisted softly, but there was a smile in his voice now, one you didn’t have to see to know was there. “I mean it.”
You shook your head again, though it was more to yourself this time, trying to regain some sense of focus as you adjusted the heat slightly. “You’ll eat anything I make.”
You were just about to turn the heat down when Clark shifted behind you, his arms loosening slightly—just enough to make you think, for one brief, foolish second, that he was about to behave.
Then you felt his lips at your neck. It was subtle at first. A warm brush just below your ear that sent a small, immediate shiver down your spine which was followed by a slow, lingering kiss that made your grip on the spoon falter.
“Clark,” you warned, though there was already a smile tugging at your lips.
He hummed against your skin, clearly unrepentant. “What?” Another kiss, this one lower, unhurried.
You tried to focus on the stove, but he was absolutely doing this on purpose now—soft kisses along your neck, one after another, a faint press of his smile there like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“I’m cooking,” you managed, letting out a quiet laugh when he nosed gently at the sensitive spot beneath your jaw.
“Yeah,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin again, voice low and warm. “And I’m distracting you. Multitasking.”
You leaned forward just enough to glance back at him, lifting the spoon in a weak attempt at a threat. “If I burn dinner, I’m blaming you.”
“I trust you,” he grinned, entirely unapologetic. “You’re good under pressure.”
You shook your head, gently bumping your shoulder into his chest. “Menace.”
His thumbs traced slow, absent circles across your stomach, drifting higher inch by inch beneath the hem of your top, his touch warm and unhurried. At the same time, his mouth continued to place open-mouthed kisses lazily along your skin, like he was simply passing the time.
“Watch those hands, farm boy,” you mumbled, trying to sound stern.
His mouth continued its trail along your neck, his tongue and teeth leaving little marks that would fade by morning. Before you could protest again, Clark hands shifted—one sliding to your waist, the other catching your wrist to still it.
“Okay,” he said, voice light but intent, “new plan.”
Before you could question it, he turned you around smoothly, effortlessly, like it was muscle memory. Your back met the counter with a soft thud, and in one easy motion, he lifted you just enough to sit you up beside the stove, the spoon clinking faintly as it was set aside.
“There,” he said, satisfied, stepping in closer. “Much better.”
You blinked at him, a little startled, then laughed. Clark just grinned, hands bracing on either side of you as he leaned in again, his attention dropping back to your jaw, then back to your neck.
You placed a hand against his chest, giving a gentle push, though you were still smiling. “Dinner’s going to burn.”
Clark glanced briefly toward the stove, then back at you, completely unconcerned. “You’ve got it under control.”
He pressed one more quick kiss beneath your ear before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. He studied your face, eyes flicking back and forth between yours. He leaned forward, but instead of kissing your lips immediately like you’d expected, he shifted to the side.
He rested his forehead against yours, his breath ghosting across your cheek. His hands shifted, fingers grazing the curve of your back, your waist, until they slid up your arms to rest on either side of your neck, tilting your chin up. He kissed you gently, his movements unhurried—almost tender.
Clark’s kisses were slow, thorough, and impossibly sweet. His lips moved against yours leisurely, his hands still holding your neck so gently, like he was cradling something fragile. He pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then a little lower, before returning to your lips.
He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, a mixture of adoration and desire clouding his own. But then his hands shifted, fingers sliding into your hair, and he tilted your head back ever so slightly. His mouth moved down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, his tongue following the trail his lips left behind.
He lingered at your pulse point, sucking and nipping delicately at the skin. Every touch was slow and calculated—like he was trying to memorise every gasp and shiver his mouth drew from you. His hands slid down your sides until they gripped the backs of your thighs. He pulled you forward, until your legs were wrapped around his waist.
Clark’s mouth continued its slow, deliberate path back up your neck, his hands running over your thighs. You could feel him everywhere, his body hot and solid between your legs. His mouth moved downward, to the junction of your shoulder and neck. He seemed determined to savour every inch of skin, his mouth tracing the curve of your collarbone before lingering at the hollow of your neck.
He shifted his hips, grinding against you slowly, his need for more making itself known, though his pace remained unhurried. You moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders, your legs instinctively tightening around him.
One of Clark’s hands came up to pull at the neckline of your top, giving him more access to your skin. He shifted again, his body pressing shamelessly against yours, his mouth moved lower, down to your collarbone. His lips traced the curve of it, and then his tongue laved at your skin, hot and wet.
“God, sweetheart,” his voice was raspier when he spoke, the vibrations sending goosebumps down your spine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His lips attached to your neck again and his hands dropped to your waist. His fingers toyed with the hem of your top for a moment before he finally slipped a hand underneath, palm flattening against your stomach.
“Can I take this off?” he murmured against the hollow of your neck, his hands already starting to lift the material.
You gave a jerky nod and Clark’s hands immediately tugged at the hem of the your top, pulling it up and over your head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, his eyes already tracing the newly exposed skin of your chest.
He paused, just looking at you, something almost reverent in his gaze. His hands rested at your waist, fingers splaying across your rib cage. He leaned in, pressing lingering kisses between your breasts, right above your heart. He nosed at the valley between your breasts, his tongue flattening against the sensitive skin.
“Hmm, sweetheart,” he murmured, like it was a prayer.
You threw your head back against the cabinet as Clark wrapped his lips around your nipple. He circled the bud with his tongue, sucking at it with just enough pressure to make you gasp. One of his hands moved to your other breast, his thumb and forefinger finding your nipple and pinching it just right.
Your hands snaked up into his curls, tangling and tugging roughly. He groaned at the sensation, glancing up at you and meeting your gaze. He alternated between the two for a moment before switching sides, giving the other the same treatment.
His mouth left a blazing path down your stomach, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs as he dropped to his knees in front of you. He kissed the patch of skin just above the waistband of your shorts, resting his chin against your hip as he rubbed soft circles into your thighs.
“Clark,” you whispered, though it came out like a plea.
He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your shorts, then pulled both them and your underwear down to your ankles where you kicked them off. His hands gripped your knees, urging them apart until you were fully exposed to him. His mouth moved to the inside of your thigh, biting and sucking at the delicate skin, leaving little marks in his wake.
He shifted, placing one of your legs over his shoulder, and leaned forward. Clark’s tongue dragged through every inch of your folds like a man memorising scripture before finding your clit. He started with slow, soft circles, the tip of his tongue swirling against the sensitive bud. His mouth was insistent, his grip on your thigh holding you in place as he continued.
“Just like that,” you whispered, closing your eyes as waves of pleasure began to build within you.
He was holding back, taking his time, but his breaths were already starting to hitch in his chest. He was enjoying this just as much as you were. Clark swirled his tongue around your clit before pushing it inside you.
His nose nudged your clit and you jerked your hips up at the sensation. The action caused Clark’s glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose, the lenses fogged and frame hopelessly crooked.
One hand came up to blindly adjust them and the second they were straight again, he ducked back down with renewed fervour. His lips moved back up to your clit as his fingers traced your entrance.
Clark moaned against you as he slid a finger inside you with ease, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine. His finger slid deeper, more firmly with every stroke, curling up like he was trying to reach as far as possible.
A second finger joined the first, stretching you just so as they curled and twisted and teased. He worked you like that for a moment, his mouth staying focused on your clit while his fingers moved in and out. His grip on your thigh was bruising now, his face buried between your legs.
“Clark,” you moaned, your hand clenching in his hair.
His name on your lips made him growl, his fingers speeding up their movements. His mouth switched from slow, teasing circles to a rougher, more direct pressure. He sucked your clit into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking against it as his fingers curled against that spot.
You could feel your release building, the muscles low in your stomach clenching in anticipation. Your hips rocked forward slightly, but Clark held you in place, his grip tight on your thigh. His mouth kept up its relentless pace, spurred on by the small moans and gasps from your lips.
Clark was a man on a mission, determined to take you apart one piece at a time. He was trembling with the need to please, to give you what you wanted. He could tell you were getting close as your walls clamped down on his fingers tightly, squeezing him.
Your legs were shaking, your heels digging into his back. He curled his fingers inside you one last time, putting pressure on your clit with the flat of his tongue, and sent you over the edge.
You moaned his name as you came, your thighs clamping around his head as your body convulsed. His hands moved to hold your hips in place, his mouth still working you through the aftershocks.
Clark gave one last kiss against your clit before pulling back. He stayed on his knees for a moment, catching his breath and, as he pressed his cheek against the inside of your leg, you could feel his panting breaths against your skin.
Eventually, he rose to his feet with a shaky inhale, body trembling with the aftershocks of what he’d just done. He looked wrecked—hair mussed, glasses crooked, lips red and swollen.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.
You smiled softly, letting out a small, breathless chuckle. You raised a hand to his face, wiping your release from his chin with your thumb. Clark let out a huff of amusement, his eyes locked on yours as he leaned into your hand, his fingers tightening on your waist.
“Messy, huh?” he asked, his tone teasing.
Clark moved his hand up to catch your wrist, his thumb stroking the delicate skin there. Humming, you bit back a smile and rested your forehead against his. His hand moved up from your wrist and cupped your jaw, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip.
Your fingers danced up his arm, slid across his chest and curled around his tie causing Clark’s breath to catch in his throat. His thumb continued to trace over your lip before dipping past the seam of your mouth; the pad running across your tongue.
Clark couldn’t look away if he tried—completely ensnared by you. You gave his thumb a teasing suck before pulling back with a smile. You tugged on his tie, connecting your lips and being able to taste yourself on his tongue.
Your hands worked at the knot of his tie as Clark undone the buttons of his shirt. You lifted the fabric over his head and dropped it beside you before helping Clark push his shirt off his shoulders.
As the kiss continued, you trailed your hand down his abdomen and cupped the very prominent bulge in his slacks. Clark’s hips bucked involuntarily, pushing against your hand. He broke the kiss, his head falling against your shoulder with a low curse as he tried to hold himself back.
His breathing came in uneven pants against your neck as your fingers unbuckled his belt with a soft clink before moving to undo the button of his slacks and peeling down the zipper. His trousers fell to the floor with a soft thud and your gaze settled on his crotch.
A gasp left your lips as you saw his cock pressing against the wet fabric of his boxers, straining and desperate to get out. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and traced the tip of your index finger over him.
Clark let out a choked-off moan, his hips twitching forward into your touch. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, gently tugging them down to free his cock from its confines.
You watched as his cock sprung free and slapped against his stomach, the tip flushed an angry red as precum dripped down the thick vein along the underside of his cock. You just couldn't seem to look away.
Your eyes followed the soft trail of hair leading down from his navel, and the darker patch at his base, thick and coarse. Your hand reached out and wrapped around him, feeling the way he throbbed from your touch.
He was heavy in your hand as your thumb circled around his slit. Your name spilled from his lips in a strangled moan, his hips twitching forward.
“Darling…” his voice sounded almost broken now. “Please, I need…”
He didn't even know what he needed, not anymore. The only thing he knew was you. He needed you—everywhere, all around him. He desperately needed to drown in you until he forgot about everything that wasn't you.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and dragging his tip through your folds. You were soaked, your release ran down your thighs to his base and coating the hair there as he pushed forward, his tip working you open inch by inch.
Finally he gave one slow push, until his hips were flushed against yours—you could feel every ridge, every bump of his thick veins. Clark stayed like that for a moment, his body trembling as he fought to keep himself in check.
Then, very slowly, he started to pull back, his hands gripping your waist as he eased himself out of you. And just as slowly, he pushed back in, just as deeply as before. He repeated the motion, setting a slow, tortuous pace.
You reached your hands up to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. A ragged groan escaped his lips and his hips jerked involuntarily. The feeling of your nails dragging across his skin was enough to drive him wild.
Clark set a slightly faster pace now, still holding back but not as much as before. Your ankles locked at the base of his spine, heels digging into his back and pulling him in deeper. Clark glanced down and watched the way you stretched around him, his hips stuttering at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you.
“Yes, s’good,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple.
His pace was picking up, becoming less controlled and more desperate. Clark’s lips found their way to your pulse point; sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, gripping hard as he snapped his hips forward again and again; each thrust punching a gasp or a moan out of you.
The rhythmic sounds of skin against skin and heavy breathing filled the kitchen, accompanied by the occasional moan or whimper of pleasure. Each thrust from Clark brought a new wave of pleasure, leaving you wanting more.
You were unable to stop the gasps slipping from your lips as he filled you over and over and over again. You were close, so close and one more thrust was all you needed before your orgasm crashed over you.
A broken moan fell from your lips as Clark fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own. He kept his face buried in your neck as he moaned and groaned—his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again, prolonging your orgasm.
“Yea—oh fuck,” he cursed, his breath hot against your skin.
Clark’s thrusts soon became sloppy as he reached his impending orgasm. His cock slid out of you and as he thrust into the air, the first hot rope of thick, heavy cum hit your swollen folds. You gasped at the sudden heat of it and Clark groaned deep in his chest as he continued to paint your cunt.
He pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point beneath your jaw and pulled back as another warm pulse landed directly on your clit and dripped down to your entrance. With a shaky breath, Clark stroked himself once, twice, and then pressed the still leaking head of his cock against your folds.
He smeared his release around in slow, deliberate circles—his fat tip dragging through the mess he made. Just when you thought he was going to slide back in you, Clark pulled you off the counter and spun you around to face it.
“Clark?” you gasped, confused.
His chest was hard against your back; hips pressed flush up against your ass as he leaned over you, head dropping onto your shoulder.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured into your neck. “I just can’t help myself…”
He took a breath, pulling back and taking a hold of your wrists before pinning them behind your back. With his free hand, Clark lined himself up with your entrance again and slammed into you in one brutal thrust—the wet slap of skin echoing off the kitchen walls.
You were used to Clark being a gentleman but there was nothing gentle about the size of him. He had you face down, ass up, and back arched as his cock split you apart from behind.
Your skin was on fire beneath him—body arching up to meet his every move with a desperation that would’ve been embarrassing if he didn’t need it so damn badly. He was completely at your mercy, and he didn’t even care; driven wild at the feeling of you clenching around him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” his voice was a low, filthy whisper in your ear, “you just feel too good…”
Heavy slaps of skin on skin filled the room, spurring Clark on. His thrusts were deep enough to make your legs give out and Clark had to hold you up with his hands. Your cheek pressed against the counter, the cold marble a welcome contrast to the heat of your body.
Clark shifted his grip, releasing your wrists and wrapping an arm around your neck—pulling you up and pressing you flush against his chest. You choked as his bicep tightened in reflex and the sound made his hips stutter.
“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he repeated, his cheek resting against yours.
Clark couldn’t help it, he couldn't get enough of you. His hips snapped forward in brutal thrusts now—no rhythm, no control left at all as pleasure wracked through every muscle. His free hand ran down your body, over your hip; your waist; your thighs; your stomach—tracing rough patterns like an artist marking his canvas.
He was desperate to touch you everywhere—to mark every last goddamn inch of you until he was as much a part of you as you were him. The combination of his arm around your throat and his hips snapping into you caused your vision to white out for a second.
“You okay, baby?” he asked breathlessly, his thrusts not relenting. “I’m sorry…”
Sweat slicked your skin where you were pressed together, his chest hot and solid against your back. His lips grazed over the side of your neck, leaving hot, wet open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive skin.
Your voice cracked as you moaned his name, the pressure in your stomach building fast. Clark’s hand that was on your hip slid round and circled your clit causing you to clench tightly around him.
His hips stuttered for a few seconds before finding that brutal rhythm again—chasing his own release with rough, uneven thrusts that had the counter creaking beneath your combined weight.
The coil in your stomach tightened and finally snapped as your climax hit you tenfold; white-hot and blinding. Clark fucked you through it, muttering apologies agaisnt the skin of your neck.
“I’m sor–oh, fuck!” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut briefly.
Then, with one final thrust, Clark’s hips stuttered as his own orgasm hit. He buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, pulsing hot, thick ropes of cum deep inside of you. He rocked his hips lazily, making sure you milked every last drop of him.
Slowly, he lifted his head from your back, his arm releasing its grip on your throat. He pulled out of you carefully, holding your waist as your legs wobbled and threatened to give way. You let out a small whimper as his release dripped down your thighs, your cunt missing his cock already. Clark frowned softly, turning you around and lifting you back up onto the counter. With a weak, breathless moan, you tilted your head back against the cabinet.
Clark’s thumb traced idle patterns on your waist, seemingly unaware of the action. His other hand slid up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his expression softening. Clark watched you for a moment longer, his expression almost searching.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” you hummed, resting your hand over his.
“I’m sorry,” he panted, running his fingers through the mess between your thighs.
You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head and slapping him lightly on the chest. He leaned down and pressed a lazy kiss to your temple, breathing in before pulling back. He moved his hands back to your waist, dropping his forehead against yours.
The two of you were in your own little world, everything around you fading away until you were brought back to reality by a loud, repetitive beep. The fire alarm blared to life, loud and jarring, slicing straight through the moment.
Clark’s eyes widened as he glanced toward the stove, then back at you. “Oh—uh. That’s probably not good.”
You rolled your eyes teasingly, not having the energy to do anything else. “This is your fault.”
“Wha—? Hey,” he said defensively, grabbing a dish towel too and wildly waving it at the ceiling, “Okay… hear me out… we order in.”
“I—” you went to protest but eventually gave in. “yeah, okay…”
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, PRONE BONE, literally clark crushing you with all his weight, pet names, rough sex, he's sweet though, clark has a big dick, unprotected p in v sex, creampieeeee, another pwp heh.
dt: @theworstwolvie i love you. thank you for taking the time to read this horny mess <3
masterlist
the moonlight spilled softly through the curtains, the room smelled like sex, cedar, and lavender—clark’s perfume and his musky scent defused all over the room, the sheets rumpled—slightly damp with your perspiration from the amount of foreplay he’s been giving you.
clark has gotten you face-down on the mattress. your thighs spread wide to accommodate to his large figure, dripping with wetness in between from the nth orgasm of the night.
though you weren’t finished, and so was he.
his cock was notched at your entrance—still hard and swollen, glistening from his cum being spread all over. there was a thick foamy ring circling his base—proof of your shared night filled with pleasure.
“clark– please–!” you whined, backing your ass towards his cock with your chest pressed onto the mattress.
he kept propping up his full weight, though. bracing on his forearm, worried that he would practically suffocate you the moment he loosens the tension. “easy, sweetheart.”
he grunts as he begins to push his angry red tip inside you, holding your hips down so you would stop squirming as he buries himself to the hilt. you let out a sharp cry—drooling all over the pillows, eyes rolling to the back of your head, legs shaking, with every inch of his veiny cock thrusted inside your wet and warm cunt.
the both of you let out echoing moans as he began his pace. pulling out till only his tip stays in—before pushing back in so suddenly, making your walls clench tight around him.
but you wanted more. you needed more.
you begin to push your ass up towards him then, letting out whimpered words. “need your weight–”
“don’t wanna crush you, honey. i’m too heavy.”
and for god’s sake—you didn’t care! you do want to suffocate. you do want him to fucking engulf you with those 240lbs of pure muscle.
so you continued—squirming desperately underneath him. “i don’t care!” you whined again—like a fucking petulant child. “fucking crush me–”
your hands were clutching the sheets in despair. you tilted your head back to see him. eyes wide and glossy, lips parted, face flushed and utterly spent—it was a sight that could make clark come on his pants alone.
clark felt his control begin to fray more and more—especially the moment you began to pulsate around his cock on purpose.
“stop–” he groaned. pace still deep, still slow, still unraveling you carefully with each one.
“no!” you borderline sobbed—attempting to push your body up with your weakened arms.
and the moment tears started to roll down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure and need—he was done for.
he snapped. dropping his full bulk body mass, prone bone, strangling you with his body weight.
you could feel his heavy pecs slamming onto your shoulder blades, feel the every ridge of his stomach tracing your spine, feel the way his thick thighs trapped yours—forcing your cunt to squeeze tighter around him
your eyes rolled back again from the lack of oxygen, moans turned into helpless little uncoherent mewls. you could literally pass out.
but why does it feel so good?
clark noticed the way your walls seemed to tighten even more, and his cock began to bully your poor cunt. his once soft and deep pace now turned careless—relentless. every roll of his hips punches the air out of your lungs, making you dizzy.
you felt helpless, but there was nowhere else you’d rather be. your fists around the sheets, tightening with every vicious plunge, every time your back arched, he’d chase it down and press you down deeper into the bed with his body weight.
“you like this, don’t you? being suffocated by me?” he groaned against your ear.
you nodded onto the pillow, only letting out incoherent cries.
he groaned then, before his pace turned feral. his balls slapping against your ass, tip practically kissing your cervix—clark was close, and so were you.
the moment his hand snaked down in front of you—giving your clit tight circles—you knew it’d be over soon. the pleasure creeping up to every nerve in your body, burning you from inside and out.
“give it to me, sweetheart–” he growls.
and you did. walls fluttering hard around him as your cunt squirts out every juice from your insides. the pillow underneath you was unable to hold back your sharp cry from the blinding orgasm. your body trembled like never before.
and clark followed you instantly with his length spilling deep inside you. milky white seed painting your walls white, so full it oozes out of you onto the sheets.
“fuck– fuck…” you whimpered, satisfied.
he collapsed even further. chest heaving on top of you. “you did so good for me…” before he kissed the back of your head.
from now on, prone bone was definitely his favorite position.
a/n: ugh yes i love this idea. ty for the req! i wanted to make it head canons but idek if this qualifies bc i actly yapped so much. i hope u enjoy wife❤️🩹
‧₊˚ ꒰ cw: smut smut smut :: rough sex :: spitting :: breeding kink :: praise :: p in v :: creampie (i hate this word omg) :: degradation if u squint? :: whimpering men :: overstim :: all minor characters are aged up :: not proofread cuz im a lazy chud im sorry :: choso/yuta cry
toji :: mating press
toji. loves nothing more than having you completely at his mercy with your legs hooked over his shoulders, his hand snaking down between your bodies and rubbing your clit in restless little circles, his weight pressing down on you—leaving you no other option but to take his punishing pace.
toji. who’d clamp his free hand around your throat, thumb and fingers digging into the sides just enough to make your pulse thunder in your ears, your breaths coming in shallow, needy gasps.
toji. would slow his pace deliberately, hips rolling in deep, languid circles that let your feel the thick ridge of his head catch on every sensitive ridge inside you. The teasing drag pulling a whine from your throat while your hips twitched upward, chasing more.
toji. who’d growl, “Needy little pussy.” With his eyes locked on yours—dark, feral, pupils swallowing the green irises whole. Strands of black hair clinging to his forehead, swinging forward as he picks up speed once more, the sloppy rhythm turning erratic.
toji. who’s grunts grow guttural, punched out with each slam, the bedframe rattling violently under you, threatening to give under his weight. His cock thickened impossibly more, twitching deep inside you as your own release coiled tighter. His fingers on your clit speed up, rubbing firm and insistent, the wet glide of your slick making the friction burn just right.
toji. who’d fuck you through your orgasm without mercy, hips stuttering as he chases his own edge. "Fuck—gonna fill this cunt up," he snarls, crashing your lips together in a messy, biting kiss. His tongue plunged deep, claiming you as ruthlessly as his cock, the taste of sweat and spit shared between you.
toji. who’d—with one final, brutal thrust—bury himself to the hilt, groaning long and low into your mouth as his cock pulsed, spilling hot ropes into you. His weight collapsing forward slightly, crushing you deeper into the mattress, both of you panting, slick bodies tangled and trembling in the aftermath.
toji. wouldn’t pull out right away, staying seated deep inside you, his forehead dropping yours while your breaths mingled hot and ragged. "Good girl," he murmured after a while, voice hoarse, a smirk tugging at his spit-slick lips as he finally eased back just enough to watch your face. "Took my dick like a fuckin' champ.”
toji. would pull out slowly, watching his cum leak from your puffy pussy, and flip you around for round two because mercy? Is something he’s never heard of.
gojo :: any position where he can see your face
gojo. who'd fuck you in any position where your face is visible. He'd have you in a mating press, in missionary, in cowgirl—you name it, as long as he can see your face twist up in pleasure, he's down for it.
gojo. loves missionary with his hands pinning your thighs wide. He loves having you your face right there, inches away from his smirking mouth, while he folds you open. He'd hook his long fingers under your knees, pressing your thighs back, your pussy splayed and dripping for him.
gojo. who growls, "Look at me," while his thumb brushes your clit in lazy circles, forcing your eyes to lock onto his endless blue ones. He'd lean in close, breath hot on your lips, but he ignores them—his focus is on your face, the way your brows knit, mouth falling open in silent pleas.
gojo. who'd laugh low when you clench around him. "Fuck, that face—keep making it, baby," he'd whimper out, hips losing their rhythm as he nears his release.
gojo. who'd drop his forehead to yours, whimpering out your name as ropes of hot white flood your pulsing walls, never breaking eye contact.
gojo. gets tired of the bed. So he scoops you up and pins you to the wall, making sure your ankles cross around his waist as his dick nudges your soaked folds. His hands grip your ass, fingers digging deep into the soft flesh, holding you steady as he starts rutting up into you.
