pms? tender breasts? don't worry, your ꒰devoted꒱ boyfriend satoru gojo is happy to be your personal bra for the day ౨ৎ 1.1k
fluff ; crack ; suggestive art by @/Rezijellyfish0
It was a morning like any other.
You woke up curled right into your boyfriend Satoru Gojo's side, practically on top of him on the comfortable double bed. You didn't really have much room, not with his habit of lying down like a starfish, but you couldn't blame him – his long limbs just needed to take up all the space every night, and so you were forced to use your boyfriend as a pillow, of course.
Your favourite pillow.
You were awfully comfortable like this, nuzzling into his broad chest as the morning light started to bleed in through the half open window. Yes, so comfortable you could just drift away again... until.
Until those long limbs started to close in towards you.
That was another one of his morning habits, you see. Even for how spread out he liked to sleep, as soon as Satoru started to drift back into consciousness – you were the first thing he'd search for.
In his half asleep haze he closed his arms around you, squeezing you into him with all his might, letting out the most satisfied of hums. Not you, however – the sound that escaped your mouth was somewhere between a yelp and a cry for help.
"Baby?!" Satoru sprung into consciousness in a second. "What's wrong?!"
His bright blue eyes snapped open to see you pouting at him, hands over your already very sore breasts that he had painfully squeezed against his side. "Oh" he frowned, understanding. "It's that week, isn't it?"
You nodded slowly, letting Satoru manoeuvre you on your back so he could rest on his elbow next to you. When you first found out he was tracking your cycle you did call him a freak, but to be honest, it was worth it with how gentle he was with you now.
"Is it really bad?" he asked, tracing soft lines over your collarbone with his free hand. His touch was feather light, his hand apologising to your tender skin.
"It hurts" you exhaled, letting your head sink into the pillow with a long sigh. "They feel heavy"
"Heavy?" Satoru echoed, very obviously looking down to your chest. Naturally, you pinched him. "Ow! What was that for?"
"I'm in pain and you want to check if they're bigger?!" you growled, ready to throw a pillow right on his stupid white hair.
"No no no, you know I think they’re perfect” Satoru apologised immediately, peppering kisses all over your face. "It was for science only"
"Sure" you rolled your eyes, but you couldn't keep the angry act for long, not with your boyfriend's puppy dog eyes so close to your face.
"I mean it, I only want to help" he said, sitting up. And you did believe him – your boyfriend had been trying his best since he figured out how difficult pms was for you.
Last month, he even bought you a personalised hot water bottle with both your initials on it. Baby blue, of course.
You weren't sure who else would be confusing their hot water bottle for yours anyway, but its the gesture that counts.
"Come here baby, I'll help you up" he called to you with wide open arms, but as soon as he started to pull you up, you groaned again. "Is it that bad?" he grimaced, seeing your hands go back to holding onto your sore breasts.
Unfortunately, it was.
"It's ok" you tried to deflect, feeling bad for how worried he seemed. "You don't have to worry about m–"
"None of that" Satoru pouted. "Does that help?" he nodded to your hands, clearly some sort of plan starting to form in that head of his.
"Kind of" you replied, massaging yourself. "Should probably put on a bra" you sighed.
"In bed?!" Satoru shook his messy white hair side to side. "It's unfair" he completed solemnly. And you agreed with him.
But then he opened up his mouth again, with that tone he employed when he was going to suggest something... unusual.
"Why don't you...let me help?"
That made you stop halfway, turning up to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"Just… come here" he said, extending those pale fingers to you. You had one raised eyebrow, but let him do what he had intended – and soon his large palms were closing around your breasts.
"Pervert" you deadpanned.
"You said it helped!" he argued.
You took a moment, considering. You were very used to your boyfriend touching you everywhere, of course, but you had never seen him look so commited about it. It was almost endearing, in a kind of, um, odd way.
"So, what, you'll just be my personal bra today?" you teased.