gojo. loves seeing your lips bitten bloody, eyes glassy, tears pricking at the corner from how deep he is. "Cry for me," he'd murmur, tongue flicking out to lap at any stray tear rolling down your cheek. His pace turns punishing, hips rocking steadily, cockhead kissing your cervix on every thrust. Your nails rake his shoulders, drawing thin red lines on his pale skin, but he just grins wider, chasing the way your face twists in bliss before you shatter.
geto :: lotus
geto. is a sucker for lotus. Something about being seated face-to-face, your thighs straddling his lap, arms looped around his neck as you grind down onto his throbbing cock just drives him crazy.
geto. would pull you flush, chest to chest, so every roll of your hips lets him watch your tits drag against his skin, nipples scraping his.
geto. loves the deception of you being on top, yet he's the one pulling the strings. His hands on your waist, lifting you and dropping you onto his length like a toy.
geto. savors the heat radiating off your flushed skin, the faint scent of your arousal teasing his nose as he nuzzles your neck. "Ride it. Come on—show me that pretty face when you cum," he'd rasp, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb prying your mouth open so he can spit onto your tongue, watching you swallow with hazy eyes.
geto. who's free hand pinches your clit, rolling it roughly until your rhythm falters, body convulsing as an orgasm rips through you. He follows with a guttural moan, hips bucking to paint your insides white, noses brushing as he steals you ragged breaths.
nanami :: missionary
nanami. positions you gently on your back, strong hands parting your thighs as he settles between them, his thick cockhead nudging against your inner thigh.
nanami. slides in slowly, inch by inch, filling you completely while maintaining that intense eye contact, his breath warm on your face. "Look at me," he'd murmur, voice low and commanding, as he starts thrusting with measured precision.
nanami. would trace your clit in firm circles, building the pleasure until your gasping. He leans down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, whispering, "That's it, feel how deep I am." He picks up the pace, hips snapping forward harder, the slick sounds of your bodies connecting echoing in the room.
nanami. who growls in your ear, "Cum for me, darling." Following your release with his own, flooding your core with white hot spurts as he grinds his hips softly.
nanami. who kisses you gently before pulling out, and rubbing your lower belly. "You did so well."
megumi :: prone
megumi. leans over you, body covering yours like a shadow, the weight of him pinning you in place. He spreads your legs slightly, aligning his hard length before pushing in from behind, the angle allowing him to sink balls-deep in one smooth motion.
megumi. who'd rasp out, "Stay still," as he grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back with one hand while the other kneads your ass.
megumi. who's thrusts are relentless, each one dragging his cock along your sensitive walls, the friction making you whimper into the sheets. He grinds his hips in tight circles, leaning closer to your ear. "You feel so—fuck—so tight."
megumi. gets bored of simply just holding your wrists, so he lets them go, leaning down all the way, pressing his chest against your bare back. He snakes his arm around your head, bicep flexing around your throat, constricting your airflow.
megumi. who pounds harder now, loving the sound of your strangled moans and gasps. The bed creaks under the force, as he drives somehow even harder into you. He bites down on your shoulder, marking the flesh, soft whimpers escaping his lips. "Fuck, I'm so close—shit—gonna fill you up," he groans, slamming in one last time before his release spurts deep inside, his body trembling as he collapses over you.
yuji :: standing up
yuji. grabs your hips roughly, forcing you against the wall, your face smooshed against the plaster. He kicks your legs apart, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark before shoving his thick length into you, the sudden intrusion making you yelp.
yuji. doesn't wait, he pounds with vicious snaps of his hips, each brutal thrust jolting your body forward, his balls smacking your clit relentlessly. "Take it—don't you dare run away from what I'm giving you," he demands, fisting your hair to yank your head back, arching your spine.
yuji. reaches around to pinch your swaying breasts, twisting the nipples until you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. His muscles bulge with every savage drive, stretching your walls to their limit "Tell me how much you want me to wreck this greedy fucking hole, slut," he growls, and when your pleas turn desperate, he slams in one final time, groaning as his hot seed erupts inside you, overflowing and dripping down your thighs while he grinds through the spasms.
choso :: cowgirl
choso. loves laying back and letting you take charge, his dark eyes wide and pleading as you straddle his hips. "Please...ride me, I need it so bad," he whimpers, hands trembling on your thighs, clutching desperately as you begin to rock your hips.
choso. watches with vulnerable awe, tears welling in his eyes from the overwhelming sensation of your heat enveloping him. His abs quiver as you set the pace. "F-fuck. You feel so, so good," he sobs softly, voice breaking, one hand reaching up to brush your skin, thumb grazing your nipple.
choso. who's tears stream down his cheeks as his hips twitch involuntarily to meet yours. "Don't stop, please. I'm yours. Use me," he begs through hitched breaths. The intensity builds until you shatter, clenching around him, and he breaks with a choked sob, his release gushing deep within you, body shaking as you collapse onto his heaving chest.
sukuna :: doggy/mating press
sukuna. shoves you onto all fours, slamming in without warning, stretching you to your limits. "Take it, you little slut," he snarls, yanking your hair to arch your back while he drives forward, balls slapping your clit with brutal force. Each thrust is ravenous, his girth dragging along every inch of your walls.
sukuna. spanks your ass repeatedly, your cries spurring him on. "Scream for me. Let me hear how much you love this dick."
sukuna. doesn't like to stay in one position for too long. He flips you onto your back, folding your legs up to your chest, pinning you down as he drives in deeper, the angle allowing him to grind against your cervix mercilessly.
sukuna. who's red eyes bore into yours, a wicked grin on his face. "Folded up like this, you're just a hole for me to breed," he smirks, adding with a particularly deep thrust. "For me to use."
sukuna. who grunts as his climax hits, pumping thick ropes into your depths, overflowing and dripping down your ass as he keeps thrusting through it, claiming every bit of you.
higuruma :: butterfly
higuruma. takes out his work stress on his favorite secretary. He clears a space on his desk with a sloppy sweep of his arm, papers flying as he lifts you onto the edge, your ass perched perfectly while he steps between your spread legs. He hooks your thighs over his shoulders, and thrusts his rigid cock straight in, bottoming out with a low groan.
higuruma. who's in such a rush to fuck you that he doesn't even bother to take his clothes off; his tie hangs loose, shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms flexing as he grips the desk for leverage.
higuruma. who leans down to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard until you're arching off the desk. "Look at you, spread out for me—begging to be fucked on my work."
higuruma. rubs your clit mercilessly, feeling your quivering walls clench around his length. "Cum now," he demands, and when you do, he pulls out all the way before slamming back in with a loud groan and spilling inside you, watching your tummy bulge with a satisfied smirk.
yuta :: reverse cowgirl
yuta. who eagerly agrees to letting you control the pace, laying on his back watching as you sink down onto his veiny length, your ass facing him. "Yes—please use me like this," he whispers shyly, hands hovering near your hips, waiting for permission before lightly touching, the view of your ass spreading around his base making him shiver with need.
yuta. who isn't afraid of letting out a loud whimper as you ride him with building intensity. He stays passive, letting you control the rhythm, his fingers trembling as they brush your clit.
yuta. arches slightly when you grind down, whimpering at the pleasure. The pace turns urgent under your lead, sweat beading on his skin as he pleads, "Let me fill you—fuck—please, I'm so close."
yuta. cries out in relief as you reach your peak, slamming down on him one last time, his cum surging hot and deep into your pussy, leaking with each pulse.
yuta. who continuously thanks you for letting him cum, tears streaming down his cheeks as he grinds up into you gently, riding out his high.
a/n: idek what to say after this💔 ill call my uber im freaked out i gtg
choso's really wanted to try the bulk and cut technique he found online, where he focuses on eating in a calorie surplus, training strength and protein intake. you've noticed since that his body's a lot softer, pudgier in the best way. his pecs are bigger and rounded, as his his stomach, thighs, arms, and the rest of his body.
he's a little bit insecure about the weight gain, and feels like he has to keep reminding you it's temporary and that he's aiming for lean, defined muscle. but you're more and more opposed to that idea every day as you take in how good he looks right now.
his whole body is just so pillowy and heavenly, and the nutrients he's been taking in from the extra food intake has just made him stronger. he was always strong, yes, but now he can practically toss you around one handed. his lower region has also chubbed up and gained weight.
for starters, his balls are bigger and heavier now, resting on the insides of his thighs when he sits down. they're soft and pudgy, full of cum and softness that has you salivating whenever you see them. his cock is also pudgier and thicker. it's too heavy and fat to hold with one hand, so now you have to use two. it drools thicker loads of precum - and as for his actual loads? they're much more copious because of all the new room in his fat balls to store it. everything about him has just improved. thick cock, thick balls, thick cum.
he just seems so much more eager in bed too now. like his new body and insecurities have made him more desperate to prove he's still worth something. you've told him so many times you find him so handsome regardless, and that you actually prefer this beefier, chubby body type, but he's still so sure you're only humoring him so he won't be upset.
moreover, he folds you up in bed, palms spanning your thighs and squeezing the fat of them to hold you open while his meaty cock pushes into you over and over again. choso pulls his cock out of you until only the swollen head of his cock is notched in your puffy hole, then sinks back in sickeningly slow, grinding the fat, spongy crown against your soft, sensitive inner walls, smearing his sticky precum inside you.
you can feel every rigid vein and throbbing inch of his cock as it drags along inside you, stirring up the mix of your juices already inside you. "i-is that... does that feel good?"
moaning loudly is the only response you can muster right now, your back arching as he pumps his cock into you again and again. choso echoes your moans with his own, the sound rumbling through his soft chest as he ruts his cock in and out of you. wet, squelching noises from all the slick you're both leaking fill the room, adding to the slap of his heavy balls against your ass with each thrust.
they're so big now, swollen and churning with the cum inside them, sloshing about whenever they connect with you. the girth of his dick makes your pussy drool around his shaft, leaking out to mix with the sticky mess already coating your thighs. rivulets of creamy fluid ooze out from where you're joined, dripping onto the bed and making a mess of both of them.
"you're not answering me..." he says down at you, analyzing your fucked out expression. "do you not like me anymore? cause 'm all chubby?"
you gasp out a; "no! i still- mngh... like you soooooo much, choso!" when his tip presses far too deep inside you. he's never gone that far in before, and you feel so full as he bottoms out and presses against that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl. he pushes his cock deeper with a roll of his hips, then draws back nice and slow, watching how your pussy adjusts to his size with each thrusts, soft folds molding around his fattened cock and sucking him back in whenever he draws back.
"you sure?" he asks, panting and throwing his head back at how much tighter you feel these days. you've always been tight, your velvety walls wrapping perfectly around his dick, but with how he's gotten bigger, there's less space in your pussy for him to fit, and it feels like he's cramming his dick inside you. "im... im gonna cum..." he moans, picking up the pace and staring down at you, pupils blown and lips parted as broken moans leave his soft lips.
he pushes a thumb onto your clit, the pads rubbing against the nub until it gets swollen and adds to the pleasure he's already inflicting on you. he pinches and tweaks it, wanting the two of you to cum together so he knows for sure that you're still attracted to him.
choso's hips rock faster, hands squeezing your thighs and easily lifting your hips so he can pump his cock even deeper inside you. his tip kisses your cervix with each thrust, not ramming against it to hurt you, but pushing on it, pressing down just like how his thumb is pressing on your clit. with one last pathetic moan of your name paired with "ooohhh fuck! 'm cumming!" he finishes inside you, veins bulging along his shaft as your velvet walls clench and flutter around him, your orgasm hitting at the same time.
choso stays buried inside you so he can shoot his thick, creamy load into you. it's thick and hot and the volume is so much that it bulges your belly just a little, excess trickling out and splattering out around his dick and your pussy lips.
while both of you cum, you tug him down into a deep kiss, and he sighs dreamily as you pull him in and meet his thrusts with little bounces of your hips, the two of you riding out your highs together with your lips mushed together. he shoots out a whole fresh load when you tell him his favorite words;
"i love you, choso. you're perfect just the way you are."
⌕ ◜ allusions to an age gap, dubious consent, drunk sex, established limits, established relationship, breeding, size difference, prone bone, sloppy kissing◝
it's a wonder that a man as composed as nanami secretly harbors such depraved fantasies. after discussing said fantasies with you first to ensure you'd be okay with having sex where consent may not be fully granted, he's delighted to get the green light. now he'd finally get the chance to explore more with you.
the man will come home drunk from a corporate party just to find you in your cute little pjs. he'll tear them apart like an animal, spitting on your pretty hole and sliding into you with his chest to your back. prone bone. his arm hooks loosely around your neck as he begins fucking you with the sloppiest, most inconsistent thrusts. he'll drag his cock out to the tip randomly and shove the entire thing back in to kiss your womb and stretch you out. other times he’ll just jackhammer his hips into yours, balls slapping into your clit as he only gets half his cock inside you before pulling back out, not coherent enough to bottom out on every thrust.
“hic- you feel heavenly, my love,” he’d slur into your ear, words breaking off into moans and panting as he begins to place sloppy open mouthed kisses along the shell of your ear. “your pussy is just swallowing up my cock. do you hic- like it when i fuck you like a beast? hm?”
his weight is pressed heavily onto your back and he’s gotten too lazy to pump his cock in and out of you anymore, so he’s just holding you still, one hand coming up to fist in your hair and tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck for him to suck, lick, bite. with how he’s filled you to the hilt with his swollen cock, he just rubs his cock head against your cervix, bumping it against those sensitive interior muscles and hissing when your walls clamp around him and flutter against his cock, squeezing and trying to pull him in deeper as if there’s any more space for him to go. he’s stuffed you full.
he lifts your head a little more and slots your mouth over his, lips moulding onto yours and closing and opening messily, his head tilting and bobbing as he chases the best angle possible as if his cock isn’t pressing to your cervix firmly. you gasp, wanting to plead with him to move a little because you’re stuffed so full you can hardly think, fingers tapping on his arm as a signal, but he ignores you and slips his tongue into your mouth the second your lips part for him.
he takes full control over the kiss. shoving his large tongue into your mouth and enveloping yours with his, wrapping and twirling with no care if you can’t breathe or if you’re overwhelmed. he grunts when your nails start to dig into his bicep, pain blooming along his skin as blood trickles down to his forearm. worked up by your sudden aggression, he starts to pick up speed again, letting out groans that are almost as loud as the squelching of your shared juices each time he shoves himself into your creamy pussy.
“oh gosh, such a perfect pussy- have you always hic- felt this good, darling?” he slurs into your mouth between sloppy kisses. he still hasn’t let you get a proper breath, lapping at your tongue like a starved dog while groaning as he feels your walls contracting around him, signalling that you’re about to cum. his assumptions are confirmed when you let out a desperate little whine. “you keep sucking my cock with your pussy like this and i’ll have to give you a baby.” he warns. “its a rule, you know.”
you buck your hips backwards and fuck yourself against his cock, seeking a consistent rhythm that your drunk husband cannot provide right now, and his moans get even louder as you use him to chase your orgasm. “i want your cum, ken…” you plead with glossy eyes and pouted lips, and he can’t take anymore, diving in for another kiss and forcing you back down onto your belly, feeling your tummy get squished by the bulge of his cock inside you and the mattress underneath pressing to said bulge.
he manages a few more sloppy thrusts before he dumps his load into you, heavy and thick and going straight into your womb. you cry out, feeling so extremely full with him bottomed out and his cum filling up your tummy, hot cream spreading warmth through your body. you gush around his cock a minute later simply from being so full.
“stay still, love.” he mumbles, starting those slow thrusts once more that have his heavy balls - they haven’t been emptied out fully - slapping against your swollen pussy lips. “your old man still has some left in him.”
your legs are draped on either of leon’s shoulders as he pounds into you aggressively, his balls slapping into the curve of your ass each time his hips connect with yours. he grunts softly when you make your repeated, whiny little noises. “can’t keep your mouth shut today, huh?” he sneers down at you as your hands scrabble for purchase on his shoulders.
he tuts at you and shakes his head, pushing his hands down beside your head even though you’re aching to have them on him, holding him close.
you forgot now why he’s so mad at you.
“this what you wanted? hm?” he snaps, pressing his body down on yours so his cock hits deeper inside you. he bottoms out with every thrust, dragging his cock out halfway and shoving back in, feeling your pussy flutter around him as it struggles to accommodate his thickness and length. “you wanted some cock that bad that you had to rile me up like this?”
there, now you remember. how you’d been hanging off carlos and flirting with him the entirety of the mission in front of leon’s face to get a rise out of him. leon had been spending far too much time alone from you recently, always busy on solo tasks or getting work done or, your least favourite, up to highly confidential tasks with ada where they’d be alone together and he’d come home late at night without an explanation.
“ ‘s cause you don’t even pay attention to me anymore,” you say between gasped moans and whimpers when he hits too deep inside you, his tip pressing down on one of your softest parts. your head drops to the side of your pillow as you try to avoid eye contact and, but leon grabs you by the throat and turns your head back to him, forcing you to look into his eyes as his cock stills inside you.
“what’d you just say?”
you squirm from the pressure on your throat and his cock pressing into you from where it’s buried entirely in your warm hole. “s-said…” you pant, legs quivering on him. “you don’t pay me attention anymore.”
he runs his tongue over the inside of his cheek, wondering where you came up with that. he drags his cock out of you with only the tip left inside, causing you to squirm again for the opposite reason than a moment ago, where you’d felt too full. now you feel too empty, and that buzzy feeling that usually encapsulates your body when you’re close to cumming fades a little.
“i pay loads of attention to you. quit - fuck - lying to my face and tell me why you’re actually being bad.”
you try to drop your leg back around his waist and push his hips forward so his cock can fill you up again, but he knows immediately what you’re trying to do and puts your leg right where it belongs.
“cause of ada!” you blurt, voice petulant as he watches you. when the truth comes out, he blinks at you and frowns. “you spend time with ada and go out on your solo missions and then you come mngh home and you just have to work more… you don’t spend time with me anymore!”
leon stares down at your pouty face and the tears that start to pool in your waterline, and he coos as recognition immediately clouds his features. he slowly sinks inside you again, adopting a much more gentle, romantic pace. his hands come up to cradle your face instead of restraining you. “oh baby i’m sorry…”
he slows his thrusts into deep, slow ones that allow you to feel every inch of him filling you and stretching out your walls with each thrust. pressing his forehead against yours, he moans softly, watching your face contort with pleasure each time he bottoms out. “why didn’t you just tell me? would’ve dropped everything to make sure my baby feels loved.”
"cause 's embarassing." your words come out in between gasps and pants, meanwhile slowly, that buzz resurfaces. he feels you tighten around him, pussy squeezing around his cock as it plunges slowly in and out of your soaked hole. leon guides your arms around his neck and places a kiss to your mouth. "don't be embarrassed." he reassures you, lips moving against yours as he speaks. "always let me know so i can be sure i'm taking care of you proper. okay?"
"k-kay..." you pant, eyes rolling back when his cock rolls up inside you because of the way leon thrusts inside you, his tip poking your sweet spot just long and firm enough for the coil in your stomach to snap, and without warning, you feel yourself cumming around his cock. your arms tighten around him and you gasp his name, moving your hips downward to meet his thrusts as he chases his own orgasm while wrapping his body around you and kissing you deeply.
your body goes limp from under him, walls squeezing tightly around him as you cum around his cock. leon moans your name against your lips, tongue slipping inside your mouth and sending one last thrust inside you before he spills into you, warm load filling you up and flooding around his cock, which is still inside you.
leon stays still for a moment after, breathing heavily as he tries to catch himself. he doesn't quite want to move yet because he's still got so much on his mind. "hey." he murmurs at you, trying to coax you out of post-sex fuzziness. with his forehead still pressed to yours, he stares into your shiny eyes, thumb wiping up the tears that'd fallen down your face earler. "don't do that again, okay? keep stuff from me."
though you're still catching your breath, you do your best to respond. "i just didn't wanna seem needy." you murmur. he shakes his head and makes a gruff noise of disagreement. "you are needy, hon. i like it that way. having my girl rely on me."
your lips press together and your hands slide up into his hair to play with the blond strands as he continues. "i've been gone too much." he amits, his thumb still moving absentmindedly against your cheek. "didn't think about that'd feel like for you. and that's on me."
"leon-"
"hold on," he cuts in softly, shaking his head and brushing his nose against yours lightly. "let me say it." his gaze softens a little, his cock still inside you and making you feel all the more warm and satiated. it's just so intimate, how he's reassuring you while holding you like this, with every part of you connected and pressed into him. "i don't like you feeling like you gotta compete for my attention." he says quietly.
you melt into him a little more, your legs loosely hooked around him now without any tension behind it, just wanting to stay close.
"and i'll fix that." he whispers, pecking your plush lips. "starting with not disappearing on you every other day. and maybe taking you with me when i can."
your eyes light up just a little at that, even through the lingering sleepiness. "yeah?"
"yeah." he nods, laying on top of you without crushing you with his weight too much, half on, half off. he hums at the little soft back scratches you give him at the same time.
after a moment, he speaks again. "...were you really flirting with carlos, though?"
"dunno, maybe."
he huffs at that and tightens his grip around you enough to make a statement. "don't do that again either."
Synopsis. In this season of The Bachelorette, 22 of Japan’s hottest bachelors vie for a chance for your hand…and between your legs. A plethora of eligible men from a buff personal trainer to a handsome lawyer, to a white-haired model with way too much charm—this might just be the steamiest season yet!
Pairings [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, The Bachelorette AU, reality TV, interviews, confessionals, sIight pIot, one-on-one dates, rose ceremonies, máting presses, they’re FÉRAL, spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, sIight bréeding, tummy buIges, DlLF!Toji, semi pubIic (Ino), sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bòndage (Higuruma), p talking, p sIapping, fuII neIsons, DÚMBIFlCATION, cervíx smooches, MMA fighter!Sukuna, HEADLOCKS, Gojo’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, babbIing, creampíes, cúmpIay, proposals, possessive!JJK men, showing off, surprise at the end, you get to actually choose, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Those pics from Artemis II are making me saur emotional- also Happy Easter to everyone that celebrates!
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - First rose.
“Name? Toji Fushiguro. Age? Hah- who’re you to ask?” Even his introduction sounds like he’s sizing everyone in the studio up, a single unimpressed brow raised. In front of him Toji keeps his beefy arms crossed - both to stave off the awkwardness of speaking to a rolling camera, and to flex his biceps—just a little bit.
They were still filming the footage of their introductions - Toji hasn’t even entered that infamous mansion yet and somehow he finds his knee bouncing.
He doesn’t know whether he wants to (reluctantly) thank Shiu or throttle him for signing him up for this…bachelorette show. Is this what the youth was interested in these days?
Verdant eyes darting around the dimly-lit room, “I work as a personal trainer, among…many other things.”
A producer probes from one end, “And are you confident you’ll be picked, Fushiguro-san?”
“Confident?” He can’t help but crack a smile at that, “Please- who wouldn’t pick me? One night is all I need.”
A sudden hush falls over the studio—cameramen meeting eyes with each other, and producers who simply couldn’t see past the multi-million yen signs that were popping up in their vision. They’re rubbing their hand together, and urging the handsome man on the seat to continue speaking-
The producer that was more in charge of the B-roll footage speaks to Toji once more, “Now that’s certainly the way to enter this season, Fushiguro-san.” Flipping through the notes given on each condition, “And what else? Could you please tell the audience what you like to do for fun?”
“Hah…going to the gym, martial arts, taking care of my little one.” He scratches behind his neck.
“You have a child, Fushiguro-san?”
“Yeah, I have a son. Just six years old.” And he wonders just what booming sound effect they might add on into the background of this confession. He chuckles just thinking about it - how did Shiu convince him to come on here again? Well…he supposes it might also have something to do with you.
Toji’s eyes slide over deftly to the small screen at the back end of the room - just to get the contestants more familiar with you prior to your actual meeting at the mansion, they were replaying raw B-roll from your own introduction.
And Toji isn’t one to latch onto someone like that but- fuck, his eyes really couldn’t stop drifting over.
The curve of your smile. The way you’re looking behind you.
The way those lashes of your flutters just so—
He’s sure the cameras around him notice and hone in on the slight flickering of his peripherals, and he has to shake his head ever-so-slightly to stop himself from making a fool out of himself right here and now. “Yeah…” He rubs his roughened palms down his thighs, “Could you ah- repeat that last question?”
A few crew members chuckle. “Do you think that being a dad is going to hinder your chances in any way, Fushiguro-san?”
“Nah.” He leans back n’ tightens his crossed arms, scarred lips parting with a grin. “I’m a Fushiguro and I always get what I want—and I know what I want now.”
Eyes wafting over once more.
.
.
.
Most of the contestants still remained after the introduction phase - other than a few that were just plain rude, or the two-toned Zenin bastard that was kicked out for his outdated opinions. Upon entering the mansion, Toji Fushiguro had received your first impression rose that night - a signal to Toji that you’re keeping your eyes on him, and a signal to the 21 other men to up their damn game.
They were threatened, clearly.
Perhaps that’s why some of them were throwing disgruntled looks his way. Perhaps that’s why they ducked their heads whenever he passed, whispering behind their hands like high schoolers at a slumber party of some sort.
He’s witnessing this bizarreness as he trudges into the mansion’s vast kitchen. And honestly, Toji could almost laugh- but that’s before he’s catching a shred of what garbage they’re spouting.
“—heard production discussing that he’s a dad.”
That makes him pause.
Though Toji doesn’t let it show on his face, he keeps his hands working on his bottle of protein shake- and his ears turned in the direction of a bunch of stupid bastards that didn’t think they could be heard.
They shoot a few glances at him once more—“You really think she’s gonna fall for an older guy like that? I bet you it’s a pity rose-”
“It’s to get the ratings up, duh.” Another pipes up. “Everyone knows that in the end, she’s never going to go for the old guy.”
“A dad, at that.”
“Shouldn’t he be with his kid, instead?”
“I don’t think she even knows-”
“Probably too embarrassed to tell her-”
SLAM!
The protein shake bubbles over as Toji struggles not to grip it to bits- ultimately ending up banging it down on the marble counter. The group of men swivel their heads around as they realize that he might just have ended up hearing—not so geriatric now, huh?
And Toji feels his face twist into something akin to…a smile. Something welcoming, that you’d never catch dead on his face.
He’s looming one step towards them - just one step - when lo and behold you’re making your way into the kitchen. Baring such a beautiful smile at them all.
And who was Toji to pummel some ugly faces in when your gorgeous one was watching?
Instead, he’s taking you by the hand.
Not even a second glance at the stunned losers left behind- Toji’s dragging you to the quietest, most private room he can find in this house filled with bachelors. Ultimately—it ends up being his room, and the cameras and microphones can only catch snippets of his confession to you.
“There’s something you hafta know.” Comes out Toji’s usually-gruff tone, “I’m a dad.”
A pause.
And then your voice, “Dad? Like…zaddy?”
Beside himself, he laughs. “No. A dad—I have a son.” And by that excited look in your eyes - the way it piques your interest that this might just be the hottest DILF you’ve ever seen - he already knows that those other bastards are going to eat their words.
.
.
.
“S-so about that- ngh—” All the cameramen had been kicked out - just in time for Toji to let you grapple him onto the creaking bedsprings. Clamoring on top. Swallowing n’ sucking down as much of his thickened length between your legs as you could.
You’re feeling his incredible girth stretching you out- throwing your head back as far as it would go.
As you’re babbling and drooling on his sheer length, Toji clasps onto one side of your hips. He’s using but a fraction of his strength to bounce you towards him - in a figure-eight motion that could barely be completed given the sheer shakin’ of your thighs. Squeezed around him.
Rolling his sage-green eyes with rough laughter, he’s spreadin’ his meaty thighs and bucking up into you—the edge of his cock bulges even deeper inside. Deeper than you ever thought possible.
Deep enough that your stomach was displaying a slight bulge where he was pushing his erection against your walls. At least you could feel it like so…and the older man wastes no time before reaching up and pressing the front of his palm against it—feeling for that cylindrical outline. “So? Cheh- finish your sentences, doll.”
“I was just about to…” You pout- and he coos. How cute…
Before craning his head down and spitting between those jutted-out lips of yours. Toji looks up at you through the gaps in his shaggy black bangs, “Are those lips wet enough to finally enunciate your words or do I need to spit again?”
“I was saying—so about you being a father…” You’re trailing off - and there’s a glint in his eyes that lets you know that you’ve certainly caught his attention now. Shyly continuing on with the cockdrunken thought that’d been tumbling around your head, “This is definitely too soon- too forward, but um…have you ever thought about perhaps wanting…another…?”
You could barely meet his eyes- fuck.
Though he doesn’t seem to mind that. He’s wrapping his large hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes either way, breathless. Stunned.
Something so charged between the two of you that it’s easily leaving you even wetter—staining the ridges n’ muscles of his abs with your slippery slick.
Toji leans in close enough that you think he’s about to kiss you. Before he suddenly stops - lips millimeters away from your own - and asks. “Who said you could stop, mama?”
Your eyes widen, “Wh-what—oh.”
And you hadn’t realized that in your tension for his response- you’d completely halted your bouncing hips. You’d completely let your cadence peter out.
And Toji Fushiguro couldn’t have that, now, could he? Especially not when he was…
Before you can even gather your thoughts, he’s arching his sculptured back against the comfy mattress. And fuck- you almost wish you had those cameras right about now—because the way his muscles rippled beneath you was heavenly to look at - Toji smirks like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
That smug quirk of his lips turning into something far wider, something far more feral once he’s holding onto you from beneath and rut-rut-rutting his slick-sheened cock into you.
Hard hits. Dark brows furrowing in concentration.
Despite you being the one above, you’re completely at the mercy of his swollen cock.
At the mercy of his heavy balls plapping! against the forefront of your cunt. At the way he’s using one hand to keep you stable on top of his vicious pelvis, and the other to press down upon that one spot on your stomach where he could feel himself—Toji runs his calloused fingers across where his reddened tip was pokin’ into your cervix.
Bashing away - he smiles as he feels every single one. Every single bruise he’s pounding out into your deepest depths.
And you’re wracking with shivers on top of him once Toji presses down. “Like I said- who said you could stop?”
There it was again. “I-I mean—”
“If you want to be fucked pregnant, then you’ve gotta continue until those pretty legs of yours are begging you to stop.” Your jaw drops as he continues in his hoarse tone, “You’ve gotta need it.” He tap-taps on top of your core, where your poor innards were being absolutely molded to the thickness of his cock. Vein-covered and hot. “You’ve gotta hunger for it—”
And it doesn’t matter what he could say at this point - every single word was sending your mind spinning even further. “I am-” The globes of your ass stinging at the feeling of his contact-driven body beneath.
“Nuh uh. You’ve gotta work for it, girl—” Emphasized by pushing down on that spot of your tummy once more, “Arch your back.”
Whimpering, you can’t help but listen.
“Heeeeeh- good.” And as a reward, his free hand finds itself slitherin’ between your swollen folds. So sensitive that you’re damn-near sobbing- he teases out your cute clit and gives a few good pinches. “Now clench your pussy. Swerve your hips ‘round and ‘round.”
“L-like this?”
“Mhmmm. You’ve gotta keep on milkin’ my cock for every last drop m’gonna give-”
Your gaze drops between your legs, “I-”
“And then it doesn’t matter if m’shooting blanks—you’ve gotta milk me even more.” Something crazed in his eyes, he’s leaning into your kiss with a smile. Again and again; he’s splitting up the sweetest syrupy orifices inside you - and with only a few more sloppy slashes inside, you’re feeling your body get overcome by the waves of your high.
It fills you up with an initial warmth- from the tips of your toes and to the crown of your head.
Toji snickers as he fucks you through the soaring pleasure, making you feel as though you were on cloud nine. You’ve never known yourself to cum this easily with someone else before - and it’s only growing stronger and stronger inside of you given every thud-thud-thud against your cute g-spot.
Roverin’ his red, rounded tip and keeping it there—
You swear you feel his rock-hard cock start to bead out in even more pre- and perhaps something…even more?
“Follow all that n’ we’re not just going to win the season with an engagement…” Toji snickers to himself, palm massaging over the tummy bulge he was fucking into you. “But a baby, too.”
“O-oh…”You wondered how the producers were doing to explain away this.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - HEART RATE <3
“My name is Nanami Kento, I’m 27.” Such a deep, droning tone—one that immediately catches the attention of those watching, one that immediately sets the speakers slightly, sensually alight.
The camera pans upwards, up and up: revealing a firm torso, clad in such a smart suit. Sculptured core. Strong shoulders. Blond, slicked-back hair that glistened with a thin sheen of gel underneath the studio lights.
Nanami wonders what clips they’d be playing for his B-roll montage - something with the mock-business calls the producers made him act out, something with the sweet treats he bakes as a hobby, something with the long walks on the beach.
The entire process has been a whirlwind ever since Shoko signed him up- for a joke, mind you.
He never expected to actually see himself on trash- ahem, eccentric television.
And yet, here he was.
Hot around his collar as he sneaks a glance at a small screen to the side, replaying raw footage of the show—but most importantly, you. Nanami gulps.
“I’m looking for something serious.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels, and the tips of his ears tingle once he’s looking away from the screen. “My friends signed me up for this show because they think I’m married to my work- hah. Perhaps I do tend to get caught up in it sometimes, but I really do hope to get married someday…to someone sweet, someone tender.” Nanami glimpses at your smile once more, “To someone I can come home to- not a physical house, but to someone I can leave my heart safe with.”
A producer whispers a question.
“Oh? What’s my position at work?” He repeats the question, before staring straight down the barrel of the camera, “CEO.”
.
.
After an early coupling—the producers couldn’t have anyone closed off too early, of course. Where was the fun in that?
And so came…the challenges.
Just a few days into mingling, the producers pulled you aside to let you know that you’d be taking part in the first challenge of the season: The Heart Rate challenge.
The rules were simple - you were subjected to three minutes of a striptease from each of the contestants, in whatever manner and outfit they chose. In the meantime, a heart rate monitor would be tracking your BPM to announce which contestant had raised your heartbeat the most with their performance.
Simple…right?
Not.
Not quite when there were 18 (a slight drop from the initial 22) of some of the hottest men baring you with their washboard abs- showing off their sculptured shoulders- shyly bringing themselves closer to you. And though it’d been a tie between a certain white-haired model and your favorite DILF (who’d promised he’d be the one to win), who would’ve guessed that calm, collected Nanami Kento would’ve been the one to catch your eye the most?
He was clunky in his moves, that was true, but the ultimate killing shot came towards the end of his somewhat-awkward routine—when Nanami had leaned in close- half-dressed in his suit, tie dangling ‘round his neck - he’d forgone any extravagant costume.
Closer and closer. You were sure he’d be kissing you before…he gently grasped your hand and pressed his lips to your inner wrist.
Right on the erogenous zone.
To you, at least, it hadn’t been a surprise when Nanami had won the heart rate challenge.
Toji’s jaw had dropped- the producers were loving this.
And your reward - a night at a getaway suite with no cameras - had ended up a little…
“N-ngh—” Your mouth gapes open on top of the silken pillowcase, spit leaking out at a dizzying rate. Back arching. Thighs clenching-
Nanami shoves a hand between your pretty legs n’ spreeeeads your pussylips apart for him to slip in easier. “Now now, my love…” His smoky breath rumbles beside your temple, head bowed into the crook of your neck. The blond man feels a single line of tears splash down your cheeks, and he’s running his flattened tongue up the salty liquid- “Has this pussy never been fucked by a gentleman before?”
Before you know it, the rugged hand at your core smacks! down on your puffy lips. And you whimper- “Shit, no—?”
“Oh, reeeeeeally?” Nanami’s sweet, sweet tone coos at you—and you’re given no warning before his beefy right arm wraps around your neck in a headlock. “I fear I could tell, darling.”
Just the slightest twitch of his grin- pressed against the clammy side of your neck.
It’s all you’re getting before Nanami’s reeling his toned back even further, even hungrier - he lets his reddened, bulbous tip throb-throb-throb at your first ring of muscle before shoving it all the way down to the bottom. All the way until your walls have gobbled him down to the hilt, and you’re gasping as you struggle to take him.
Spit drivelling. Fists clenching the pillowcase.
And so he waits.
Juuuuuust waits and watches his massively thickened length disappear between those pussylips of yours. Until you’re starting to whimper. Until you’re starting to perk your hips up impatiently-
And Nanami plasters you to his firm body- the weight of his hips leaning down upon yours. The muscles of his v-line digging into the globes of your ass. Pinning you down to the comfy mattress—he’s then languidly gliding his shaft in and out. In and out.
With the most lecherous squelches! Nanami starts off slow at first - looooong and languid…before then thrashin’ himself carnally inside. “Easy—easy there.” Raspy whispers in your ear, “When you take a cock this- hah, big you hafta take it slooooow, my love.”
Your legs twitch as he’s easing inside a few inches even deeper, probin’ that girthy top into the base of your cunt. “Sh-shit…”
“C’mon.” Nanami grumbles, “Breathe with me, my love- breathe.”
“Breathe?”
“Mhm—s’what you do when it’s hard to take.” He huffs, “Never been taught that by those other boys, hm? Never been made to stretch like thiiiiiis-” Just as long as he elongates his words, his knobbly fingertips scissor open your crevice slightly- making it even easier for him to slip in and out. “Never had this needy pussy fed- hah, until she’s full? My poor lady…Never had these spots over here-” You’re trembling as he swipes down tender orifices, “-stimulated, hm?”
Shaking your head.
He audibly controls his breathing, urging you to do the same.
“Thought so. Now breathe in slooooow—” The blond man directs you- and when you’re taking too long to listen, he’s slammin’ his hand down on top of your cunt with another spank. “Yeah-” Once you’re listening to him after a few struggling seconds- “Yeah, you’ve got it. Take in a deep inhale f’me…”
Just as you do, your stomach contracting with the action, he’s mazin’ away a few more lewd inches - his palm skidding upwards to press down on your stomach. Feeling for himself as he pushes and pushes and pushes inside—“And then- fuck. Then exhale.” Nanami’s usually-steady tone almost…wavers as he says so.
“It feels so—mmm, good.” You’re babbling away as he slots inside. Almost as if your cunt was made for him, he’s lodging against every slick ridge, crevice, and bundle of nerves.
Hitting all the way at the very bottom.
He cracks a little smile, “And that’s how a gentleman fucks.”
Hiccuping, those torturous strokes of his made you wrack with primal shivers. “B-but I want it more-” Attempting to push yourself up onto your elbows, “I want it harder, Nanami-”
“Kento.”
Before you can babble out something questioning at his sudden interruption, you’re being shoved right back down onto the springy suite bed. The luxurious mattress engulfing you. The globular head of Nanami’s cock propels even deeper inside you.
He crushes his bicep even harder around your neck- cutting off your airway.
Even harder.
And you’re choking n’ sputtering - both on the stronghold he had on you, and on the thorough movements of his shaft shovelling inside. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he lodges himself straight at the spongy door to your womb.
Nanami tugs you up to his firm front then, “Call me Kento when we fuck.” Something different in his tone now - something dark and barely held back. It’s as though he was gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep himself in check, he lets out a roughened grunt as he plants one hard stroke—one incredibly hard stroke. “And be careful what you wish for, darling.”
For a gentleman never denies his lady, right?
You whimper.
Steadying his hips, he’s somehow managing to stretch your delicate walls out to his shape. Somehow managing to rub n’ pinpoint the most sensitive areas with his flared ridges. Already locating where your sweetest spot was- Nanami inches his long cock backwards and bashes it right near your g-spot.
Harder and deeper. Harder and deeper. Again and again. Just so thorough that it feels as though his round, red tip was pushing into your very throat.
In just a few sloppy strokes, he’s mapped out your entire cunt.
And no matter how much you’re moanin’ and clawing at the headboard - attempting to pull yourself up as though you’re caught between fucking down to him and moving yourself away - Nanami merely has to tighten his beefy arm ‘round your neck and haaaaaul you right back down. Pressing you against his plush pecs.
“For m’not going to leave this cunt high n’ dry like those other boys-” He whispers in your ear, callused fingertips darting down your slippery crevice to pinch your clit. Those pearly white canines of his nip at the shell of your ear, “I’ll have you know that I’m a man, my love. I’m a gentleman.”
Tears welling up in your eyes, “A-and that means…?”
“And that means I’m going to treat you as this lady-” Rolling over your sweet nub - it sends sparks up your spine. “-deserves to be treated. I’m going to take you out to a nice- loooooong dinner. I’m going to fly you out anywhere your sweet heart desires, my love. I’m going to take you out shopping and- fuuuuck.” The irritated end of his shaft trickles out hot precum, “I’m going to let you try to max out my debit cards- ”
You catch his emphasis, “Try?”
He chuckles, “You sure can try. And then…” Before you’re left eagerly wondering what else he has to say- Nanami rests his cockhead against your g-spot inside.
And then he’s making your poor walls bulge with the sheer force of him digging in and in- such raw pleasure that it makes moans rip at your throat. He didn’t know where you were drooling more from at this point - your mouth or your cunt.
Nanami’s golden hair nearly curtains his gaze now, though that doesn’t shield you from the sheer intensity of it. “And only then am I going to fuck this pretty lady.” He plasters his reddening pelvis against the globes of your ass cheeks, “After such a long, hard day of being spoiled- best believe that m’gonna fuck her to sleep. Fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.”
“A-and what about you?” You’re turning your head backwards to get a good look at the handsome man, “Aren’t you going to cum, Kento?”
“Oh, my love…” It was just so cute how fucked you were - how you still had your manners despite being so. The sweetest smile graces his face, “Having you cum ‘round my cock is my greatest pleasure.”
And then you’re cumming.
Oh- you can’t help it. Head throwing back into his collarbone. Hands grasping at his own- ones in a headlock around you.
Those zaps of electricity curl at your toes, heat taking over your body, and all it takes is a single glide—down the pulsating area of your g-spot for you to be thrown completely over the edge. Wave upon wave of euphoria floods your body until you feel numb- and through it all, Nanami’s slick-glossed cock was shoving into you at a rapid rate. “Please…” Your mouth waters at the perfect way that Nanami was fucking you through each peak, “Sh-shit, it feels so good-”
Vein-covered cock massaging you up and down, in and out.
Even the tiniest bumps of his prominent veins leave you seeing stars- twinges of pleasure exploding between your legs. Your body goes slightly limp during the crescendo of your high.
“Oh, don’t tap out just yet, my love.”
And something primal inside you twitches at the sound of calm, cool, collected Nanami Kento’s voice like this- before you’re feeling his buff arms pull you right back to him.
“Because this is just the beginning-” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “-isn’t it, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - One-on-one.
“Hm? Oh, who doesn’t like long walks on the beach?” Geto laughs something deep and rich- unabashed. Blowing his knee-length hair out of his face, some of those Stygian strands get tucked delicately behind one ear. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m 28, and I’m a professional masseuse.”
Geto’s murky amethyst eyes stare down the camera.
He already knows he’s got them captivated.
He crosses his legs, hands intertwining on top of them. Geto’s smile was utterly feline towards the lens, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…” When his best friend had jokingly suggested joining this show- he didn’t think that it’d be so fucking fun. “-I’ve never had to chase anyone in my life.”
Geto feels the temperature in the studio drop a few degrees.
A producer stutters, “Y-you aren’t serious…are you, Geto-san?”
“Dead serious.”
He might get his scenes cut out and edited together to paint him as the villain- he doesn’t care. Because it was true—really.
All the confessions, the letters, the sneaking glances down the street. It wasn’t a lie that Geto Suguru never had trouble with the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between - to the point where he’s almost grown bored of it. But—you?
He’s seen the raw footage of you on the screens around, and he can’t deny that he was damn intrigued.
You were a challenge. You were someone that made his heart race- and oh, wasn’t that a strange feeling?
“So it’s nice that the roles are flipped for once.” He continues, flashing that infamous smile - breaking a few hearts, or so he’s sure they’ll make it seem so in production later - at the camera once more. He knows how these shows go…“At least, for now.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Suguru-” Dreamy mewl echoing out in the enclosed space, bouncing off those polished wooden walls. It sounded even louder in the production-made massage room - like music in Geto’s ears.
Geto’s expert hands slide down your body, coated in a sheen of oil.
It smears down your skin—illuminating the spots that he touched. Which seemed quite fitting, in your opinion, as wherever Geto’s fingers traced seemed to leave you alight - his thumb digs into one particularly stubborn knot on your right calf and you shiver.
“Tell me if it gets too much, gorgeous.”
“I will.” You just barely manage out.
The numbers had dropped down to 15, and it’d been time for the one-on-one dates. After your getaway with the blond man, Geto had been the first to whisk you away from the mansion once more—and needless to say that production was having a lot of fun with his profession as a masseuse. The best in Tokyo, actually.
Clients travelled far and wide for an appointment with him - and you’re beginning to understand why.
With you spread face-forward on the smooth table, with your arms crossed in front of you- lips cracking gently open with a sigh once his rugged fingers touch on just one spot—
“R-right there.” On your inner thighs. Too aware of the cameras surrounding you two, you still can’t keep the pleasure out of your voice.
And Geto shifts aside the towel on your otherwise-naked body - shooting a content smile at the camera as they don’t get to see - to rub up on that specific spot once more. “Here?”
Biting on your lower lip, you’re nodding your head. “There.”
Bit by bit. Press by press; he’s inching up the plane of your right leg - kneading and unravelling those knots you didn’t even know you have. He massaged you so well that you could moan. And just as Geto’s fingertips are about to become so blissful that you might have to ask him to pause - not for you, but for the cameras - he speaks. “You’re very tense here, I can tell you don’t let yourself rest.” The crowns of his thumbs rolling circles at your inner thigh, “You have so many knots here- if you want, I could…nevermind.”
And you’re looking over your shoulder at him with an anticipating gaze. “What was that, Suguru?”
“It’s stupid.” He shrugs sheepishly- though the glint in his eyes was telling you a whole different story. “It’s just…there’s this other type of massage that I never actually offer- but it might help you…unravel your body a bit more. But forget about it-”
“Let’s do it.”
And his lips quirk upwards.
And you knew what he was inferring- you fucking knew it. Which is exactly why you’re holding back a slight smirk as it takes Geto Suguru exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to kick the camera crew out.
Then less than that to hoist himself up onto the massage table as well, to tug his baggy pants down, n’ have you bouncing on his cock.
Spit leaking down one side of your lips as you’re crashing your mouth against his pretty, puckered one- moaning straight into the hot, open-mouthed kiss as Geto’s thick cock swabs inwards. He was just about eight inches, and decorated with so many veins—he might just be stretching you out in ways you never thought were possible to feel before.
The plumpness of his cockhead, the zig-zagged patterns of his veins.
Geto didn’t just have his size going for him- he manages to curve his incredible length just perfectly inside your tight channel. Targeting your sweet spot within mere moments of finding himself between your legs—“Oh-ohhhh.” Crackling out from the back of your throat, “S-Suguru, that feels sho good.”
“Sho good, huh?” You feel his grin against your own mouth, “Don’t tell me you’re that cockdrunk already, gorgeous? And I haven’t even used my fingers on you, yet…”
Before you know it, he’s reaching up his mean left hand- letting it smush your cheeks together. You’re sure that that makes you create such a lewd expression upon your features, but Geto merely beams down at you as though you were the most beautiful creature he’s ever set his eyes upon.
Amethyst peripherals murky with something indiscernible. “C’mon- can you say something without slurring? Can you count from one till ten?”
Crossly- you couldn’t believe his sheer audacity right now. “Of course I can count until—ngh.” Only to be cut off with a thorough slash of his rounded cockhead- you feel it throbbing right against the spongy layer of your cervix.
Gluing himself even deeper with a few wads of his sploshin’ sap. He cracks a smirk, “That’s not the way you count till ten.”
Your mouth gapes.
And Geto takes his long, lingering time to lean closer and spit straight between your stunned lips - before using that left hand of his to close your mouth. “You’ll catch flies, gorgeous.” He titters to himself. The massage table creak-creak-creaks with each thrust of his - and his pace was something thorough and lingering.
Geto knew that his mushroomy tip felt good - and he was using it to his advantage. Not a single hammer of his hips was without reason—he was making sure to massage all the inner linings of your walls - every nook and hidden crevice - before he’s emptying out dollop after dollop of pre at the very bottom of your pussy. Giggling to himself at the way you’re utterly ruined on his long, long length- “Yeah- fuck, yeah. My poor baby can’t even speak?”
Your g-spot, however…he merely teases. Lightly grazing his flared tip near that treasure trove of nerve ends, but never quite hitting it. Again and again.
The velvety walls ‘round that spot quiver with need.
“But can she at least remember her own name?” He echoes. And throughout it all, you’re mindlessly attempting to angle your hips further into his- the ruthless man grabs onto a handful of your hair with his right hand. Jerking your face to look into his own, “I said- can she at least remember her own name?”
You hiss at the searing burn—
“Tell me your name, my cockdrunk girl.”
“Suguru- fuck.” Barely even registering the question - you doubt you could even hear him by this point.
Merely babbling away expletives at the way he’s fucking his cock up even more rudely—he’s poundin’ and poundin’ up into you in sloppy, structured hits. Deep. And Geto peers up into your dazed pupils whilst he fucks you - whatever he’s seeing there makes him smile, “Suguru? Heh- you think that’s your name, gorgeous?”
Mouth gaping, “I-I mean…”
“Well, you’re not technically wrong.” He hums- more to himself than anything.
And by now he’s rammin’ his length away into you at such a pace that the pap-pap-papping sounds were nearly louder than your own mewls. The sheer pressure of the strokes leaving you limp. Tenderly, you’re pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck- only for Geto to pull you back once more with the vicious restraint he has on you.
Making you stare into his ravenous gaze, “Look at me when m’speaking, gorgeous- you might be fucked stupid but you’ve gotta remember your manners, right?” Taking your cutesy whimpers as an affirmation, “And you might not be Geto Suguru but…how about Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
Shockwaves of pleasure cascade down your spine.
“Yeah- yeah, you like that?” Snickering to himself - who’d have thought you’d be such a romantic? He was, too…not that he was fucking you like it.