"If you want me to" he nodded.
"Aren't your arms getting tired?" you narrowed your eyes at him.
"Baby, this is what I train for" he replied smugly.
You let out a little laugh, enjoying your boyfriend's silly plan and how serious he was about it. "You can't possibly keep this up" you joked.
"Wanna bet?"
You shouldn't have said yes. But of course you did.
The rest of the day was spent with Satoru glued to you – more so than usual. "You're enjoying this" you poked him as he stood with his chin on top of your head and his hands right where he promised they'd be, watching you make your morning coffee.
"You wound me, princess" he pretended to sigh. "This is for your own good"
Sure it was.
Later you sat down to watch TV, and Satoru placed you right on his lap, before his hands returned to your chest. "You're ridiculous" you laughed, his chin heavy on your shoulder this time and your back to his chest.
"Is it helping?" he asked.
In truth, it was. He was warm and soft and much more comfortable than a real bra; and walking around like you had been cursed into attachment was lifting your mood as much as it was annoying you too.
His eccentric ways were just one of the things you loved about your boyfriend, after all.
Of course, this all got a bit too ridiculous when you announced you were going to shower, and got followed by the white haired giant all the way into the bathroom. "You can't be serious" you looked up at him.
"I only want to hel–Ow! Ok, I'll be outside"
You laughed, seeing his pout as he closed the door behind him. It was adorable how devoted he was to this stupid plan – and you also couldn't deny you missed his loving touch as soon as he had let go of you.
Maybe he could help you shower too. He only wanted you to feel better, right?
"Satoru" you called, not even surprised when the door opened before you had even finished saying his name.
"Need me?" he grinned from ear to ear.
You would have pinched him again if he wasn't so damn adorable.
my boobs feel like they're about to explode and this is what came of it I don't know what else to say
In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna
“—because he was just making conversation!”
Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”
“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.
The car screeches to a halt not even a second later.
You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.
He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.”
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”
A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”
“Hmm?”
Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”
Synopsis. His new year’s resolution? To knock you up!
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, babyféver, BRÉEDING, creampíes, buIges, mentions of kíds, cervíx kíssing, full neIsons, GOJO’S POWERS, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, marathons, true form Sukuna, dp, Sukuna’s second mouth, p talking, cúmplay, spítting, making it fit, use of “ma’am”, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Be honest can y’all tell that I’m ovuIating…
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - FEVER!
“T-Tooooji-”
You’re being oh-so-easily shut up with just three stinging slaps! of Toji’s hefty, swollen tip. Strawberry-red, and just as angrily plump. Making such a mess when he’s smearing between your treacly walls in a gluey kiss - like he never wanted to let go.
And you never wanted him to.
Not even when he’s rolling his eyes with a mean titter, “Don’t remember my heh- birthday gift includin’ this chatty mouth of yours, doll.” A singular, masculine palm sheaths over your deliriously slack maw - rough. “S’even more talkative than her-”
But it was impossible not to be after these hours upon hours.
Impossible for your sloppy entrance to not drawl out resoundingly filthy slurps every time Toji’s scooping his buttery seed back in with his vicious fingers.
“Ya realize that’s supposed to stay ah- inside, ma?” Wrangling your legs open into a rude full-nelson to leave a sappy smack! at that gooey heaven right between. Toji sounds so utterly sullen at the waste, “How m’I gonna get myself a daughter if ya can’t keep it in, hm?”
It was a rhetorical question - and Toji was fucking you like it was.
Sculptured, beefy biceps barely even flexing at the practically non-existent struggle to manhandle your thighs open. It gave you both such a perfect view - of your saturatedly glossy pussy folds being constricted around his lazily sinking size. Struggling. Goopy masses of Toji’s honeyed cum from just prior being drooled out after every syrupy squelch-
“Mouthy fuckin’ cunt.”’ You’re hearing him whisper from right behind you, puffs of condensed air hitting the tender spots on your neck and making you keen. “