Geto was fucking you rough and hard- bruisin’ his rotund girth at the back of your pussy. He was leaving his mark for anyone else that came after - let them know that he’d been the one to make you feel so good. “I can take your last name, too, if you’d like.”
You’re breathless, “You- you really want to win—”
“Oh? So you can speak.” He speaks with slight amusement, “And, gorgeous- I really want to make you mine.” His tip bulges even bigger at the feeling of you clamping down- shit, it feels so good that he has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Panting out again, “Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
“Fuck-” You’re bouncing down onto his gluttonous cock.
“Mrs. Geto Suguru-”
“Please-”
“Mrs. Geto Suguru—” The pretty man smiles to himself as he’s finally - finally - pressin’ down on the button of your g-spot. Watching as your thighs quake, watching as your eyes spin to the back of your head. “Cum on my cock, Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Who the hell doesn’t wait after knocking?
Surely part of the producers’ ploy; both your heads snap in the direction of the massage room door to see a flash of auburn hair—followed almost immediately by the door slamming closed once the intruder registers what he’s witnessing. And a familiar skater boy’s voice emanating through the slim wooden panel, “S-sorry–!”
You and Geto can do nothing but look at one another.
You’re sure the rest of the contestants would be hearing about this very…very soon.
Though Geto doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. And he’s the first to move-
He’s the first to flip your positions around so that you’re splaying your back against the massage table now. His toned body hovering over you, he doesn’t waste a second before swatting- yes, swatting aside your trembly thighs n’ swivelling his length inside once more.
Long, luxurious slides down the narrow channel of your cunt.
You’re taking his strokes with a moan, “Suguru—y-you’re not bothered by- ngh, that in the slightest?”
“Why would I be?” He answers. And with that said, his soft fingertips snake between your legs- pinching that swollen clit of yours. “In fact…”
Just the slightest roll of his thumb - and you’re already feeling pleasure wreak havoc on your body. Then he’s pressing, then he’s tugging- then he’s alternating between teasing and pulling and massaging your needy nub over and over in ways that drive you wild. Spelling out what you’re piecing together to be his name—
Geto was about to show you what a masseuse could truly do.
“-how about we step up that volume, Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fan-favorite.
“I-I’m Choso Kamo, I’m 29, and…um, I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” The dark-haired man beneath the spotlight fidgets with his thumbs, lips barely moving as he attempts to continue the introduction that he’s surely fucked up by now. “My little brother submitted an application on my behalf because he thought that The Bachelorette would be p-perfect for me to find someone and…um…yeah…”
The producers look at each other. Eventually, one of them calls out—“So is she?”
Choso startles- almost as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. Almost as if he didn’t expect himself to be perceived at all. “Well…”
And his eyes drift towards the small screen behind the camera - one that had been playing B-roll footage of you so that the contestants could get more familiar prior to the actual meetings. Oh. It’s strange how as soon as his gaze latches onto you, his eyes can’t seem to find any other purpose but to linger.
Choso’s shoulders raise up to his ears- as if to cover the faint blush that was creeping onto them. “Yeah…” He whispers, “Yeah, she’s just beautiful.”
And it’s all quiet on-set for a second—nothing sounding out but the mechanical hum of the lens as it zooms in on the flush he can’t deny. Choso jumps back a bit as he realizes just what they’d been focusing on, and he’s flickering his eyes uncertainly towards the cameraman behind it- “Are those things always going to be on?”
The other man nods, deadpan.
“Oh.” Choso gulps, “W-well I made sure my little brothers won’t be watching this season- but for the erm…Tiktaks? For the Tiktak edits they’re sure to get, could you make sure you get my good side, please?”
A producer asks, “And just for your brothers- if you could say something to them now, what would you say?”
And he gets a slightly determined smile upon his pretty, pretty face. “Your big brother’s going to win.”
.
.
.
“So…bachelors, as you may know, this week’s Rose Ceremony is going to be like no other- because tonight we’re introducing the infamous golden rose—” A hush falls over the set. The host turns and blinds you and the lined-up contestants with his smile - one of those contestants being your future husband, perhaps.
You’re nodding back at him with a confidence you hoped your expression falsified.
And he turns back to the camera, “Tonight, whoever you choose to hand the golden rose to-” An impression rose just like the others before it, only this time it’d been sprayed gold and held a weight far heavier than just the paint. “-is who you’re going to be going on a three-day romantic getaway, with a honeymoon suite to boot—! No cameras.”
Twisting the rose nervously in your hands, your mind still whirled with names. So many handsome men. So many eligible bachelors- fuck, how were you ever going to choose?
“But…there’s a catch.”
12 contestants - and you - snap their heads over to the slyly beaming host.
He claps his hands in satisfaction, “You won’t be the one choosing your getaway partner.” Your jaw drops- and the host continues into the greedy lens—“It’ll be all of the world that’s been voting, day in and day out, throughout this week to pair up just who they want to see more of. Just who they think will be the perfect match for you…”
“Oh goodness.” You feel something - excitement, anticipation, fear - shoot through your blood vessels.
And looking straight at you, the host pulls out a glossy envelope from his suit jacket. You’re eyeing it as though it was a ticking bomb - and he merely waffles at the camera some more. “And our viewers have chosen: your romantic companion, your getaway partner, the man you’ll be sharing a bed with is—” The words hang in the air for a few more seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps what feels like hours. “Choso Kamo.”
.
.
.
“Shit…” Choso’s jaw drops, pupils turned into the cutest lil’ hearts and peering right up at you—as you lower yourself down onto him.
His sensitive, twitching shaft disappears between your pussylips, and one hand of his immediately darts upwards to clasp at the side of your waist. Even just touching you like this…fuck, it sends bursts of electricity shooting from the tips of his fingers and up to his frazzled brain- then right back down again to his rock-hard cock.
He doesn’t think he’s been harder in his entire life.
Choso’s letting out a rugged moan as he fits inside your dripping wet cunt with a sluuuuurp! Pretty brown eyes rolling to the back of his skull- he’s shocked once he flutters them open to find that you’ve leaned yourself closer to him.
“O-oh, god…” Words barely a whisper.
One of your hands softly cupping the side of his face, “Something wrong, baby? Would you like to stop?”
“No.” The answer explodes out of him faster than he can control, and before you can register it - before he himself can register it - Choso’s quickly pressing both hands deeper against your hips to keep you from leaving. Even though there didn’t seem to be any immediate urgency of that- he doesn’t let up for a single second.
Digging his nails into your flesh- he’ll apologize for that later. Planting his feet on the soft mattress.
He slams you down to pin that hot, wet cunt of yours against his pelvis - until your clit caresses his happy trail—such a primal scratch down where you were most sensitive. And his body moves before his damn mind as Choso’s swabbin’ his cock inwards-
Not with any specific rhyme nor reason in mind.
Nothing but the primal urge to fill you up - to chase that heavenly squeeze of your walls. They’re spreadin’ apart juuuuust wide enough to gulp down his inches, and then when he’s reeling his hips back you’re clamping down until the man’s held hostage- gladly.
Shit- his lower lip trembles at the feeling. This was like nothing he’s ever felt before- and he hasn’t—
“You’re a virgin, Choso?” Your sweet, sweet hum breaks through the haze of his lust- just about the only thing he hears past the papping! of his hips arching up into yours.
And the man below you blinks up in confusion for a few seconds- long lashes dotted with tears. Before the smile upon your face makes him realize that his muddled brain - all your pussy’s fault - might have just said those last thoughts out loud…
You’re coming to the same realization he is. And you’re cooing down at him- pushing aside the sweat-dampened curls of his bangs. “Awww, pussydrunk already, baby?”
“M-mhm…” He’s nodding languidly.
“Tha’s alright.” You tut, “You’re doing so well for your first time- oh.”
Almost as if jinxing it - though that really wasn’t your fault, he was barely holding himself together as is - he throws his head back n’ lets his aching cockhead dribble out a few wads of…cum. Just from that. Just a few ivory beads of sap that glue to the veeeeery back of your pussy, making Choso lose his mind every time he’s gliding down your cervix and feeling his mess splosh ‘round inside you.
A singular line of cum leaks out of you, and Choso shivers as he catches it. “S-sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to-”
“Nothing to apologize about.” You’re cutting him off with a smile, meeting his thrusts by grinding your cunt down to meet his cock. “You’re still doing so well, baby…fuck, look how much you’re cumming.” And with that said- Choso thinks he sees the pearly gates themselves open up once you’re spreadin’ aside your thighs—just the slightest bit.
But Choso Kamo takes one look between your naked, shivering legs and moans.
Your pussy was just drenched in his cum - absolutely drenched. He hadn’t even recognized that he’d been cumming so much until he’s taking a peek, and he’s watching a few velvety ribbons of seed run down either side of your legs - creating a sheen that smears n’ spreads the more you’re meeting his cadence with your own. Skin against skin.
He’s letting out a ruined whimper—and you’re pushing down on his chiselled chest with a snicker. “See that, baby? You’ve been- hah, holding back for so long.” Even the slightest sound of your voice is enough to make his overstimulated cock spark with pleasure- he’s sure he empties out a few more droplets of cum. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me?”
Choso startles- eyes darting up to meet your expression. Damn that smile of yours. “I-I don’t know what you’re…”
“Oh, c’mon—” Teasing him. Putting pressure on his toned body, you’re now fully letting him recline- it was just so fun how much in awe Choso was…especially when you’re taking control instead.
Almost as if he was being thrown further and further into dreamland with every sloppy drag of your cunt - swallowing him up from his round, blushin’ tip and aaaaall the way to his hilt. His heavy balls, tightening as though he wanted to cum again. “With the way you’re grabbing me? With the way you’re- hah, rutting up to me?” Shoving between his pecs once more—“Down, boy.”
He whimpers.
“How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Cho?” Your lips twitch with amusement- he looks torn between sobbing in pleasure and sobbing in embarrassment. “It’s alright…I won’t judge-”
“Always—” Choso finally echoes out with a sudden squeeze of your velvety pussylips.
Practically wrenching the answer out of him- he laughs out something hollow at the back of his throat. “I’ve a-always wanted to…ngh.” The pointed edge of his tip draaaaags down your cervix, and he’s shivering as he recognizes just where your womb was. If only he could…“Ever since I first met you, I-I’m ashamed to admit but I’ve always wanted to stuff myself between those gorgeous legs.”
You’re giggling scandalously at his admission.
But Choso wasn’t done just yet-
Soon enough, he’s using the firm hold upon your hips to increase n’ increase his pace. Grabbing you firmly and burrowing his cum-soaked tip deeply between your folds- “I’ve wanted to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock.” Almost on cue, he’s throbbing between your legs- even harder. “Wanted to know how she tasted-”
“Don’t tell me you’re…”
And without a second thought, one hand lifts off your body - for the briefest split-second - to swipe at your sopping slit. Catching a few droplets of your mess and bringing it up to his lips to suck.
He moans at the taste of you, “Wanted to know how she’d take me. Wanted to feel her get stuffed-” Choso grumbles, and you’re vying to catch up with his needy pace - utterly needy. “Wanted to fill her up so much that every other man afterwards w-would be able to feel me…”
And then he’s trailing off, a harsh blush flooding his pretty features.
“B-but that’s just stupid-”
“Why’s that stupid?” He looks up at you in shock- only to find that you’re already beaming. “How would you know if you don’t try? Heh.”
“I think m’gonna cum again.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOMBSHELL!
“These losers aren’t going to know what fuckin’ hit them.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing those beefy arms in front of him. Unlike the introductions for the other contestants, he had…his t-shirt off. For what reason, you might ask?
Well, you’d go unanswered.
Even the producers were unsure just what had compelled their latest bombshell to display his chiselled front. But that didn’t stop them from keeping the cameras rolling- already knowing that audiences were going to go wild for the pink-haired, foul-mouthed addition to your roster. “Name’s Ryomen Sukuna- remember that. Age doesn’t matter. Occupation’s professional MMA fighter.”
He gestures to those scarred ears of his, as most fighters don like medals.
Behind him, there’s cues for footage of his uproarious and successful MMA career - particularly one clip of him winning the title of UFC light heavyweight champion last year - to be added in post-production. And he cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, “Best know that I’ve never lost a match before- and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. I bet those losers at the mansion- and my pretty lady are going to be damn excited to see me.”
There’s a cue card for him to talk about his hobbies.
“Haaah…” All that boring shit- he wonders who gets off to small-talk on a show like this. “Boxing. Lifting. Meditation. Cardio- many different types of it.”
One producer pipes up, “And why that part about remembering your name, Sukuna-san? Could you clarify that for the viewers?”
“Heh-” Sukuna leers something sinful, crimson eyes flickering over to the small screen of your own footage. It was some B-roll of your own introduction interview, muted for the moment yet he thinks he could almost hear your soft chuckle in his ears- playing on repeat over and fucking over. “Because my future wife’s gonna be moaning it soon enough.”
Someone drops a boom pole.
There’s a cut in filming called out. He knows they won’t be editing that out.
.
.
.
“H-haaaah, now that’s just unfair.”
Toes curling. Your back arching deeply into Sukuna’s sculptured front- it was almost Herculean how he flexed and tensed his abs to show off…particularly when it came to ramming his hips up into yours. Out of all of the contestants, Sukuna was the only one to put you in a full nelson.
“Heh- what’s unfair?” Sukuna’s deep trundle makes your body erupt in shivers- the smugness was practically seeping into every syllable. “Isn’t the bombshell supposed to mess up this pussy- whoops, I mean…season?”
“You’re messing up nothing but my peace that’s for sure…” You’re grumbling back at him - slightly nervous to meet his crimson eyes.
Though you’d have been foolish to think that the MMA fighter wouldn’t catch that- he’s grasping the edge of your chin with a single hand. Tugging your face behind to look at him. All of it in just a few seconds. And Sukuna raises one pink brow as he smirks, “Look me in the eyes when you’re saying something like that, brat.”
“Y-you’re messing up nothing but my peace—” You’re just barely managing to stammer out - Sukuna was savage with his thrusts. And they’re only seeming to grow even faster as you’re answering, as though he wanted to see you struggle n’ choke around his thick cock.
Around that pierced head of his.
The frigidness of his metallic Prince Albert runs down the sides of your walls - and he’s purposefully stopping right before where your g-spot was pulsing. “That’s not what this cunt’s telling me.”
And without any warning, he’s reaching one hand down and smacking! the swollen top of your pussylips.
“Isn’t that right, my pretty girlie?”
Not talking to you—he’s talking to your cunt now.
Dragging the fatness of his thumb - that greedy edge - vertically down your sopping slit. He collects the wetness that leaks out of you, “My wet girlie—yer a lot more honest than this one here, hm?”
You shiver as he slams his rugged palm down on your cunt once more.
How’d you even get here?
Right now, the contestants had been weaned and weeded out until only your very favorites had remained…and then there was Sukuna. It was just today that the bombshell MMA fighter had been introduced to the mansion, and for the short amount of time he’d gotten here- he’d already started seven fights, triggered an emergency meeting, and had enough time to whisk you away on a one-on-one date that had ultimately ended up like…this.
Your legs hooked behind your head. Your back arching against the mattress of your beach cabin—the waves rolled softly outside.
The only thing separating you from it were the semi-sheer curtains of the cabin, swaying softly in the balmy breeze. What a romantic date the producers had set up- for an utterly unromantic man.
Or so he was fucking you like it.
Thank goodness you’d left the cameras behind, though your glaring disappearance was nothing if not scandalous. There goes your reputation…you ponder. This might’ve been the fastest that you’ve gotten into bed with any one of them. And you know he’s bad news, you know you shouldn’t like him so much- you know that out of all those eligible bachelors, Sukuna was going to be the most dangerous for your heart (and between those legs of yours).
But you just couldn’t help yourself.
You’re leaning your head back against his firm collarbones- mewls falling from your lips at an incredible rate.
Sukuna’s veering his hips back and rub-rub-rubbing his flared tip around the area of your g-spot—but never directly upon it. Frustration makes your brows furrow, and you’re just about to bounce your hips down when-
“Ah ah—now what do you think you’re trying to do, woman?”
Just then you’re being pinned right back down with a sudden thwack! of his fingertips. Hard and fast. They’re lingering over your pussylips for just a few seconds, before reachin’ in-between and pinching your cute nub.
And as you’re shaking in his arms - “Did ya think that after so much back-talk you’d suddenly get to play nice?” Sukuna titters to himself, mean lips pressed up against your temple—it would’ve been a sweet gesture…but this was Sukuna you’re dealing with. “Ryomen Sukuna never plays nice.”
“P-please—” Had this been any other time, then you might’ve been embarrassed by just how much he managed to shatter you with his fast, hard-hitting strokes.
Your thighs are flapping lewdly open, and he’s teasin’ your clit even harder with his fingers. Though he still narrowly manages to avoid your damn g-spot—“Wh-what do I have to do to- ngh, get you to hit that spot?”
He acts confused, “What spot?”
“That spot-”
“Hah? I don’t know any spots-”
“H-here…” Rounding your hips down - in something that halfway-resembled a figure-eight. It’s the closest you’re getting to Sukuna grazing your g-spot: the lightest touch of his crowned, throbbing tip. Swollen enough to stretch apart your walls like none other. He’s barely slipping past that orifice with his vein-covered shaft, and it’s already enough to make you moan—
“And who said you deserve that, brat?”
Crossly, “Me- I said that.”
He laughs deeply in disbelief, “Hear that, pussy?” Slapping that cunt of yours once more, “The audacity- it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the one ta say you deserve this. After all, who does this pussy really belong to?”
Starting to babble out some answer-
Before yet another spankin’ leaves your folds feeling raw - and your eardrums echoing with the dampened noise once more.
It’s all the answer that Sukuna needs.
He nods as though he’s just been handed the answers to the universe, “See- see—did ya hear what she said?” This time, he’s asking you. And you’re barely given the opportunity to answer between his roughened thrusts, “She said that she’s really mine. She’s always- hah, been mine.”
You’re shivering, “A-always…”
“And she wants you to beg for your orgasm.”
That being said, Sukuna reaches down and clasps your neck with his thick digits. Choking you- choking your moans, he’s wrenching such primal noises out of you through the combination of the pressure on your airway, and the pressure between your legs.
Shovelling his thiiiick cock over and over-
“C’mon, my spoiled brat—” Sukuna chuckles, “Beg-” Between thorough thwacks! of his rotund cockhead hitting your cervix. You always have said that Sukuna was so big it feels as though he had two cocks…“Beg, girl, beg—”
“P-please.”
“Tch, you can do better than that.”
The only thing you’re left to do - after so many battering rams of him bottoming out - is to meet his gaze with your teary one. Your bottom lip trembling with sobs, “Please, hit my g-spot.”
“What was that?” He leans in. Smile utterly mocking.
And though your stomach churns, you can do nothing but repeat, “P-please hit my g-spot…please let me cum.” At the very least, now he was letting you swerve your hips back into his - “Please make my- your…pussy feel good.”
And it’s that last sentence that deals the final blow.
“Damn right.”
Because in the next breath you take, Sukuna arcs his pelvis deeply and thuds his drippin’ wet cockhead against your g-spot. Just the slightest push. Just the smallest pressure. And yet, it’s still enough for you to throw your head back and cum—
“Fuh-fuck…” It takes you by surprise - sure, you’d been feeling a few zaps n’ whips of something at the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t expect for Sukuna to actually make you cum so easily. It almost leaves you shy.
For he levers his thick cock backwards, balls twitching eagerly once he pushes his entire length inside. Inside and inside. Fucking you through every single wave - Sukuna’s cold piercing targets your g-spot exactly at the moments where you felt the dopamine in your body surge, and the stark contrast in temperature is only making you even dizzier.
Even needier to feel him.
And he certainly wasn’t leaving you wanting for long- soon enough, Sukuna’s poundin’ away at your sweetest spots so hard that it stings both your slamming skin. His was red and swelling with the print of your hips on his hips.
Yours were barely able to keep up-
Just as you feel the hot flashes of your high bate, Sukuna’s pulling you close and whispering—“Knew that hadn’t changed…” And he’s gesturing to the way you’d - in the heat of your moment - intertwined your fingers with his. Without you even realizing. “Heh, those losers are going to be so pissed when they find out.”
When they find out what you and the producers already know…That Ryomen Sukuna was your ex-boyfriend.
♡ INO TAKUMA - Group date.
“My name is Ino Takuma, I’m 23.” Ino’s pushing back his dark-colored beanie, exposing tufts of cute caramel hair- “And I’m a professional skater.”
“Professional skater?” A producer urges him, “Tell the audience more.”
“W-well, I’ve been skating for a while now, and…” The sheer amount of focus being put on him makes him blush, fingers fighting the urge to pull down his beanie - entirely over his face - once more. Goddammit—Ino watches every season of this show, he can’t deny - trash television was his thing. Saturday nights with a facemask on, phone turned off, volume turned up. So when one drunken night out with his friends meant that he ended up applying for it…he didn’t think he’d actually get in.
It’d been like navigating through thick fog- so many cameras, and boom poles, and acting suave (somewhat) for his introduction footage. It almost made him dizzy. “You might have seen me ‘round in a few competitions…some competitions…the Olympics…”
“The Olympics-”
“Yeah.” He fiddles with the hemline of his beanie awkwardly.
“And did you win a medal, Ino-kun?”
Ino smiles because he knows that it’d been plastered across every headline and sports magazine - there’s no need for him to clarify. Though he does it for the clicks anyways, “I did. First place.”
Excited whispers spread around the studio.
The skater shuffles once more beneath those harsh white lights- this time more out of embarrassment than anything. The cameras roll eagerly, following every movement, and a producer probes at his silence—“And does this mean you’ll be aiming for first place to win her heart, too?”
He chuckles nervously, “I won’t be aiming for it.” Scratching behind his neck, he cocks his head up and catches sight of the B-roll footage they were playing of you on one screen. “I’ll be first.”
.
.
.
Okay, so maybe his introduction was a little overconfident…but wasn’t everyone’s?
Ino Takuma has watched many a dating shows in his twenty-something years, alright; which means he’s gotten used to the pompous one-liners, the nonchalance that everyone attempts to show, the self-assurance—he’s just never wondered what happens when that self-assurance simply…doesn’t produce results.
Which- alright, alright…that’s not to say that he hasn’t produced any results.
As more and more of the contestants dwindled away, Ino still found himself (somehow mercifully) still on the show. And he’s had a handful of good conversations with you, along with a few bonding moments.
It’s just- how come that long-haired masseuse managed to get you into his arms - and on his cock…he’s ashamed to admit he actually saw when he’d walked in on the two of you - all on this show?! Ino didn’t even know that sort of thing was allowed here…
And he feels foolish admitting it but he’s grown to really, really care about you. So thinking about you with some other guy like that pink-haired bombshell or the CEO or whatever—it was starting to make him tick.
Which is why he’s jumping to drag you away from the others at the next group date.
This time, the producers had arranged an indoor skating park date, perhaps to make up for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a one-on-one date yet.
And as you’re a little wobbly on that new board, Ino’s using his expertise to teach you, to hold your hand, to gently direct you around the park—and eventually let you direct him out of sight of the cameras.
Soon enough, you’re pushing him against the wall of the restroom on-site - vast and clean, and spacious enough for you to push him into one of the stalls. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me.” Leaning up on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”
He thinks those might just be the best words he’s ever heard.
You’re turning around and placing both palms on one plastic wall of the stall. Panties in your pocket. Smirk something delicious.
And it takes just a few sloppy strokes between those pretty cunt lips of yours for Ino to become utterly gone—
He’s pussydrunk already.
Mahogany eyes criss-crossing. Weakening in the knees.
The skater holds onto either side of your hips as though to guide the way you’re fuckin’ back into him- but really he’s gripping onto you for dear life. To stop himself from collapsing onto his knees on this damn washroom floor. To stop himself from making a complete and utter fool of himself - the curve of your hips is the lifeline he can’t let go of.
And yet another wretched moan leaves this throat when you’re veering your hips down to his base and clenching-
“Taku, baby…” Your giggle comes out unfiltered, harmonizing with the sinful sound he’s just let out. “You’ve got to be quiet, otherwise they’re going to find us- cameras and all.”
He lets out a slight whimper at the thought, “I w-wouldn’t want you to be exposed because of me like that.”
“Mhm—” Just as soon as Ino’s agreeing to be quiet- you’re gently suctioning your cunt down until his hilt - coating your gooey slick along all his inches - and he’s letting out a euphoric noise. Even louder than before. And you’re just looking over your shoulder with a grin, “Now, what did I say about being quiet, Taku?”
Sounding as though he was on the verge of tears, “I-I can’t help myself, sweetness.” Tone husky. Octaves higher. His poor hips stutter out a singular thrust, and even that seems too much for the skater boy to handle- he reaches up to tug down his beanie. “It just feels so good…maybe m’just not deserving of your cunt- ngh.”
“Awww, don’t say that, baby.”
With a resounding squelch! you’re letting Ino pull out - and instead of telling him to tuck himself back into his pants, as he might’ve expected, you’re gesturing for him to seat himself down on the closed, clean toilet.
Straddling his slender hips and kissin’ his blushing tip to your entrance.
It doesn’t take long for you to siiiiiink yourself down onto him—he might not have been the thickest, but Ino was a length that you swear you could feel at your very throat. And he was actually the perfect girthiness to stretch apart your walls enough that tears prick behind your eyelids- but still smooth n’ slim enough for you to immediately start up an urgent pace. Quick.
Up and down. Up and down.
Ino’s shaft had a particularly prominent vein going down his middle that made you shiver - it was in the perfect position to massage your puckered, pulsing g-spot. You could feel the squiggly line of it practically emblazon against your wet walls.
Your hamstrings keening at the stretch - and Ino was, too.
At least…until you’re tugging out the damp panties you’d kept in your pocket this entire time. And the next moment that Ino’s letting his maw ajar with a sudden moan- you’re quickly stuffin’ his mouth full with the lacy fabric.
Smirking, “See? Isn’t that a lot better, Taku?”
First, Ino’s eyes go wide—then he’s blushing as he registers just what you’d put in his mouth. Then he’s letting those dilated pupils roll aaaaall the way to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt lavishing out looooong, luxurious thrusts. Squeezed tight around his cock.
He throbs even harder inside of you, “Mmmpf- ngh—sh-sho…can’t even-” Muffled.
“Shhh, you don’t have to say a thing.” You’re reassuring him, pushing back his beanie- there. Those chocolate-brown eyes of his were so pretty. You’re witnessing him tear up - and you weren’t sure whether that was because of the sudden blockage in his airway, or because it just felt so good—you had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter. “Just be good f’me and fuck up to me, okay?”
“M-mhm.” He’s nodding obediently.
Because it might’ve been him teaching you how to skate out there- but in here…he was all yours.
He was at your beck and call. At the mercy of your bounces-
You’re telling him to go easier on your poor cervix - and though it takes every single shred of will within him to do so - he’s listening to you without fuss. You’re telling him to speed up, and he’s gladly bashin’ away his eager cock inside of you until the skin of his pelvis feels raw…
You’re telling him that someone might be inside the bathroom, too, and he’s too gone on your pussy to even compute—
“Taku.” Stern tone. Serious eyes- despite the fact that your pussy wasn’t letting up for a single second. You’re grabbing directly by the throat - something his cock twitches at - and bringing him up to face you. “Someone’s in here, okay?”
He feels goosebumps go down his spine, “Mmmps- schtawp?”
You giggle, “No…no, we don’t need to stop.” And perhaps in the next few seconds you’d suggest that you two should slow down, instead. Perhaps you’d suggest cockwarming until whoever was inside (and Ino could hear the other person’s voice as they splashed water on their face) left.
But instead you’re merely leaning in- grasping one of his strong arms and guiding it beneath you. You’re directing Ino to cup his fattened base, “This way it’ll be quieter.” Whispering to him, “In fact—how about we see just how quiet you can get, huh?”
And his maw unhinges - drool dripping down each side - and those gorgeous eyes of his nearly bulge out of their skull.
“Of course this bombshell’s gonna blow this whole season up-” Gojo didn’t need to try to make everyone opposite the camera faun - it was practically what he was made for.
One of the tallest in the show. One of the flashiest.
One of the most famous - there wasn’t a soul who’d walked past the billboards in Tokyo that hadn’t already seen Gojo Satoru’s dazzling smile, or peaked traitorously at a blown-up picture of his abs on numerous billboards.
Brands were practically clawing for him—just as much as the ladies and gents were. But that’s exactly why he was here - wouldn’t it be fun to be the chaser for once? Besides, his agent had told him that if he behaved himself, then he might just end up boosting his career to heights never seen before. This season had been a hit so far- but of course, what was a hit without Gojo Satoru?
Pretending to flip his hair over one shoulder, Gojo’s posing with all the best angles for the lens. “I mean- no offense, but have you seen me?”
And on anyone, such confidence would have been seen as a turn-off, a red flag, perhaps even compensation for something lacking. No one should be this confident.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
And he smiles like he knows it- rows of pearly white teeth flashin’ in the direction of the camera. “Oh, I guess I really should introduce myself, huh?” He sighs, “I’m Toru, I’m 28. And I’m the man of your dreams~!”
A producer whispers something to him.
“I’m also a model.” Gojo adds, “High-fashion. Editorial. Digimon ads- you name it. I don’t consider myself a romantic, nor someone that really needs love but…” His eyes drift to the B-roll footage they were playing of you on some small screen in the back, getting the contestants more familiar before they actually joined you in the mansion. “-who knows? Maybe things can change.”
Dimples pop out when he smiles.
No one should be this handsome.
He winks.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was sent to the mansion to wreak havoc.
And wreak havoc, he did.
In the four hours and forty-five minutes that he’d been here, he’d interrupted your rose ceremony and thrown out the rose that you’d been about to give poor Usami—and taken it for himself. Not a shred of apology, he’d tucked it straight into his button-up pocket and winked at you.
Leaving the other man to whirl around at the producers that simply shrugged. Who was to say what Gojo Satoru did?
And you can’t deny it…that charm of his was irresistible.
You were sure that the viewers were loving this- in even less time, he’d picked a fight with Sukuna because of the long-standing rivalry between the two - something the producers had likely known just to stir the pot even more. According to what the skater boy had whispered in your ear, it was because the two had been battling it out for the title of TC Candler’s #1 Most Handsome Man for the last few years now.
One year it’d be Sukuna. Next it’d be Gojo.
The next they’d get absolutely washed by Zayn Malik and would have to lick their wounds and battle it out over second place.
It all left you a little dizzy, if you’re being honest.
And sure enough- after a hectic few hours of introduction between the new bombshell and the rest of the contestants - during which you’d seen more fists flying than small talk - Gojo finally managed to pull you away for a chit-chat.
He stuck his tongue out at the other men as he dragged you by hand, pulling you into the cosy gazebo outside—the one with the creeping vines up its pillars, and shutters for if you wanted privacy. Speaking of, it gave you way…way too much privacy…
And soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms, you’re crashing your lips into his in a searing kiss.
Having kicked the camera men outside, they could only see just the faintest shadows of the two of you inside - before Gojo’s dragging you down to the fucking floor like an animal—helping you tear through your panties n’ sticking his fat cock inside.
The crown of his reddened tip was burning hot, streaming out precum that sticks to your inner thighs in heavenly layers- he’s sucking in a breath as he fits his first inch inside. “Oh.” Maw dropping breathlessly - you think that perhaps for the first time in his twenty-eight years, Gojo Satoru shuts himself up. Low. “Oh.”
Clammy head falling to the crook of your neck. White bangs sticking against the side of your throat.
He lets out a sensual few groans that seem to almost cling onto your skin - just like how his muscular body was right now. Long limbs nearly collapsing on top of you as Gojo’s stutterin’ his gleaming shaft inside a few more inches—“Oh- ohhhh, fuck. Do you h-hear that?” Voice cracking towards the end of that sentence.
“Hear what?” Your brows furrow.
And Gojo’s snowy brows knit even deeper - more confused than you by what you seemingly couldn’t hear—how could you not hear it? “You- you seriously don’t…?” And those toned hips of his reel a few inches backwards, draggin’ the zig-zagging lines of his veins along your tightened channel- ever-so-slightly before thundering back in. “Hear it- now?” He asks, strangely out-of-breath. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes blown wide. The breaths emanating deeply from his chest.
Though his sheer desperation only leaves you more confused, “I…”
“You s-still don’t hear it—?”
As if he’s trying to prove his point, he’s grabbing ahold of one side of your hips- the manicured nails upon his left hand digging into your clammy flesh. Thrusts growing more emboldened. Gojo’s connecting his body with yours until he doesn’t know where his starts and yours ends—gripping onto every inch of you like adhesive coats your body.
His eyes lazily fail at keeping shut every time you’re clampin’ your tight pussy around him. A thin trickle of perspiration lines the side of his face, and once he’s finally able to veer his gaze to meet yours- you’re swearing that it’s as though his pupils have suddenly turned into hearts.
Something dazed and drunken in his gaze, “Can you…”
Barely able to finish his thought let alone his sentence.
“The only thing m’hearing right now is that you’re- fuck-” Gasping between the roughening and roughening rams of his hips—he pistons his swollen cock inside until your walls are bulging at the size of him. Swerving n’ swerving it into every single sweet spot inside you.
Almost as though Gojo didn’t even need to try - he’s discovering your g-spot after only a few more determined strokes. And just the sheer force of him pinpointing that cute lil’ bundle of nerves - whacking it - makes your thighs squeeeeeze around his waist. It makes your pussylips get crushed together under the sheer pressure of movement, letting out an audible squelch!
“That.”
Blinking through your tears, “What?”
“That-”
Gojo’s so excited that he’s running out of breath - almost as if he’d just run an entire marathon, and would run at least five more just to experience this again.
His red-hot tip smears aside your walls, scouring your insides like a hidden maze. You feel the exact moment that he’s bottoming out his long, entire length at the very back of your cunt—“There…” A thin ribbon of drool glides down the side of Gojo’s mouth, tone almost in tears.
He flinches-
The raw softness of your womb- it was almost too much. Gojo reaches his right hand down to spreeead open your pretty pussylips, opening you up like lotus petals for him, then rolling his thumb down on your neglected clit.
You’re moaning at the sparks of carnal pleasure wracking through you - and Gojo himself grins at the music: your gorgeous noises, the sound of the night, the way your cunt’s lettin’ out the most lecherous squelches as he eases his cock in and out.
“There- right then.” Gojo finally - finally - husks out after one particularly loud slurp! Looking up at him, only to feel a jolt go through you at something primal shifting beneath his gaze. “Can you hear her say my name?”
“Her…?” Dazedly asking, “Do you mean me—?”
“No.” Gojo stubbornly answers, “I mean her-”
And before you know it, he’s honing out a few more strikes at your poor g-spot. Until you were sure it’s bruised enough with the round circumference of his length - hard and fast.
It’s enough to make you bellow out a few more hoarse noises—before Gojo himself is letting go of your waist to clasp his slender fingers around your neck. The cold sensation of them sending thrills down your spine, he’s teasingly tightening his hold as he bores deep into your eyes with his nearly-glowing ones.
“Shush, sweetheart.” Gojo admonishes softly, “Let me show you- hear her?” And it’s only after a few seconds you’re realizing that…her really meant your sopping wet pussy. Namely the lewd noises that you’re creating from it- just that wet. “Hear the way she’s whimpering? And mewling? And yowling?”
You yourself were struggling to get a single word out when he’s holding onto you like that. “Y-yes—”
“Well all that pretty noise is her…” He trails off, listening to a few more syllables of your pussy. “-screaming my name.”
Jaw dropping. “Your…”
“Mhm.”
Thin fingertips leaving marks.
He continues, “She’s been beggin’ for me to fuck her ever since- hah, ever since I got here.” And without a single warning, he’s toying with your clit and ultimately pinching it. “I know she’s been thinking about me—hah, shirtless. I know she’s been thinking about being under me, over me-” An almost wolfish expression taking over his face, “All on my face until I can’t breathe-”
“S-Satoru—!”
“Oh yeah, that’s exactly how your pussy’s saying it.”
You’re smacking Gojo’s bicep for that, and he merely chuckles.
“I’m just saying~” The motions of his thumb then start taking a more…interesting turn. And you have to tilt your head down to get a proper look at what he was doing - Gojo’s moving so fast that his digits were nearly nothing but frenzied, feverish blur between your legs. “That’s exactly…”
He himself couldn’t keep up.
Just too enraptured by the swervin’ and swoopin’ movements—the way his fingers had to quirk just right when he’s spelling out a repeated S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
Both in Japanese and English.
Looking up at you through his curtained white bangs, “What’s that spell—?”
“Satoru—” It would’ve tumbled out of your mouth regardless of whether he asked or not, and you’re sure he knows.
“Exactly.” He responds.
You look on in gaped speechlessness as he flashes you that award-winning grin. The last thing you’re seeing before your high floods you in bursts- nothing like the torrential waves of dopamine, or the hills or relaxation that’d pass by you during your other highs.
This one was taking you over.
This one was zapping every atom of your being and leaving it charged.
“Sh-shit, Toru—” Hiccuping, your nails drag red, red lines down the plane of his shoulders. They’re standing out stark, and you’re hit with the strange feeling that he’d be the type to show them off during his next photoshoot - “It feels so good, Toru-”
“Heh, you’re welcome.”
Babbling out stupidly- the way he elongated every single peak left your mind heated. “Y-you could at least pretend to have some humility.”
“Humility? Don’t know her.” He winks, “You’re my only gal, sweetheart.”
Grumbling, “I better be…”
“Now why’d you hafta go and say something so cute…” You’re still seeing white from the pure shockwaves of your high- “Because that’s only gonna make me cum.” When Gojo himself throws his head back and cums inside. Loooooong and deep slashes at the back of your cunt, he draws numerous lines of white that dribble all the way down your channel then.
Ending up frothed between your shiverin’ legs.
The glistening layers of it smear n’ make your entangled bodies slip.
Jostling you even further, making you feel the splashin’ of his clingy sap inside you. More and more. More and more and more—no matter how many wads Gojo’s fucking inside- he just can’t seem to get enough of you—
“Because no one else can fuck you like Gojo Satoru can.”
Just the seven previous men and this bombshell left in the mansion.
Who would you even pick at this rate?
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - One-on-one.
“My name is Higuruma Hiromi, I’m 33.” Deep voice. Deeper eyes. There was a certain handsomeness to Higuruma that made it hard to look away - perhaps it was the dark features - that nose, the intelligent twinkle behind his eyes.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed to the nines in his smart, black suit.
Or perhaps it was that air of confidence around him - nothing of the outward flashiness that most of the other contestants boasted. Something quieter. Something that had the edges of his pouty lips quirking, as though he already knows he’s won this season…he just won’t admit it yet.
For the viewers’ experience, of course.
He cocks his head slightly to the side and sighs, “I’m an attorney at my own law firm. I enjoy long baths and even longer debates, I’m looking for someone that can indulge me in both of these things.”
“And why are you here, Higuruma-san?”
“Because some interns of mine thought that it’d be funny to sign me up.” He chuckles softly to himself, “They’re mad- of course, perhaps I’m more mad to actually be here.”
“In the long run, Higuruma-san?”
“Ah…” He takes the time to think, eyes drifting over to the screen replaying footage of you - he’s already heard some of the other men gossiping amongst themselves in the waiting room about just how beautiful you are. And he hates to admit it when someone’s right, but he can’t deny it—they were fucking right. “I guess I’m looking for my wife.”
His eyes never miss yours on the screen.
The producer probes once more, camera angles shifting to accommodate for his intense staring match. “And do you think that you’ll find that?”
“I think I already might have.”
.
.
.
The audience had been curious about the hotshot lawyer from Tokyo.
“H-Hiromi, I’m ngh- cumming again…”
And so had you.
It’s been a string of more one-on-one dates that the producers had arranged prior to the finale where you had to choose…your future husband. Fuck- at this point you were wondering whether you couldn’t just have them all. And though the dark-haired lawyer had made it this far, he hadn’t featured in too many of the episodes—that is, until a recent edit of his B-roll footage had gone absolutely viral online - quite to the distaste of one particular white-haired model.
Clips of him laid back in a bathtub - suit still on. Clips of him slamming his gavel down.
And so, of course, they’d rushed to bring the two of you together to raise viewership—lo and behold you found yourself sneaking off to the couples’ suite after a romantic spa date. Escaping all the cameras - shutting those hungry lenses behind the door - it didn’t take long for the man to corner you against the rose petal-covered bed and bend you into the meanest mating press that you’ve ever even heard of.
Though Higuruma might’ve seemed all cool and composed on the outside- he was drilling his rock-hard cock into you like a fucking madman.
Thick and throbbing. Thrust after thrust after thrust-
“Fuck—” He snarls something primal from the back of his throat, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Hoarse, sensual grunts leave him after every battering ram.
His skin was still damp from all the hours prior- when you’d been riding Higuruma’s face silly.
And even now, you could see the slight sheen of slick clinging onto his handsome features. Without thinking twice, you’re reaching up and swipin’ away some of the remnant excess, which immediately makes him snap his head down with a low trundle. “Fuck, don’t act so sweet, sugar.”
You huff, “M’not acting-”
Before you’re immediately getting cut off by the slam! of his round, reddened tip on your cervix. Barely reeling from the sheer pressure of it- before Higuruma reaches somewhere above your head - at the clothes that you’d discarded hours prior at the start of the night - and produces his favorite black tie.
You’re blinking up at him in slight confusion.
To which he doesn’t say much - he doesn’t say anything at all, really. Without a single word, Higuruma loops the soft silk of the tie around your wrists, and he’s tightening it into a knot that your muddled mind barely computes—tying you up.
It’s too late once you’re realizing- no matter how much you tug, you’re left unable to move. At your sultry mercy before the man - exactly how you wanted to be.
“S’not handcuffs, but it’ll have to do.” He mutters to himself.
“And why would you want me in handcuffs?”
“Because act sweet t’me one more time and you’ll be walking out of this suite pregnant, angel.” And you can’t believe it—the ever-eloquent Higuruma Hiromi was slurrin’ and babbling because of your cunt. “Why else?”
“O-oh…”
You snark back, “And what if I want that?”
“Well, you don’t deserve that.” He counters, “You’re a guilty girl.”
Squirming- he runs a long finger of his down the crevice of your pussylips. Just the very tip of it teasin’ in-between, uuuup and down, uuuup and down until you’re restless. And you can’t even do anything because of the ruthless restraints that he’d tied around your wrists.
“G-guilty for…?”
Higuruma doesn’t answer instantly.
He’s curling his dominant hand around the ribbons of fabric that were decorating your hands.
Cold fingers grazing your own- you’re just about wondering what Higuruma was about to do right then and there. But just then, he’s tightening his hold and draaaagging your body down.
As though you weighed nothing.
Higuruma’s hidden biceps bulge ever-so-slightly as he’s manhandling you down, down, down—onto his thickened cock. The silken bedsheets bunch up around your waist, and the bedsprings creak at the way you’re being thrown about like a ragdoll-
This rough angle makes his globular tip maze even deeper inside of you- burrowing a circular bruise at the very bottom of your pussy. And you’re gasping—you’d be clawing at Higuruma’s handsome back had it not been for this damn tie.
Almost as though sensing your desperation, the man looming before you huffs out in laughter. It fans your face in a scorching breeze - you think you can feel the smoke and need in his breath. The addiction to white-knuckling your cuffs and hauling you down after every thrust pushes you up, up, upwards- “Count one: seduction”
“S-seduction?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull.
“Count two: temptation of a working attorney.” He lists off. The slightest smile lifts up the edges of his lips, “Count three: temptation of a working judge.”
“You’re the-”
He sighs as though this was just another day in the court for him - though if this was the type of court he led, you’d be showing up for jury duty everyday. “Count four: perjury.”
“Perjury?” You gape, “When have I ever lied to the court?”
Higuruma cocks his head, “And when you told me you weren’t acting sweet?” That rounded tip of his lingers where your g-spot was, “I know how filthy you are, angel, no need to put on an act…”
“I—fuck, please…”
“Count five: greed.” Higuruma finally ends off, and you’re probing into his darkened eyes for clarification. “You seriously think you deserve to be fucked pregnant by me, sugar?”
“Y-yes…” You’re barely able to mumble out.
And he merely scoffs out a
And he scoffs out a slightly mean bout of laughter, as if he’d expected for you to say that. Oh, how he’d expected you to say that. But instead of responding to that directly, Higuruma’s openin’ up your sopping wet pussylips.
The hand between your legs bears your stuffed entrance for him to examine. Those intelligent eyes of his twinkle as he’s taking in the plushness of your swollen folds, the way your hole leaked even when stuffed to the brim with his fat cock - struggling to take him, yet still yearning for more. And most of all…he’s admiring the way your cute clit twitches- “Count one…” Higuruma announces with no warning—and even less of a warning is given before he’s planting a solid spank on your clit. “Guilty.” Even harder than he might’ve done with that gavel of his.
You’re surging up on the bed due to the sheer shockwaves coursing through you. “Fuck- fuck, you’re just-”
“Count two—”
“Shit-”
Barely giving you the time to compute before his hand comes slammin’ down once more. “Guilty.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, “Hiromi, I’m going to cum-”
“Count three-” And it wasn’t like he couldn’t hear you - he just refused to respond until his judicial duties were completed. Higuruma was a man of the law, after all. And surely it was that discipline that led him to spank your cunt two more times, “Guilty. Count four- guilty.”
Your thighs were shaking with your impeding high, “I-I’m seriously going to-”
“Count five-” The fifth, final punishment. “-guilty.”
And you’re crashing against the waves of your high - it feels as if you’re floating on air. On clouds. On the white-hot pleasure that Higuruma was fucking into you.
His pace doesn’t falter for a single second. The plush edge of his shaft probin’ into you in and in and in—Higuruma knows exactly which nerve-filled spots you wanted him to push. Exactly where they were. And he doesn’t do so immediately…but once he’s glissading his lengthy cock inside your cunt, he sure does press his pointed tip hard into wherever he can reach.
Not quite agonizingly teasing, but not quite giving your guilty self what you wanted.
Somewhere along the way, you’re feeling his gooey white sap fill you up as well. He lets out a choked-up groan as he floods the lining of your cervix- “Guilty…haaaaah, on all counts.” The sheer volume of him forms a little puddle there, “And I sentence you to…”
“Y-yes…?”
“Hmmm—” He pretends to think, though the lewd humor in his tone told you that Higuruma already knew. The full stop at the end of his duties- he thwacks! his palm down upon your cunt once more, “How about five more rounds? One for each count- hah.”
You’re letting your head fall to the side, where the curtains of the suite were just barely cracked to reveal pinkish-yellow lighting filtering inside. It was morning.
You weren’t making it out alive for the rest of the season.
So, viewers, who's getting the last rose as your husband?
TOJI
NANAMI
GETO
CHOSO
SUKUNA
INO
GOJO
HIGURUMA
Voting ended onApr 7
A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-
"I-it was a letter, Kuna!" you moaned into the pillows. Your voice was muffled under the pressure of his hand keeping you still.
"Seduction, no less, I-I have duties that you cannot seem to let me attend to." He grumbled, soft groans slipping through his pursed lips.
You couldn't help that he got turned on by your handwriting! It kind of concerned you the lengths and distances he would go.
The parchment lay crumpled beside your head, ink bleeding into the silk sheets where his clawed thumb had pressed too hard, too eager.
Your penmanship, loops and swirls of diplomatic correspondence, had done this. Had summoned him from his throne, from the matters of curses and domains and territories he claimed to prioritize over you.
His lower hands gripped the meat of your hips, fingers dimpling the flesh hard enough to bruise. The upper set bracketed your shoulders, one palm flattening against the back of your skull, the other splayed across your spine, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
"You think I cannot read between the lines, woman?" His voice rumbled through his chest, through the floor, through you. "The way you dot your i's. The curve of your p's. Practically begging."
What the fuck is he talking about? You thought momentarily.
You tried to shake your head, to protest, but he pressed down harder, your cheek grinding against the ruined letter. The ink smeared, your words becoming illegible. ‘Your Excellency, the eastern territories require-’
His cocks pressed against you, both of them. The weight of them settled against the cleft of your ass, the slick heat of your cunt, and you could feel every throbbing inch, every ridged vein. He hadn't even entered you yet, and already your thighs were trembling.
"The last time you wrote to me," he continued, his voice dropping into something darker, something that made your stomach clench, "you signed it with such care. Such precision."
His hips rolled, the heavy shafts dragging against your wetness, coating themselves in the arousal that had started the moment you heard his footsteps. "I kept it. Did you know that? Between the pages of texts even I shouldn't possess."
The thought of him sitting in his private chambers, reviewing your neat, proper handwriting with those crimson eyes, touching the paper the way he touched you. "You are strange," you breathed, and the words came out wrong. Came out worshipful.
His laugh was low, mean, the sound vibrating through the stomach-mouth that pressed against your lower back. That mouth's tongue-forked, hungry-licked a wet stripe up your spine, tasting your salt, your fear, your desperate want.
"My ‘strangeness’ you seem to enjoy," he agreed, and there was no shame in his voice.
The first cock nudged against your entrance, the blunt head spreading you open, and you gasped, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets. He didn't push in.
He waited, letting you feel the threat of it. His pink hair had fallen across his brow, sweat already beginning to darken the strands. His eyes were half-lidded, blown wide with lust, the red irises nearly swallowed by black.
"You want to know what I did with your letter, little scribe?"
"I-" Your voice cracked when he shifted, the head of his cock catching against your clit, sliding through your folds with deliberate cruelty. "What did you do?" His grin split wider, and his hips snapped forward. The first cock buried itself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, and your scream was swallowed by the pillows, by his hand, by the sheer size of him stretching you open.
Your vision whited out, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your body fought to accommodate him. He was too big. He was always too big, and you would never get used to it, would never stop feeling like a vessel being filled beyond capacity.
"Touched myself with it," he growled against your ear, his breath hot, his chest pressing against your back. The second cock nestled against the first, pressing against your stretched rim, threatening to join it.
"Wrapped that pretty letter around my cock and imagined it was your throat. Your cunt. Your hand." You moaned, long and broken, and he laughed again, cruel and delighted.
"Got it all wet. Ruined your neat little words. Couldn't even read the damn thing after, just a mess of ink.” He thrust, shallow and sharp, making you jolt.
His lower hands slid up your sides, claws dragging against your ribs, not breaking skin but promising they could. The upper hands returned to their positions, one on your head, one on your spine.
He pulled out until only the tip remained, letting your body clutch at him, desperate to keep him inside, then slammed back in with enough force to shove you up the bed. Your knees slid against the silk, your nails tore at the fabric.
"Count," he ordered, and the word was ragged, his composure beginning to crack.
"What?" His hand tightened in your hair, yanking your head back until your spine arched, until you could see the ceiling, the shadows, the madness in his eyes.
"Every letter. Every word you used to tempt me." His hips snapped harder, faster, the second cock now pressing against your entrance, the pressure building, building, building. "I want to hear you apologize for each one."
"I wasn't-"
"One," he commanded, and his second cock pushed in. Your body seized. Your mind went blank. The stretch was unimaginable, two of him filling you, splitting you, rearranging your insides until you weren't sure where he ended, and you began. The burn was fire, was pleasure, was pain, was everything all at once, and you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, all you could do was feel. "Say it."
"One," you sobbed, and he rewarded you with a thrust that made your toes curl.
"Good girl. Next word. The first one that made me hard."
"T-Territories," you gasped, because that was the first word you could recall, the one that started it all.
His laugh was dark, approving. "Territories. Yes. You wanted to discuss territories with me." He punctuated the word with a thrust that made your eyes roll back. “As if,” he scoffed. The hand in your hair released you, and you slumped forward, gasping, only to feel his palm come down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap.
The sound echoed through the chambers, mixing with your cry, with the wet slap of his hips against your skin. "Keep going."
"E-Eastern," you managed, your voice breaking.
"Eastern territories." Another slap, harder this time, and you could feel the heat blooming across your skin, the imprint of his hand spreading like a brand onto your flesh.
His pace grew brutal, insane, the bed shaking beneath you, the headboard cracking against the wall. He was lost in it now, in you, all pretense of control dissolving into pure, animal need. His claws dug into your hips, his teeth grazed your shoulder, and the mouth on his stomach pressed open-mouthed kisses against your back, tasting every inch of skin it could reach.
"R-Respectfully-" you tried, and he laughed so hard his rhythm stuttered.
"That's it. That's the sound I kept your letter for." His voice was ragged now, his hips pistoning, his skin slapping against yours with a rhythm that bordered on violence.
Your climax was building, a wave so high you couldn't see the top, couldn't breathe for the pressure of it. He felt it too. The way your cunt was squeezing him, milking him, trying to pull him deeper, trying to keep him forever.
"Cum," he ordered, and his voice was absolute, was law. "Cum on my cocks and show me what you wrote that letter for."
The orgasm ripped through you like a blade, like fire, like every nerve in your body igniting at once. Your back arched, your mouth opened in a silent scream, and your cunt clamped down on him so hard he groaned, long and deep, his rhythm faltering as you pulsed around him, as your slick gushed down his shafts, as you painted him with the proof of your pleasure.
Your body was still spasming when he pushed through it, still shaking when he fucked you through the aftershocks, still gasping when he finally, finally let himself go.
His hips slammed into you one last time, burying both cocks to the hilt, and you felt him pulse inside you, felt the hot flood of his release fill you, spill out of you, drip down your thighs in thick, white ropes.
He came for what felt like minutes, his body shuddering against yours, his arms tightening until you couldn't move. You let your body slump against the sheets; you know you will be here for a while.
CHOSO ♡ KAMO
"Hello everyone! Welcome back to the stream." You greeted your camera, adjusted to an unfamiliar angle in an unfamiliar room. Choso's fingers hovered over his keyboard to ask where you were, even if he knew. He couldn't let his top commenter spot go.
The chat exploded with greetings and comments about the unexpected stream. You're usually strict on your schedule, and multiple streams in one week were rare.
T3_Sahur: ur better than El Cinco
Yuki Supremacy: Haii!! Can you please play the new update of the last stream's game????
SixSevenEyes: {@T3_Sahur} ur taking it too far, el cinco tops
"Okay, okay! No game today, just wanted to talk." You interacted with chat for a bit. Usually, Choso was the first to comment and get noticed by you, but his hands were busy stroking his cock to your voice. He had missed it since he last saw you. Begging for you to take him to New York with you, it was only for a day, but the thought of you being so far away for so long was too much on his heart, and the dwindling supply of lotion.
He double-clicked his mouse, zooming in on your face. The comments were distracting, and instead of saying their usernames and repeating comments, he wished you'd say his name. Call out to him, touch him, tell him what to do next.
His hands were nothing like yours, so soft and pretty. He imagined yours instead of his, stroking his cock, bringing him closer to the edge. Grabbing his phone from off the ledge, he took a picture of cock. The notification sounded through the screen. Picking up your phone, your eyes widened suddenly. Quickly looking up at your monitor, making sure the audience could not see the obscene picture Choso had sent.
Under the photo, he typed impatiently, 'Say my name plzz.'
Your hand darts out, phone face down on the desk before anyone can see. The motion is too quick.
KenjakuFanAccount: oop what was that
lovesick_angel: did ur phone scare u LOL
RamenKing55: sus
You laugh it off, the sound tight in your throat. "Sorry, sorry. Just the notification scared me. You know how it is."
Your fingers itch to pick the phone back up, to look at the picture again, his thick cock, pink at the tip, wetness beading at the slit, his hand wrapped around the base with those silver rings glinting.
Three dots. He's typing.
Choso: i miss u so much it hurts
Choso: ur so pretty on camera
Choso: please say it
"Um—" Your voice cracks. You grab your water bottle, take a long sip, and let the cool liquid ground you. "No, I haven't been there," you hummed. Picking up your phone, pretending to look up the restaurant. Instead of a Google search, it was different angles of your boyfriend's cock begging for you.
"Choso would love it there."
He moaned into your panties, taking them from the laundry. He needed you on him, and this was the closest he was going to get to smelling your sweet pussy. His tongue lapped up the gusset, tasting the leftover fluids on his tongue.
His hips buck into his fist at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Choso. The way you said his name could make him cum in his pants, no matter how many times you've said it.
He wished you weren't currently sitting in a hotel room thousands of miles away while he was suffocating himself in your worn panties, cock leaking all over his stomach.
The screen blurs for a moment as his eyes roll back. He blinks rapidly, forcing himself to focus on your face.
His phone buzzes again, but he doesn't pick it up. Can't. Both hands are occupied now—one fisting his cock, the other pressing your panties to his face so hard the elastic digs into his cheeks. He inhales deep, greedy, like a man drowning. The scent of you floods his lungs, settles in his chest, makes his head spin.
On screen, you're talking about something. The restaurant. Some place he's never heard of, some place you went without him. The thought makes something dark curl in his gut. His grip tightens, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, spreading pre-cum down the shaft. He should be there. He should be in you, not jerking off to your voice.
"I think he'd order the spiciest thing on the menu," you're saying, and your voice has gone softer now, more distracted. Your eyes flick down to your phone, then away. "He's like that. Can't help himself. Always to the extreme."
Choso whines, the sound muffled by the cotton pressed against his mouth.
The chat scrolls faster.
AppleBottomJeans: who's choeso???
RamenKing55: {@AppleBottomJeans} her bf bro catch up
SixSevenEyes: El cinco better
He wants to comment. Wants to type something, anything, just to see his name in the chat, to have you read it aloud in your voice that makes his balls draw up tight.
"Anyway," you say suddenly, sitting up straighter. The movement makes your shirt— his shirt, he realizes with a jolt that has pre-cum dripping down his knuckles, rides up, showing a strip of skin he wants to sink his teeth into.
His free hand leaves his cock, grabbing his phone with shaking fingers. The screen is slick with pre-cum, but he doesn't care. He opens the camera, angles it down, takes a picture of his flushed cock, the veins standing out, the way his balls are drawn up tight and aching.
He doesn't type anything this time. Just sends it. Watches your face as your phone buzzes again.
You don't pick it up immediately this time. You keep talking, something about the trip, about the project, about the schedule. But your eyes keep darting to the phone. Your leg is bouncing under the desk. Your chest is rising and falling a little faster than it should be.
Please, he thinks, gripping his cock again, stroking slowly and deliberately. He begs you to pick it up. Look at it. Think about him inside you, filling you up.
The phone buzzes again. And again. He's sent three more photos now, each one filthier than the last. Finally, you pick it up.
Your eyes widen. Your throat works as you swallow. And Choso watches, hypnotized, as your thighs press together under the desk. "Sorry," you say, and your voice is rough now, strained. "Just someone keeps texting me. It's distracting."
You laugh, but it's hollow. "It's not important."
Choso's hand stills. He's typing before he can stop himself, thumbs flying across the screen.
Choso: no one important???
Choso: i made u cum three times before i left
Choso: remember? u were crying so pretty on my cock
Your phone buzzes five times in quick succession. You don't pick it up. You keep talking, keep pretending, but your hand is trembling where it rests on the desk.
His cock aches. Fist fucking his cock vigorously. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he comes. Bringing the fabric from his face, he presses it to the tip of his cock, soaking the fabric in his cum. He sends another picture. This one is your panties stretched over his cock, the fabric dark and wet.
"I have to go," you say suddenly, and your voice cracks on the last word. "Stream's over. I'll schedule something for next week. Bye."
The screen goes black. A few moments later, a message pops up. Pink panties, the gusset soaked in your juices. 'Just wait till I get home.'
He knows you intended it as a warning, but it only made his cock grow harder.
TOJI ♡ FUSHIGURO
Toji rarely checked his phone during a job; however, boredom was taking over. His hands fiddling with the earpiece readily in his ear. The vibration of his phone in his deep pockets was an escape from the stakeout.
Three full days of torture, not only had he not left the truck, but he didnt even get to see his sweet wife. If it weren't for the payout, he would never take jobs like these. Green eyes narrow against the glare, expecting another useless update from the client.
Instead, his thumb hovers. A message from you. A picture. He clicks it before he can think. It's a mirror shot.
Your phone is angled just so, a big black shirt hanging off your skin. A loose hand pulling at the collar, a bit of cleavage peaking through the material. The bathroom light catches the sheen of what looks like oil on your skin, highlighting the plush swell of your thigh. Your lips are visible in the reflection, parted slightly.
Toji's jaw tightens. His cock, already half-hard from days of nothing but monotony, was pulsing against his thigh. He can almost feel the warmth of your skin under his palms, the way you'd arch into him if he pressed you against the cool bathroom mirror.
A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest. His grip on the phone tightens until the plastic creaks. He can practically hear the wet, slick sounds his fingers could make, can picture the way your lips would part, the little breathy gasps you'd let out accompanied by his name.
He doesn't think. He hits the call button. It rings once. Twice. His patience, already a frayed wire, snaps.
"Pick up," he growls to the empty truck, his voice a gravelly rasp.
On the third ring, there's a click, and then your voice.
“Toji?"
"Nah," he cuts off, his voice low. "Don't just send me shut like that and play it cool." His own hand drops from the phone, palming the heavy, aching length of his cock through his cargo pants. The coarse material rubs against the sensitive head, and he has to bite back a groan.
"My day was great, thank you," you scoffed, "I can't miss you?" he could hear the faint sound of water running and turning off.
"I missed you too," he grunts, finally giving in and unzipping his pants. He's thick, heavy in his own hand, the skin hot. He wraps his fingers around the base, giving a slow, tight stroke. "Talk to me, baby. What are you doing?"
“Just got out of the shower, might watch a movie,” you hummed, voice soft against the microphone. The sound of a drawer sliding open, the soft jostle of fabric.
"Don't," he says, "Don't put anything on yet."
"What?"
"The movie. Keep talking to me," he rasps, working his fist up his shaft, pre-cum beading at the tip. "Haven't heard your voice in ages."
There's a pause, the soft pad of bare feet against tile. Then the whisper of fabric, the rustle of cotton sliding over skin. He can picture the shirt falling against your thighs, the way the worn material would cling to the curve of your breasts. “It's been three days, Toji,” you chuckled softly.
“That's a long time,” he groaned. The sound of your soft laugh crackles through the speaker, and he swears he can feel it against his neck. He fists himself tighter, slower, the way you like it when he's being mean.
"A long time," you echo, voice low. "You sound busy."
"Just sittin' in a truck," he grits out, thumb swiping over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. The movement makes his hips jerk, a barely restrained snap of muscle. "B-bored out my fuckin' mind."
"Bored?" The word lilts up at the end, and he hears the soft creak of the bed. The one he should be in right now should be pressed against you, not sitting in some stale truck. "Or lonely?"
"Both," he growls, and he can hear the edge in his own voice. The one that usually makes you shiver, makes you press your thighs together. "Miss you. Miss watchin' you fall apart on my cock."
A sharp exhale from your end. The rustle of sheets.
He closes his eyes and sees it: you sprawled across their bed, that black shirt riding up your thighs, your hand drifting down. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he breathes, working his length in firm, practiced strokes. His forearm flexes, veins standing out against scarred skin. "You touchin' yourself right now, baby? Got that hand between your legs?"
"Maybe," you whisper, and he can hear the smile in your voice.
His grip tightens. "Don't play with me."
"I'm not playing," you purred, and the hitch in your breath tells him everything. Your fingers are doing exactly what he'd be doing if he were there. Circling slowly. Teasing. "Just...thinking about you."
"Sure." His strokes get rougher, the wet sounds of his fist working his cock filling the truck. “What're you thinkin' about, sweetheart? How I'd have you bent over that sink? How would I pull that wet hair back and make you watch yourself in the mirror while I fuck you slowly?"
Your breath stutters. "Toji.”
"That's right," he grunts, voice dropping lower, meaner. "Want you spread open on my cock, just how you like it.”
"Yes," you gasp, and he knows you're not just playing along. He knows that breathy little sound, the way it cracks in the middle. Your fingers are buried inside yourself right now, curling just right. "Wish you were here.”
"Missed you," you whimper, and he hears the wet sounds of your fingers moving faster, faster. "Missed your cock. Missed how full you make me."
"I'll be back soon," he promises, voice ragged. He's pumping his fist in rhythm with the sounds coming through the phone, the slick slide of your fingers, your desperate little gasps. "Gonna fill this pussy up so good. Gonna fuck you 'til you can't walk straight."
"You better," you gasp. "Please, Toji, I'm-"
"I know," he cuts you off, his own release coiling hot and tight at the base of his spine. "Let me hear it. Wanna hear you come for me."
Your soft moans echo through the speaker, and it sends him over. He comes with a guttural sound, thick ropes of it spilling over his knuckles, hitting the steering wheel, his thigh.
His hips jerk through it, muscles locked tight, eyes screwed shut as he pictures your face, your slick fingers, the way your thighs would shake against his hips.
"Who taught you to talk like that?” you questioned, a yawn escaping your lips.
"Don't worry about it." He glances down at the mess on his hand, the streak of white across his cargo pants. You snicked through the phone. "Clean yourself up, sweetheart. Don't want you fallin' asleep all sticky."
A soft laugh. "Sure."
The line clicks, and he's left in the dark again, the truck's stale air pressing in. But his skin is still humming, your voice still ringing in his ears. He looks at the picture one more time before he swipes it closed, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
A voice comes through his ear, “Fushiguro. Heres a small reminder. I can hear you in the fucking truck. With the earpiece in your ear,” Shiu’s voice laced with anger. It took everything in Toji not to laugh.
“Next time, take it off!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hope you enjoyed the show.”
SUGURU ♡ GETO
The phone buzzes against the polished wood of the altar.
Suguru doesn’t look at it immediately. His fingers are steepled beneath his chin, dark eyes half-lidded as he listens to the droning supplication of a new follower, some desperate woman with trembling hands and a story about curses that he’s already forgotten.
The phone buzzes again.
He exhales slowly through his nose, patience thinning. His long fingers slide across the altar’s surface, retrieving the device with a languid grace that makes the woman’s voice falter mid-sentence. She watches him, wide-eyed.
The screen glows.
His thumb stills over the image, veins in his hand tightening as he registers what exactly he’s looking at. The new robes. The ones he had tailored for you personally, silk that cost more than these monkeys' monthly offerings. But you’ve adjusted them. The obi sits too low on your hips, loosened. The collar hangs open, exposing the slope of your shoulder, the pale column of your throat, the shadowed valley between your breasts where the fabric pools like spilled wine.
Miss you.
Suguru’s jaw ticks. His tongue runs along the inside of his teeth.
He looks up at the woman kneeling before him, her mouth still moving around words he no longer hears.
“We’ll continue this another time,” he says, and there’s no room for argument in his voice. The woman scrambles to her feet, bowing so low her forehead nearly touches the tatami.
He doesn’t watch her go. His attention has already returned to the phone, thumb dragging across the screen to pull the image up again.
He waits until the shoji screen slides shut, until the footsteps fade down the corridor. It rings once before you pick up. He hears the breath you let out, the way it shudders at the edges.
“Suguru.”
He leans back in his seat, the carved wood digging into his spine, and lets his voice drop to that register he knows makes your thighs press together. “Texting me in the middle of my work.”
“You said you liked the robes.” Your voice is light, “I wanted to show you how they fit.”
“Is that what you were doing?” His fingers trace the screen again, tracing the shape of your hip through the silk. “Looked to me like you were doing something else.”
He hears the soft exhale of your laugh, the rustle of fabric. He imagines you shifting where you’re sitting— probably his bed, he thinks.
“I was thinking about you,” you say.
“Yeah?” His thumb presses the speaker icon, sets the phone down on the altar beside him. The image stays up, bathing the dark wood in soft light. “Tell me exactly what you were thinking.”
“I was thinking,” you start, and your voice has dropped, gone husky in that way that makes his cock twitch against his thigh, “about the last time you had me in these. How you said the purple made my skin look…”
He remembers dragging the silk up your thighs, bunching it around your waist. You’d gasped when he pressed his mouth to the inside of your knee, your hip, the soft swell of your belly. He’d worked his way up slowly until you were trembling apart beneath him.
“I remember,” he says quietly.
“Suguru.”
“Did you get the robes wet, sweetheart? After you took that picture?” His hand moves without thinking, palm pressing against the front of his trousers. “Tell me.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the unmistakable sound of fabric shifting. You’re moving, he realizes. Settling back against something. He can picture you perfectly, hair spread across his pillows, one hand still holding the phone, the other drifting down your stomach.
“Yes,” you breathe.
“Continue,”
“I thought…” Another rustle. Your voice goes tighter. “I thought you might tell me to touch myself. Since you’re not here to do it.”
Suguru’s eyes close. His thumb circles the head of his cock through the fabric, pressure just shy of enough. He can feel himself hardening fully now, pressing against the confines of his robes.
“Put the phone down,” he ordered. “Prop it up. I want to see you.”
He hears the clatter of the device being set against something. He picks his phone back up, switches to video.
You’re sprawled across his bed like an offering, the robes still half-on, half-off, the silk bunched around your hips in dark purple waves. One of your hands is pressed flat against your stomach, fingers just grazing the waistband of the robes. The other is beside your head, fingers curled into the sheets.
“There you are,” he purrs, watching you shiver at the sound of his voice. “Look at you. Gorgeous.”
“Come home,” you whisper, voice begging for him and his attention.
“Soon.” He traces your shape on the screen, wishing it were skin. “You know I would if I could. But I’ve got business to finish here.”
“More important than me?”
The question is teasing, but there’s an edge to it. He knows this game. “We have a mission.” He undoes the ties of his robes, letting them fall open. Watches your eyes go wide and dark on the screen. “But you’re the one who sent me that picture in the middle of my meeting. So you can wait a little longer, can’t you?”
You swallow. “How long?” There's a hint of disappointment underneath your tone.
“Patience, love, patience.” His hand wraps around his cock, gives it a slow, deliberate stroke. “Now. Show me what you were doing before I called.” Your thighs press together, but your hand slides lower, fingers hooking into the silk. You push the fabric aside, bare and wet, the folds of your cunt glistening in the dim light.
“That’s it.” His voice has gone rough, thumb swiping over his tip, collecting leaking pre-cum. Your fingers slide through your slick, spreading it, and a sound escapes your throat that he feels in his own. His hand moves faster, matching the rhythm you’re starting to build.
The room is silent except for the wet sounds of you touching yourself, the soft hitch of your breath, the occasional groan he lets slip.
“Wish that was me,” he says, watching your fingers circle your clit. “Wish I were there. I’d spread you open on this cock so slow you’d feel every inch. Make you beg for it.”
“Sugu-” Your voice breaks, hips lifting off the bed. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please talk to me. Tell me what you’d do.”
He leans forward, eyes fixed on the screen. His hand hasn’t stopped moving, the rhythm steady and punishing.
“I’d start with that pretty mouth,” he says, voice low. “Been too long since I felt those lips around me. Let me fuck your throat until you’re crying.”
Your moan is desperate, fingers pressing harder against yourself. He sees your hips start to rock, chasing the pressure. “Then I’d put you on the bed. Just like that.” He gestures at the screen, at your sprawled, open body. “Spread these thighs wide and bury my face between them. Wouldn’t stop until you came on my tongue.”
You hummed, nodding your head to his words.
“Then, I’d press my cock up against your pussy.” He strokes himself faster, watching your face contort, watching your body arch off the sheets. “Fill you up so good. Make you take all of it. Every fucking inch. You’d be so tight around me, wouldn’t you?"
Your hand is a blur between your legs now, your other hand gripping your breast, pinching the nipple. Your mouth is open, sounds spilling out.
“You’d come for me,” he continues, his own breathing harsh, his hips starting to thrust into his fist.
“I’m so close-”
“Let go.” His voice cracks on the words, authority fracturing into something rawer. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fall apart. Wanna see it.”
Your body seizes, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and he watches your thighs clamp shut around your hand as you come, shaking, shuddering, your whole frame drawn tight as a bowstring before releasing.
The sounds you make are broken, beautiful, and he lets himself tip over the edge after you with a groan he doesn’t bother to stifle, spilling across his stomach, his hand, the edge of his robes.
“Mhm.” He’s cleaning himself with a cloth from the altar— he’ll have to have it sent to you later, but that’s for future Suguru. “I'll be back soon.”
You roll onto your side, face appearing in the camera, flushed and satisfied, and so beautiful it makes his chest ache. “I'll be here.”
“Good.” He picks the phone up and brings it close to his face. “Once our mission is complete, we will have all the time in the world."
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
KENTO ♡ NANAMI
Before he dies from exhaustion, he will curse his boss for eternity. Like any work trip, promises of a relaxed environment were thinly veiled lies of overtime.
Occasionally, you would send pictures of things you did throughout the day; those were the things keeping him going and preventing him from tossing his laptop out the window and quitting.
Nanami's tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
His laptop glows dimly on the desk, spreadsheets bleeding into one another until they're nothing but a blur of numbers behind his tired eyes.
He should be reviewing the projections for tomorrow's meeting. Should be answering the emails that have piled up in the last three hours. Instead, his phone is in his hand, thumb hovering over the last image you sent.
It came through forty-seven minutes ago, a brief respite from the drudgery of quarterly reports. The notification had been innocuous enough-just your name, the little camera icon.
He'd opened it expecting another photo of the things to do that day, or the view of a cafe, or perhaps a plate of food you were enjoying without him.
You're angled in front of you, similar to a selfie you sent yesterday, except then you had more clothes on. You were wearing the set he picked out two weeks ago, the one he'd handed to the sales associate without a hint of embarrassment because he already knew exactly how it would look on you.
The lace is the color of dark wine, delicate straps cutting across the swell of your breasts, the matching panties sitting low on your hips. You've posed with one hand, making a small heart with two fingers.
His hand moves before his mind catches up, palm pressing against the front of his trousers where his cock has already begun to stiffen. He exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and doesn't bother to stop himself.
He leans back in the chair, the leather creaking under his weight, and drags his zipper down with deliberate care.
His cock springs free, half-hard but thickening by the second as his gaze returns to the screen. He wraps his fingers around the base, a low sound catching in his throat at the familiar weight of his own hand.
The photo stares back at him, your eyes through the mirror meeting his, and he swipes his thumb across the head, spreading the bead of moisture already forming there.
He remembers unwrapping you from a similar set. How the lace had bitten into your skin, how you'd shivered when he'd traced the edges with his fingers before his mouth.
His grip tightens, fist moving in a slow, punishing rhythm. His hips twitch upward, chasing the friction, and his head falls back against the chair. The ceiling tiles blur above him, but he doesn't need to see the picture anymore. It's burned behind his eyelids, the curve of your breast, the delicate jut of your hipbone.
His breathing turns ragged, each exhale punched out of his chest. His thighs spread wider, heels digging into the carpet as he fucks up into his fist with increasing desperation. The slick sound of it fills the quiet room, obscene and urgent, and he doesn't care. Doesn't care about the meeting tomorrow, about the emails, about any of it.
His thumb swipes over the tip again, and he groans. He's close, the pressure coiling hot and tight in his gut, and he imagines it's your pussy wrapped around him, your body riding his cock. He imagines the way you'd look down at him through your lashes, how you'd let him guide your pace.
His cock pulses, a thick string of precome dripping down his knuckles, and he uses it to slick the way, his strokes turning sloppy, relentless.
His orgasm hits him like a freight train, his hips jerking off the chair as he spills over his own fist in hot, pulsing stripes.
His jaw is clenched so tight it aches, a broken sound rattling in his chest as he works himself through it, every muscle in his body locked taut until the last wave finally, mercifully passes. Even then, it wasn't enough.
When his torment ended, and he finally made it back home. Arriving through the door, you body pressed up against him, hugging him tightly.
You lips pressed against his cheek, littering his face with your soft lips. He'd never admit he came to your picture till nothing came out.
“I missed you so much, Ken!”
“Missed you too,” he smiled, breathing on your neck. Lifting you from your feet, letting your legs wrap around his hips. You giggled into the air, fingers combing through his hair.
He loved your laugh, but he needed to feel you, be inside you, and hear your moans in his ear. He imagined it enough; he needed the real thing.
SATORU ♡ GOJO
The house was quiet, a thing you once thought impossible in the Gojo household. However, with the absence of its head, the silence was unbearable.
You missed your husband dearly, out saving the world, yet you couldn't help but be jealous of the curses who got to see him more than you did.
You carried around one of his blindfolds that he thought went missing when really you stole it, hoping it would make him stay home, even just for a minute longer. You brought the black fabric to your nose, breathing in the remnants of him.
You needed him so bad. Your fingers slipped under your panties. Pretty lace ones that you hoped to show off to Satoru when he got back, that was supposed to be 4 hours ago, and you were growing impatient.
The black fabric pressed against your face, and you inhaled. Your fingers found the wet heat between your thighs before your brain could catch up. The lace of your panties was already damp. You dipped beneath the waistband, middle finger sliding through slick folds, and your eyes fluttered shut.
The memory of him was a bruise you kept pressing. The way his huge hands would bracket your hips, fingers denting the soft flesh there. The cocky slant of his smile right before he did something stupid. His weight, always too much and never enough.
You circled your clit, slow at first. Your hips rolled up to meet your own hand, and it wasn't right— his fingers were longer, thicker, knew exactly how to curl to make you scream, but you worked with what you had. A soft whine escaped your throat. You were so wet, just from the thought of him.
You pushed two fingers inside, gasping. Not enough. Your palm ground against your clit as you fucked yourself on your own hand, imagining it was him. The way he'd hold you down, one palm flat against your lower back, the other wrapped in your hair. The way he'd laugh, his cock twitching inside of you before he unloads himself inside you.
"C'mon," you breathed, not even sure who you were talking to. Yourself. Him. The empty room. "C'mon, 'Toru, please-"
Your fingers worked faster, sloppier. You were close, that familiar heat coiling tight in your belly, your thighs beginning to tremble. You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, riding your own hand like it was him, like he was finally fucking home, filling you the way you needed.
Had you been paying attention, you would've noticed the increase of cursed energy, objects falling from the walls, and space crackling around the space, stilling the particles in the air.
You froze, eyes snapping open.
Satoru loomed over you, his blindfold missing from his face and his pale hair falling into his eyes. He tilted his head, slow and deliberate, watching your fingers still buried inside your soaked cunt. A mocking grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"My poor baby."
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to pull your hand away, embarrassment flooding through you, but he caught your wrist. "No, no," he murmured, pushing your fingers back down. "Don't stop on my account. You were so close, weren't you, baby?"
Your mouth went dry. "You- you teleported?!"
"Mmh." He leaned down, and the warmth of his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. "Just got finished. Was checking on you through the cameras, thought you were sleeping." His teeth grazed your earlobe, and you shuddered. "Imagine my surprise when I see my pretty wife saying my name. So lonely without me, I know, I know." He holds your head against his, caressing your hair.
"Don't-"
"Shh." His finger pressed against your lips, trailing down your chest, down to your lace waistband. "I was wondering where that blindfold went."
Your cheeks burned. "I missed you."
"I can see that." His eyes dropped to where your fingers were still buried in your cunt, your slick coating your knuckles. He let out a low whistle. "It's on me, should've come home on time, I'm sorry."
"You were supposed to be home four hours ago, Satoru."
He wrapped his hand around your waist. "Four hours," he repeated, bringing your fingers to his mouth. His tongue darted out, tasting you. "Apologies won't do."
He sucked your fingers clean. You watched, transfixed, as his eyes stayed locked on yours. When he pulled them out, a string of saliva and your own slick connected his lips to your knuckles.
"Up."
You didn't move fast enough. He grabbed your hips, pulling your body on top of his. The blindfold slipped from your neck, and he caught it, tucking it into your bra with a soft laugh. His cock pressed against his pants, a heavy, insistent line of heat that made your mouth water.
"Four hours," you repeated. "Do you know what four hours feels like when you're not here?"
He opened his mouth to answer, something that would make you want to hit him, but you were already moving. Your hands fumbled with his belt, impatient. The metal clinked, and you yanked it free, tossing it somewhere across the room where it hit the floor with a sharp clatter.
"Eager much?" he breathed, but the amusement in his voice was strained. His hips lifted into your hands as you worked his pants open, and the sight of him springing free made your cunt clench around nothing.
He was already leaking, a pearlescent bead of precome glistening at the tip, and you wanted to taste him so badly it hurt.
But you needed him inside you more.
You didn't bother with your panties; you just pushed them aside, the fabric pulling against your slick folds, and positioned yourself over him. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there.
"Look at you," he murmured, and his voice had gone low, rough. "So fucking wet for me. Were you thinking about me the whole time?"
You sank down onto him in one motion.
The stretch was everything. Your body opened for him like it had been waiting, like it had been starving, and the sound you made was embarrassingly loud— a punched-out whimper that turned into a moan as he filled you.
His tip pressed against your cervix, exactly what you craved, and your hands braced against his chest as you tried to catch your breath.
Satoru's head fell back against the headboard. His grip on your hips tightened, and you watched his jaw clench, the muscles in his neck corded with restraint.
"Fuck," he gritted out. "Fuck, baby, you're-"
You didn't let him finish. You lifted yourself, slow, savoring the drag of his cock against your walls, and slammed back down.
His eyes snapped to yours, "Oh, we're doing it like that?"
You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your voice had fled, replaced by guttural need, so feral that it clawed up your throat and came out as a broken moan. Setting a brutal rhythm that made his thighs tense beneath you. Each time you took him to the hilt, his hips would twitch up to meet you, and the impact sent shockwaves through your spine.
"I missed you, too, honey." His voice was strained. His hand guided your movements, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, the other gripped the headboard. The wood was cracking under his fingers, but neither of you was worried about it.
"Y-you're always fucking l-late," you groaned, your hand cupping his chin, fingers pressing into his jaw harshly.
"I-I know, I know. I'll be better for you, baby." He promises, hips rutting against your ass. You leaned forward, palms flat against his chest, and rode him harder. The angle changed, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out. The sound echoed off the walls of the too quiet house, and you didn't care.
"You said-" Your voice broke as you slammed down again, tears welling up in your eyes. "You said four hours, Satoru. Four hours of nothing. No texts, no calls, just-" His thumb found your clit, and whatever you were going to say dissolved into a sharp gasp.
"You're right," He circled the swollen nub, and your hips stuttered in their rhythm. "Tell me how wrong I am." The wood behind him snapped in half, splintering above him. Instinctively, he holds up the board, pushing it against the wall.
"You're a-always lying, just to get what you want. I was worried about you, Satoru. I can never know if you're okay. " Your thighs were burning, slick with sweat and your own arousal, and every nerve in your body had condensed to the place where he was splitting you open.
He nodded in agreement, accepting the words falling from your lips. "And you broke the fucking headboard!" You rode him faster, harder, your nails raking down his chest. The muscles there tensed beneath your fingers, and he let out a sound half laugh, half groan.
"It's my fault," he breathed. "I'm sorry, baby."
"Yes," you sobbed. "'Toru!" His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back. The sting made your cunt clench around him, and he felt it, his hips bucking up into you with renewed force.
"That's my girl," he growled, and the praise was a drug, flooding your system with heat. "Gonna take what you need, yeah? Ride me, wifey."
You nodded, or tried to— his grip on your hair made it difficult. Your hips were moving on their own now, a frantic, punishing rhythm that had his cock punching into you again and again. The headboard started to knock against the wall, a steady thump-thump that matched the beating of your heart.
You fell forward with a startled cry, your chest hitting his, and Satoru's arms wrapped around you immediately. You walls constrict around his cock as you came. He followed soon after, cum painting your insides white.
The headboard hung at a sick angle, one side completely detached from the frame, and you stared at it with wide eyes.
"Baby," he breathed, and when you lifted your head to look at him, his expression was wild. "Baby, that was the hottest thing you've ever done."
Before you could respond, he flipped you. His weight pressed you into the mattress, one huge hand bracing beside your head, the other finding your thigh and hitching it up around his waist. The new angle drove him even deeper, and your back arched off the bed.
"'Toru- "
"Shh." He pulled back, his gaze fixed on where your bodies were joined. "My turn. You've got to play. Now I'm gonna take what's mine." His fingers dipped into your bra, pulling the black blindfold from between your tits. "Wear this too." He wrapped the fabric around your eyes.
"Oh," His cock twitches alive inside of you. "That's really hot, wifey."
Kento Nanami usually likes watching your little expressions and the way your face scrunches so beautifully while he makes love to you. And it's always been just that—making love—no matter how filthy things might become when he gets carried away or when you beg him to fuck you harder.
He always needs to spoil you; it's practically written in his DNA. Whether it's with gifts, with dick, or with the promise of forever, he is giving it all to you without hesitation.
And when you're finally married, your new husband can't help but fixate on that ring around your finger. It becomes so much of an obsession that he switches up his preference to only watch your face during sex.
Occasionally, he wants—no, needs—to have your back pressed against his chest, simply so his left hand can hold onto yours. He goes from focusing on your expressions to hyperfixating over how his wedding band clinks against yours when he intertwines your fingers.
Two symbols of eternal loyalty and devotion—that's what gets Nanami going when he pulls you tighter against his body. Or when he bends you over the kitchen counter after coming home to the smell of your delicious cooking. Or when he presses your face into the mattress the two of you picked out when you moved into your new home together.
You quickly figure out the reason he keeps manhandling you into certain positions so he can fuck you from behind. It becomes clear from how his eyes can never decide between roving your gorgeous body or landing on the sparkle of the ring he chose for you.
When just looking at your ring isn't enough anymore, he effortlessly repositions you so his large hand can envelop yours and his ring can be reunited with its matching half. Sometimes, he even finds himself bending over you to kiss your left hand on pure instinct while murmuring how much he adores you. How you'll always belong in his arms like this.
No matter how far his obsession with both of your rings goes, he still prefers feeling close to you as you come for him. When he knows you're right at the edge, he flips you back around so he can see you properly again.
Even with his deep, mean thrusts, he's still so gentle when he moves your hair out of your face so he can lock eyes with you. He needs your focus on him when he makes you fall apart because of what only he, your husband, can give you.
He holds you with so much reverence and affection, kisses along your neck when you shake on his cock, and reminds you that he loves you when he fills you with his hot, sticky release.
Because that's all included in the package deal that comes with being spoiled by your husband. And Nanami makes sure you receive every benefit you've earned from agreeing to a lifetime with him.
too serious. too polite. probably asks for permission to unhook a bra. the kind of man who folds his clothes before sex and finishes in missionary, eyes closed, expression neutral, probably apologizes if you don’t cum.
and you let them think that.
you really do.
because no one, not a single soul, needs to know that the man who calls you “darling” in boardrooms and presses polite kisses to your forehead in front of friends is the same man who’s currently got you bent over the kitchen counter, shirt bunched around your waist, drool pooling on your tongue as he pistons his cock into your pussy with a snarl in your ear.
“you hear that?” he murmurs, voice thick and gravelly, one hand gripping your jaw so hard it creaks. “that’s the sound of this perfect cunt sucking me in. over and over. so desperate- so fucking wet. and they think i don’t know how to fuck?”
you choke on a moan as your thighs quiver, knees practically buckling with how hard he’s fucking into you, every thrust brutal and precise, angled just right to have your pussy clenching around him like a vice.
“you think anyone at work would believe me if i told them what you sound like when i split you open?” he growls, fingers slipping down to rub fast, ruthless circles on your clit until your vision goes white. “how you cry on my cock like a dumb little thing. so needy, so greedy, can’t even speak, just whimper and sob like a fucking toy.”
your body shudders violently and you try to stammer something— anything— but your tongue doesn’t work, too consumed by the way his cock hits so deep, so good, again and again and again.
“what was that?” he mocks, lips brushing your ear as he rams into you harder. “you want to cum? use your words, sweetheart. beg for it. show me you’re not just a hole to fuck.”
tears streak down your face as you gasp and babble his name, eyes rolling back, hips twitching. “p-please, kento, i- i need it, please, wanna cum, wanna cum so bad, need your cum, need your cock, please—”
he grabs your throat from behind and snarls, “then take it.”
and god, do you.
you fall apart on his cock like he owns you, because he does, your whole body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you like a lightning strike, so intense you can’t even breathe. your knees give out completely but nanami doesn’t stop, he just hauls you up by the waist and keeps fucking into you like he’s trying to break you in half.
“so pretty when you cry,” he pants, watching your reflection in the mirror as your makeup smears and your eyes glass over. “so fucking tight when you’re cockdrunk and full of my cum.”
you don’t even realize he’s already finished— he’s that composed about it. only thing that gives it away is the way he groans low against your spine, cock buried as deep as it can go, thick warmth spilling inside you.
you blink, dumbly. “you came…?”
he smirks, slow and smug, before pushing in again— just to make you jolt. “round two, sweetheart. didn’t fuck the attitude out of you yet.”
MDNI ⋆˚࿔ dilf!toji x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ m.list
cw: AGE GAP ( toji is 40 reader is mid twenties ), perv toji, toji is a rich business man ( lul ), megumi is 17 (only brief mention), panty sniffing, panty fucking, toji jorkin' it, toji is a freak, reader is also a freak, spanking, pet names (princess, doll, baby), oral (f!receiving), spitting, toji got a heavy breed kink, cum eating
part 1
toji’s mind is stuck on last night, how pretty you looked while you desperately humped his thigh until you came all over his sweats, those sweet whimpers and moans that left those plump spit glossed lips.
fuck he could feel his pants tightening just from the thought.
he shakes his head as he sits in his office, tight black button down pulled taut over his broad shoulders, the top three buttons undone to reveal just a peek of his chiseled chest, sleeves rolled up and showing off his thick forearms littered with bulging veins that lead down to his large hands.
he runs a hand through his messy black hair, pouring a stiff glass of top-shelf whiskey and downing it in one swig.
“m’not some fuckin’ teenager, gettin’ horny over my girl humpin’ my leg, fuckin’ ridiculous.” he mutters to himself as he adjusts his thick cock under his belt.
and he's right, he isn't some teenager who can't control his boners— he is a 40 year old man who can't control his boners.
all because he's thinking of his pretty doll, his pretty perfect little doll— you.
he can't stop thinking about how you fucked yourself silly on his thigh. the way you pouted your lips at him until you got what you wanted like a little brat, how you used him like he was your own personal toy.
“fuck.” he groans, head falling back against his office chair as his girthy cock twitches agaisnt the waistband of his pants, pre soaking through his boxers to make a few small droplets on his slacks.
“tch, fuckin’ brat.” he breathes out with no real malice, instead, those pretty pink scarred lips tug into a small smile.
his office door is shut, and megumi is sleeping in his bedroom upstairs while you're asleep on the couch… he could take this moment to himself to keep fantasizing about his spoiled princess.
“goddammit doll, what’re you doin’ to me.” he mutters from the side of his mouth as he palms the thick bulge in his pants, hips bucking up at the contact.
he grabs a key and unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out the pink pair of lace panties he bought you— the same ones you wore last night when you fucked his thigh, and the same ones that your sticky slick release soaked through.
he brings the still damp fabric to his nose and inhales hard, the sweet musky scent filling his nostrils as he groans deep in his chest.
“fuuuck, smell s’fuckin’ good.”
he places your soaked panties on his chest, bringing both large hands to undo his belt and unzip his pants, freeing his fat aching cock.
thick veins run along his shaft, angry red tip dripping pre as it splatters against his shirt.
he runs the rough pad of his thumb over his leaking slit, catching the pre as it leaks. he leans up, abs tensing and muscles bulging under his tight shirt as he spits directly onto his mushroomy tip, his gritty hands spreading the frothy mess all the way down his shaft to the black hair that lays at the base.
toji puts the edge of your panties in his mouth as he pushes his pants down until they’re bunched at his ankles, the frilly pink lace dangling between his teeth.
he leans up, grabbing the soft fabric from his mouth and bringing them up to his nose, bunching them up against his face as he greedily sniffs your scent.
“mmm.” he lets out a soft moan as he fists his throbbing cock, wrist twisting as he lazily drags his hand up his wet shaft to the leaking tip, his cock twitching as he thinks about how badly he wants to ruin your pretty little pussy.
“gonna stretch that tight cunt, doll. fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight for a w-week.” the last word comes out as a groan, hips bucking up to meet the smooth movements of his fist.
he takes another deep inhale of your damp panties that rest against his nose, practically suffocating himself in your scent.
then his mind starts to wander even more, thoughts of stuffing you full of his fat cock and his thick cum, his fist squeezing the tip as more pre leaks down his knuckles.
“mmm— gonna fill that greedy fuckin’ pussy baby, stuff you so— fuck — full of my cum it's leakin’ out anytime you move.”
his grunts grow louder as his movements turn rushed, dick aching as he starts fucking into his hand with hurried strokes.
“gonna fuckin’ — hmm — breed that tight fuckin' pussy, give you— mmph — somethin’ to really whine about brat.”
he removes your bunched up panties from his face and wraps them around his dick, fucking into the damp pink lace as he imagines it's your tight, wet cunt— like he’s the one who's desperate now.
and god, he is.
“y-yeah, just like that doll— c’mon, need it so bad— please.”
he doesn't even realize he's blabbering and whimpering at the thought of filling your hole, just the thought of you walking around filled to the brim with his cum, having it leak out into your panties throughout the day— he truly is desperate for you.
“f-fuuuuuck!”
he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, canines digging into the skin as he tries to stifle his groans, his cock sputtering gooey rivulets of cum into your panties, a few stray ropes landing on his shirt.
“sh-it, doll. look what you made me do.”
he pants, giving his twitching cock a few more slow strokes as it spurts out the last drops of cum, coating his hands and dripping down to his balls.
“fuckin’ came all over myself like a goddamn teenager.”
he sighs, dark strands of hair stuck to the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his expensive button down covered in his cum— he's such a fucking mess for you.
he puts your cum soaked panties back in his drawer before locking it, and grabs a few napkins off his desk to clean himself up, removing his shirt and tugging his slacks back up.
once he's all clean, wiping away any evidence that he just fucked your panties and locked them into his drawer like some sick pervert, he walks out to see you and megumi watching tv on the couch.
just how long was he in there for? did he really lose track of time, stuck in a daydream full of filthy thoughts of you?
“wear a shirt much?” megumi chides in, making you cover your mouth as you giggle.
“shut up. spilt somethin’.” toji mumbles, his voice scratchy.
“don't you got a pokeman to catch or somethin’?”
“it's a pokémon, not pokeman. god you're so old.”
“what the fuck ever, same shit. why don't you go hangout at yuji’s for the night and i'll buy you a whole box of those damn cards.”
megumi rolls his eyes, huffing as he stands up and heads to the door, all while you have literal tears in your eyes from this entire exchange.
“fine, but make it two boxes.”
“tch, kid’s fuckin’ spoiled.” toji mutters under his breath.
“bye ‘gumi, let us know when you get there safely!” you call out, and megumi leaves with a wave.
something about watching you be so caring and motherly with his kid when you're only like eight years older than him, he can just imagine how good of a mom you'd make if—when he knocks you up.
“so, wear a shirt much, old man?” you giggle, earning a glare from your shirtless boyfriend.
“watch it brat, before this old man bends you over his knee right on this couch.”
you squeeze your thighs together, already getting wet just thinking about it. and that doesn't go unnoticed by toji, of course not.
“tch, look at you. pretty pussy gettin’ wet at the thought of gettin’ punished.”
his voice comes out low as he picks you up from the couch with one arm, long strides eating the distance between the living room and the bedroom.
“heeeey toji— what are you doing?” you yell, hands clinging to his rigid chest.
he pushes the bedroom door open and tosses you onto the bed, his cock already growing hard again, tenting his slacks.
“you wanna get punished, yeah? want me to slap that cute little ass ‘til it's numb?”
you feel your face get hot, another wave of heat pooling in your core.
“hmm.. maybe i do.” you whisper, rubbing your thighs together to try to get some relief from the ache between your legs.
toji huffs, adjusting himself as he feels his cock leaking in his already stained briefs
“turn around then, get on all fours f’me.”
you listen immediately, not even feeling the least bit of embarrassment as you arch your back so prettily, leaving your round ass on display.
“listenin’ so well already, doll.”
he pulls your sleep shorts and panties down in one, letting out a groan as he spreads your cheeks to get a better look at your soaked pussy and puffy folds.
“fuck, look at ya’. pretty pussy’s droolin’.”
he runs a finger through your slick, slapping your drenched folds and making you yelp.
“c’monnn don't tease toji.” you whimper, shaking your ass in front of him.
“mmm- such’a spoiled brat.”
without warning, he brings his hand down, a loud smack! echoing through the room before he soothes the stinging skin with gentle caresses.
“count ‘em.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, before kissing your shoulder.
you let out a pathetic huff, scooting your ass back even closer to him.
“come on doll, let me hear that pretty voice.”
he lands another smack onto your other cheek, your tummy fluttering and cunt clenching.
“t-two.”
“there she is.” he murmurs, voice hoarse with his own desire.
he keeps landing smacks, watching as the fat of your ass jiggles with each hit, rubbing the sensitive skin before landing the final one.
“t-ten!” tears stream down your face, your cunt aching to be stuffed, your arousal dripping down your thighs.
“i know baby, im all done. took everything i gave ya’ like such a good girl.”
he continues to rub his rough hands on your ass, before flipping you over onto your back and pulling your tank top over your head.
“perfect fuckin’ tits, and that face— god youre so pretty.” he whispers as those jade eyes rake over every inch and curve of your body, from your breasts that heave with each breath, your nipples pebbling under his gaze, up to your tear stained cheeks and spit glossed lips, eyes almost sparkling as you stare up at him.
“please toji, need you inside.” you whimper, hands clumsily fumbling with his belt buckle, mouth watering as you see the droplets of pre staining through the front of his pants.
“patience, princess.” he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, leaning down to kiss your forehead, before his breath ghosts over your lips.
“you got to use me, humpin’ my leg like a brat in heat. now it's my turn to use you.”
he places a soft kiss on your lips before releasing your wrists, moving down to leave wet open mouthed kisses across your collarbones, rough hands kneading and pinching at your breasts while he tugs at your other nipple with his teeth.
“hah— toji, s'not fair—” you hiccup between short gasps, your hands tangling in his dark tresses.
“life ain't fair doll.” he mumbles against your breast, tongue swirling around your nipple as he bites and sucks before pulling back with a wet pop.
“you got your fill, now it's time for me to get mine.”
toji kisses down your tummy, his arms hooking under your pillowy thighs and settling them on his shoulders. one hand comes to spread your soaked, puffy lips, thumb brushing over your swollen clit and making your body jerk at the contact.
“fuck, look at this pretty fuckin’ pussy— droolin’ all for me.”
he leans down and spits directly onto your already sopping cunt, mixing the mess around with his fingers before licking a long, filthy stripe up your slit.
“t-toji, hmph—” you whimper as you try to buck your hips up to reach his mouth, only to earn a light slap against your clit and a hand pressing down onto your tummy.
“don't go actin’ up on me now, i wanna take my time with this.”
he dips his head back down, thick tongue dipping in and out of your tight wet heat, groaning as your slick coats the wet muscle and drips down his chin.
“tastes s’good doll, been thinkin’ about this sweet pussy all day.”
you tug at his hair, long nails scraping against his scalp as you desperately try to grind your hips against his face but fail miserably, his strength pinning you down like it's nothing.
“you've been— nngh — thinking about it.. a-all day?” you mewl between whimpers.
“you got no fuckin idea.” he pulls his tongue from your pulsing hole, watching as more slick trickles out. he spits again, directly on your clit this time, thumb rubbing messy circles around that puffy bundle of nerves.
“got hard just thinkin’ about ya’ when i was sittin' in my office, had to stroke my cock ‘cause it was leakin’ so much— was so fuckin’ hard it hurt.”
you moan at his words, the combination of him describing how hard he was for you and his fingers rubbing circles on your throbbing clit making your poor pitiful pussy clench around nothing.
“ya’ like that, don't‘ya baby? hearin’ how fuckin’ worked up i get for ya?”
he moves his fingers from your clit to push two inside your soaked hole, silky walls sucking the thick digits in as he curls them up, rough pads hitting that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back with each thrust.
“greedy little thing, suckin’ me in.” he rasps, licking his lips as he watches your face scrunch up, lips parted and eyes watery as he hits that sweet spot over and over again, tits bouncing softly with each movement.
“stroked my cock while i thought about ya, thought about stuffin’ this pretty pussy full of my cum.”
your hands grab at the sheets, clawing at them as you feel that build up of heat ready to burst.
“m’so close ‘ji, don't— don't stop!”
“you make me crazy, doll.”
he leans down and starts slurping against your clit, a frothy mess of spit bubbling around his mouth as he messily makes out with the sensitive bud.
“even right now— god i could bust just from tastin’ this pussy.”
his words come out muffled, your hands moving to tug at his hair again as you push his face further against your clit, your back arching and mouth falling open as your orgasm hits you like a train— juices gushing down around his fingers, your walls spasming around them as he groans, the vibrations against your now over sensitive clit making your legs shake.
“oh god— t-toji-” you gasp as he continues sucking and licking and… it feels like he's spelling something?
T…. O ….
his tongue moves in slow strokes as he carefully spells out his name against your throbbing cunt.
J … I …
he smirks against your clit, his fingers still moving inside your fluttering hole as he pulls another orgasm out of you.
finally removing his fingers, he greedily laps up every drop of your release, his eyes stuck on your face as he watches you fall apart.
you're left laying there panting, breasts and forehead covered in sweat, your damp hair laying messy against the sheets. you slowly open your eyes, tears blurring your vision.
“d-did you just… spell your name?”
“sure did. gotta make sure this pussy remembers who she belongs to.”
toji gives your sensitive mound a quick slap before standing up, making quick work to remove his slacks and briefs, heavy cock springing free and slapping his stomach, pre dripping down his dark happy trail.
he settles between your thighs, pressing your legs up to your chest, rubbing his leaking tip against your messy hole.
“think you can take me doll?” he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face, kissing along your jaw, the salty taste of your sweat mixing with the lingering taste of your arousal on his tongue.
“yeah, i can take you toji— i want to.”
“fuck, youre killin’ me.” he whispers as his cock throbs at your soft words.
he rubs his dripping tip around your clit, a few teasing circles before aligning himself back at your entrance.
with one deep thrust, he sheaths his thick cock into your tight, soaked pussy, the both of you letting out a loud moan as he buries himself to the hilt.
“h-hah, shit, baby. you feel so— mmm— s’fuckin’ good wrapped around me.”
he adjusts your legs on his shoulders, your feet dangling behind him, the pads of his fingers gripping the fat of your thighs while his other hand kneads your breast.
a choked moan gets caught in your throat as your slick drenched walls clenching around him as he stretches your sensitive hole.
“sh-it, don't do that— gonna make me cum before i even start movin.’”
“m’sorry— just feel so — full.” you mewl, the intense burning from being stretched turning into a delicious pleasure.
“shh, i know baby— i got ya, m’right here.” toji litters your face in soft kisses as he starts to slowly move his hips, slow thrusts as he lets you adjust to his size.
“h-harder…” you whisper, your glassy eyes looking up to meet his, entangling you in a sea of mossy green.
his hips stutter for a second at your whispered plea, his cock twitching inside and leaking more pre that mixes with your arousal.
he pulls all the way out, leaving you empty and aching, before slamming back into you— fat drooling tip smooching your cervix as he fucks into you hard and rough, like he's trying to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock.
“mmph!” your moans mix with the wet slaps of his heavy balls against your ass, your hands moving to grip his beefy biceps, nails dragging down his skin and leaving a blooming trail of bright red.
“yeah, that's it— leave marks on me, let everyone fuckin’ know i’m all yours.”
his hands still have a tight hold on your thigh, his other one moving from your bouncing tit to grab your jaw.
“open.”
you do so immediatel— parting your lips, so lost in the pleasure, every sense being overwhelmed by toji.
the smell of his cologne and the whiskey on his lips hitting your nose each time he thrusts, the feeling of his veins dragging along your silky walls, the sight of his muscles flexing and tensing with each subtle movement— it's all just toji.
he spits directly onto your tongue, his fingers pressing into your cheeks as he watches your eyes roll back and your throat work as you swallow so obediently.
“god, m’gonna fill this tight pussy to the brim, breed you s’fuckin’ good. you want that, yeah? be so full of me, then you’ll really be stuck with me forever.”
and that should scare you… right?
wrong.
“yes toji— wan’ it so bad. m’yours, forever.” you nod, fresh tears filling your ducts and spilling over.
“f-fuck— meg’s could use another brother— maybe a sister, heh— why not both?”
he laughs, the sound devoid of any humor, his pupils completely blown out as he splays a large hand over your tummy.
“bet you’d look so cute pregnant, everyone would know you’re mine. walkin’ around with a bump that i put there—shit.”
his thrusts are turning sloppy, his cock swelling as he feels you clench around him, like his crazy fantasy is turning you on.
“please toji— i need it, i want it- want all of your cum-” you whine as your walls clamp down around him, your third orgasm of the night making your vision go white as you squirt around his cock, the fluid dripping down your thighs and ass, the loud squelches growing even more obscene.
“did you just— hah — fuckin’ squirt on me? perfect fuckin’ pussy milkin’ my cock— gonna stuff you full— f-fuuck!”
he slams into you once more, stilling deep inside your pulsing cunt as his cock throbs and twitches— thick, warm ropes of cum coating your insides and drawing another wave of pleasure out of you.
“‘ji— s’too much!” you cry out, but he stays inside, head nuzzled against your neck as his cock finally spurts out the last few drops.
“did so good f’me, baby. so proud of you.” he pants, leaning up to lick your tears off your cheeks before bringing your mouth into a deep, sloppy kiss, the both of your sweat slick bodies radiating heat off of each other.
he moves his hips a few more times, fucking his cum deeper inside you before finally pulling out slowly.
“look at that, took so much of my cum, greedy fuckin’ pussy milked me for all i was worth.”
his eyes lock onto your throbbing hole as it pulses, watching as his cum slowly starts to trickle out.
“can't have that now, can we doll?”
a mean smirk graces his face as he leans down, spreading your sensitive, puffy folds and dipping his tongue inside of you as he laps up his cum.
“toji— what are you doing?!” you yelp, legs shaking from the overstimulation.
“just cleanin’ up my mess. we taste so good together.”
he moans as he laps up your combined releases, his strong hands holding your legs still as you squirm.
“sorry baby, had to clean up my mess.” he gives your clit a quick kiss before he crawls into bed next to you, wrapping his thick arms around you and holding you tight.
“you're a freak.” you giggle, shimmying your ass against his cock that's pressing into your back.
“says the one who squirted all over my dick.”
“ugh— toji!” you bury your face in your hands, and he just laughs behind you like it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
“there’s my spoiled little brat.” he kisses the top of your head, eyes fluttering shut as he inhales against your hair, notes of vanilla hitting his nose.
“oh— by the way, have you seen those lacy pink panties of mine? i couldn't find them when i was doing laundry this morning.”
he smirks against your head, holding you even tighter like you're going to disappear if he doesn't.
“nah, i'll just take you shoppin’ tomorrow, let you buy whatever you want.”
"y'know, its your fault im so spoiled."
"damn right."
repost from my old account sytorusdoll, comment and reblogs appreciated! 💗
Hiromi was patient until you were ready, giving you a night full of pleasure and taking your virginity in a gentle way.
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ character: Hiromi Higuruma
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ wc: 4274
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: fem!reader, age gap of 10+ years, soft sex, oral (reader giving and receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy job, creampie, pet names, consent checks, gentle aftercare, slight body worship
Hiromi has been nothing but kind and patient with you ever since you two met, sure he had his rare moments where he snapped at you due to stress at his work but you never took it to heart, almost feeling bad that you didn't quite know how to help him since he always brushed you off before he would say something he regrets and you gave him the desired space. He would always come back to you after a long and hot shower, muscles relaxed, his mood way better.
It wasn't until you happened to walk past his big bathroom when he took one of these showers when you found out what was really going on. Through the noise of the water hitting the tiled floor you could hear soft groans, followed by a few mumbled words… Was he masturbating?
Your hand gently knocked against the closed door before you could stop it from happening, a few grumbles to be heard from the inside of the room. "It's open!" He called out mere seconds later, his thick shaft still resting heavy in his palm, body hidden away behind the steamed glass of the shower. Swiftly you entered the bathroom and went straight for the shower, your clothes falling in a trail as you approached your lover.
"May I join?" You called out slightly hesitant, your cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing him like this for the first time, but silence filled the room until he eventually spoke a small "Yes", unable to resist you any longer.
Hiromi wanted to take things slow with you, knowing that you're inexperienced so he waited for you to make a move, to give a sign that you want him as much as he wants you - he was craving you, the image of your body clad in the beautiful sundress you wore once was stuck in his head and left little space for imagination as to what your body beneath might look like. The thought of you was his sweet salvation and his downfall late at night when he couldn't sleep or during the day when he couldn't focus. Only you.
After taking a deep and shaky breath you opened the milky glass door of the shower, steam clouding your vision for mere seconds before it evaporated enough to see your lover standing in front of you, not daring to look down where you saw his cock standing proudly in the corner of your eyes.
Noticing how you seemed to be frozen to the spot, Hiromi tried to cover his manhood with his large hands, his eyes staying respectfully on your face, not once wandering.
"Changed your mind?" He asked with a soft voice, not a hint of pressure behind his words, just curiosity, but you quickly shook your head to let him know that you didn't change your mind. With a careful step you joined him in the shower, hot water cascading down your figure, yet his eyes remained trained on your face.
"Warm enough?" He asked caring, his voice soft as silk when he spoke which seemed to calm your breath a little.
"It could be a bit warmer… if you don't mind," you mumble, feeling a little awkward for intruding on him during such a private moment, and now you just stood around in front of him, fidgeting nervously with your hands while he reached out to the faucet, brushing past the soft skin of your arm which you had draped over your chest in a rather shy manner.
This simple touch alone left your skin to erupt with goosebumps and your eyes wandered over his strong arms, ending at his chest before you looked at the dark tiled wall once more, the rippling muscles beneath his skin embedded in your brain now.
"You don't have to be so reserved. I'm your partner after all," he pointed out lightly, not minding your eyes on him, and as much as he wanted to just push you against the wall and take you, he remained patient and caring. He knew this was a rather big step for you to take already and he didn't want to scare you with anything, but you simply nodded, unsure arms wrapping around his torso in a gentle hug.
Hiromi held back a chuckle upon this sweet and innocent gesture, holding you close to his body underneath the big shower head, hot water cascading down both your bodies now. He would lie if he said that your soft skin and your perked nipples pressed against him in such an intimate way didn't affect him, but his body betrayed him already - his erection twitching against your stomach and letting you feel just how badly he needed you. He cleared his throat and was ready to mumble out an apology for being inappropriate during such a delicate moment, but you looked up at him with a newfound hunger hidden behind your eyes.
Without hesitation he leaned down to capture your soft lips in a heated kiss, his tongue no stranger to your mouth as the kiss grew heated like oh so many times before. The butterflies were doing cartwheels in your stomach when his large hands reached down to hold your hips, pulling you impossibly close to his body in an effort to get you even closer until you had to break the kiss for air, his kisses traveling to your neck and it was evident that both of you yearned for more than just a makeout session.
By the time your hand stroked over his rock hard abs it was clear to him and he nodded almost breathless, craving the touch of your soft hand wrapped around his shaft for the first time, and when you finally did, he couldn't hold back a relieved groan. Hiromi's lips returned to yours once again as he guided your much smaller hand up and down the length of his cock, showing you just the way he liked it, but the way your hand barely managed to wrap around his girth left his head spinning, desperate to maintain focus when his hands crept over to your body once more. Calloused hands resting on your hip and just below your chest, your nodding of wordless consent was all he needed to let his hands travel further, one pulling you closer as the other started kneading your chest.
"You're so beautiful, doll" he managed to rasp out as his kisses returned to your neck once more, his low moans and pants filled your senses as your hand worked on his length to help him get off.
Your soft whines didn't go unnoticed by him when he gently rolled your pebbled nipple between his thumb and index finger, his lips now trailing down to take care of your neglected breast, the warmth of his mouth engulfing one nipple while his fingers played with the other left you rubbing your thighs together in desperation.
"Let me take care of you," he mouthed against the soft flesh of your boobs and you could only nod, your hand working faster on him as his teeth tugged on your nipple ever so gently.
He should have felt ashamed for being selfish, but your hands working on him got him off faster than his own ever could, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach and hands only to be washed away by the water right away. His head rested in the crook of your neck for a short moment, but before you knew it, his fingers were brushing against your thighs, begging for you to open up for him, which you did.
Skilled fingers caressed your inner thighs until he finally reached your core, and just as he touched the part where you needed him most his sweet touch disappeared, a small chuckle vibrating through his chest which caught your attention.
"We should take this to the bedroom, I want to take my time with you" he mumbled into your ear, his voice hoarse from how aroused he'd gotten by the thought of finally claiming you as his entirely. You didn't need to answer him either, the way you turned off the water within a mere second was answer enough and he shook his head at how eager you seemed to be.
Leaving the warmth of the shower first, Hiromi went to get a fresh towel for you, the soft fabric smelled like orchids and cotton, something you've started associating with him - with home. Just as he wrapped it around you, one hand stretched out to help you out of the shower and guided you to the bedroom you've been to a hundred times before. You should know the way by now,tuc but perhaps the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to fall off, was all you could focus on. You were grateful for when he gently scooped you up into his strong arms, the hint of chest hair tickling your skin before you were placed onto the bed with utmost care.
Warm hands tucked away the towel from your body to reveal your beauty to him, your body entirely exposed but you didn't feel the need to cover up. His gaze let the heat rush to your cheeks; it made you feel wanted, desired like you're the most beautiful woman on earth - and to him you were. You were perfect in every single way, almost feeling bad that he's about to ruin you like this but he craved to hear you whimper and whine for more, pawing at his sculpted body when he takes you past the edge, begging for him, pleading to fill you up - making you his entirely.
Of course he would take his sweet time until he is sure that you can handle him, the thought of hurting you made his heart clench and… he's been staring for too long, your sweet giggle filled his ears. You broke the shell of the composed man, you could make him crawl to you if you'd only ask. He was fully devoted to you and your love, craving you, his body screaming for you in every way - it was almost scaring him but he was undoubtedly yours.
Kneeling down just in front of the bed he pulled your body closer, your beautiful legs now rested over his shoulders until your glistening folds were right in front of his face, his dark hair tickling your thighs when he started pressing open mouthed kisses along your supple flesh. Minutes that felt like hours passed and you needed him, going crazy with how badly you yearned for his pleasure until your hands found their way into his silk like hair, pulling him towards your core with pleading eyes.
"Patience, my love" he whispered, his warm breath fanning over your folds and eliciting goosebumps over your body. You've never had someone this close to your heat but it was Hiromi - you had no reason to grow shy nor embarrassed over your feelings for him, his rock hard cock letting you know that he was equally excited for this.
His brown eyes held nothing but warmth in them when he pressed a kiss to the mound of your core, looking for any sign of discomfort in yours.
"Yellow if it's too much, red if you need me to stop," his words cut the silence in the room, accompanied by the thumping of your heart now picking up, almost sounding like a war drum. You nodded, unable to form words in the anticipation laced with nervousness, but it was enough for the man between your legs, trusting you to let him know if you weren't ready to go on and you knew he would never pressure you into anything.
Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his kisses travel over your mound onto your folds until his thumbs ever so gently parted them and exposing your wetness to him. Unsure what to expect you gasped softly when the first kitten lick of his tongue brushed over your exposed clit, fingers digging into his scalp at the sensation. You could feel him smile at your reaction, his tongue traveling through your folds in a zigzag motion only to circle your bundle of nerves, alternating between gently flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until you were helplessly bucking against his face. The pleasure washed over you which caught you entirely off guard with its intensity that you couldn't even warn your lover - but he knew.
Hiromi's tongue kept playing with your clit until he heard the cry of his name leave your throat, begging him, for what you didn't even know yourself but the orgasm that followed was better than any you'd given to yourself.
Allowing you to calm down, his tongue slowed down its assault on your sensitive nub only to travel further down, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. The slurping noises were lewd but you didn't want him to stop, neither when he pushed his tongue into your entrance, nor when the tip of his nose nudged so perfectly against your clit. Hiromi was entirely lost in your taste, eyes fluttering shut and breaking eye contact for a moment which made you swoon, seeing how much he enjoyed this - how pleasing you was pleasing him. Your juices kept coating his tongue, followed by soft groans against your heat, only for his tongue to leave your entrance and return to your clit once more.
"Gods. You're so addictive," he mumbled into you and the hand which rested on your thigh joined his tongue, his index finger gently circling your entrance to gauge a reaction from you, seeing if you show any signs of it being too much, but you were babbling at this moment, cunt clenching around nothing when his tongue started his assault on your bundle of nerves once more. Hiromi was certain that you needed this as much as he did, so he gently pushed his finger into your untouched hole just to feel how tight you clench around him from the intrusion.
Nodding you started to grind against his face and finger, needing him deeper, needing more and he heard you, briefly pulling his finger out of you before replacing it with his middle- and ring finger. Your cunt sucked them in, almost struggling to accommodate his thick digits - the stretch was much more than your own fingers ever managed and when he curled them into your sweet spot it was over for you once again. A loud whine erupted from your throat as the squelching noises of your pussy grew in volume
"Hi-Hiromi… too much!" You whimpered helplessly to get him to slow down but the second your sweet voice reached his ears, a clear stream of liquid splashed out of you and against his tongue. His fingers slowed down the moment you begged for it but your orgasm already washed over you, legs shaking violently on his shoulders when he lapped up the juices that just squirted out of you.
Your ears were ringing as your lungs desperately tried to get air back into them, not even noticing how your lover raked his hands over your thighs in a caring manner, absolutely mesmerized by you. He knew very well that your body was pushed past its boundaries so he wanted to stop or at least give you a break, but you finally came back to your senses, your gaze still hungry despite looking utterly fucked out by just his tongue and fingers.
"Don't stop… please," you whimpered, begging him for more. Oh you little vixen, knowing exactly how to play his heartstrings - how is he supposed to deny you such a request when you offer yourself to be devoured whole?
A single kiss was pressed to your right thigh before he put it down onto the bed, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle when he caught a glimpse of your frown.
"You're going to be the death of me, love" he mumbled amused, your left leg now lined up with his chest and shoulder as he stood between your thighs. The feeling of his cock resting just above your heat made you want to scream, the kiss that was placed upon your ankle provoked the smallest whimper to erupt out of you.
"Please, Hiromi," You encouraged him, entirely certain about going this step with him and he nodded, thumbs spreading your folds once more to get a view on how wet he got you, a small puddle forming underneath your ass on the bed, and he deemed it good enough to drag his length through your cunt, slowly.
Hiromi wouldn't last long if he made love to you now, far too riled up from all your moans, your taste and the way you squirted just from two of his fingers working their magic on you.
"'Romi... I need you," you begged, soft voice sounding strained now, almost desperate but he only picked up his pace slightly, his tip now nudging your clit just the right way to have you mewling for him once again, hands digging into the bedsheets from how sensitive you were by now and it took everything inside of him to not push his cock inside of you when he felt this close.
You could feel the twitching of his shaft against your wet cunt, heavy balls clenching as he spilled his seed over your heat and lower stomach, his head thrown back while a guttural moan left his throat. You really were going to be the death of him - now he was certain. Seeing your little pussy covered in cum did things to him, eyes darkening when he dragged the head of his cock through your folds once again to collect your mixed juices, only stopping when he arrived at your entrance. One last time his eyes wandered up your body to rest on your half closed eyes, looking so tired but so happy at the same time.
Hiromi needed to make sure that you still wanted this since you were almost at a point of no return. Sensing his hesitation you reached your palm out towards him, letting the man that stood tall like a tree between your legs lower himself so you may cup his cheek in the most loving way.
"I want you, Hiromi Higuruma. I've never been more sure of something in my life before," you whispered softly, the room around you falling quiet once more, only your heartbeats to be heard, hammering against your chests and begging to be united.
Your gentle giant couldn't ask for more from you, hearing you say it loud and clear - you wanted him, wanted this. His soft lips captured yours in an enchanting kiss and took your mind entirely off of the way the bulbous head of his dick slowly pushed past your tight entrance and molding you to be his.
A hiccup caused by your pain interrupted the sensual kiss but Hiromi was quick to help you, halting his advances when his length was halfway inside of you, taking your virginity with utmost care.
"Shh… you're doing so good for me, love. Do you want me to stop?" His voice sounded strained, yet caring and it was clear that it took everything in him to not thrust the remaining half into you which was greatly appreciated. His forehead connected with yours after he pressed a kiss to yours, waiting for you to say something, anything.
"G-green," your voice cut through the silence and allowed him to go on which he did, one of his hands still holding your leg to his chest while the other intertwined with yours, lips returning to yours in a desperate attempt to ground himself so he won't lose control. Hurting you was the last thing Hiromi wanted to do after all.
His balls rested heavy against you when he finally bottomed out, his deep groan echoing off the walls when you raked your fingers over his well defined back, feeling every ripple of his muscles beneath his skin.
"Taking me so- fuck… so well," he moaned breathless when his hips started to move with small thrusts, his thumb wiped a stray tear from your cheek and you weren't sure if it was from the pain or the fact that he made you feel so incredibly good. Weakly you nodded your head, drinking the praise in like it's the essence that's keeping you alive.
"My good girl," he continued, hips meeting yours with every word and he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest at any moment, seeing your jaw slowly going slack and your moans growing in volume to create this lewd image of his usually so sweet love.
Hiromi had to halt, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from the way you manage to steal his breath, your wet cunt gripping him like a vice and trying to milk him from all he's worth and he wanted to just fuck you senseless right then and there, hips pistoning into you like his life depended on it… but he didn't - he couldn't. Not this time at least. Instead his hips moved in slow but deep, rhythmic thrusts which let him feel every ridge inside your heat and only adding to his bottomless hunger for you. You were moaning beneath him, angelic sounds to his ears, but when he straightened up so he was no longer bending over you on the bed you suddenly cried out his name in pleasure, soft moans turning desperate for more.
The new angle made you feel even fuller than before, his tip angled perfectly to hit your sweet spot with every gentle thrust until your glossy eyes landed on his almost closed ones, nodding over and over
"I know you're close, princess. Just let go," he encouraged you, his thrusts picking up their pace to push against your sweet spot repeatedly until your toes curled and your back arched so perfectly off the mattress. His thumb rubbed tight circles onto your sensitive clit to drag out this earth shattering orgasm as long as possible - you deserved a first time to remember fondly after all, but he just didn't stop. Your breathless whines turned into cries for him, for more, for him not to stop. You were high on this feeling he gave to you, his hips rutting into you aimlessly at this point and his head was thrown back as his moans mixed with yours.
"One more, just- fuck! Just one more," he groaned with a rough voice, needing to feel you clench around him in bliss again before he allowed himself to follow you.
When your pussy clenched around him as another orgasm rippled through your beautiful body, he finally understood why they call it a little death. His hips thrusted into you a final time, burying himself as deep as he physically could while his dick twitched wildly inside of you and you could feel the way his balls contracted, slowly filling you up with his release.
Hiromi's vision went white for a moment, pure bliss taking over and his body felt like he was floating on cloud nine. You were going to be his own piece of heaven, your core gripping his cock so tightly he felt like it was hard to breathe but at the same time you were the oxygen his lungs needed.
His barely there thrusts finally came to a stop and he lifted your leg off his chest and shoulder before lifting your body against his chest so you could be as close as possible without having to slip out. The way he fell onto the bed with you was almost clumsy but he didn't want to let go of you, not even for a fraction of a second.
His big hand came up to wipe a strand of hair behind your ear, a tired smile on his lips "Are you okay, doll?" he asked with his voice like silk, needing to know if you were fine and you nodded tired, laying on top of him now with your bodies still connected.
Even with his own seed running out of you onto his body and the bed beneath, he made no effort to move, the moment was too perfect. Your body was draped over his, your limbs ever so tired as his hands ran up and down your back which was sticky from the sweat but he didn't mind it for one second. This moment dragged on for a while, gentle touches and even gentler kisses shared between lovers until your breath started to even out.
In your half awake state you barely noticed how he carefully picked up your tired body to carry you into the room where it all began, only registering it when the sound of the water running and the scent of lavender filled your exhausted senses.
"You can just rest, I'll clean you up," he whispered and lowered you into the warm water of the bathtub, following you mere seconds after where he let you rest against his chest again.
You let your eyes remain closed when he picked up the softest washcloth and slowly dragged it over your arms, your torso, your legs, and lastly over your sore pussy, still leaking his cum. There was nothing sexual in his touch, only tender care as he made sure to clean your body from any filth so you may rest and let him take care of you so you could wake up in bed to the smell of breakfast in the morning…
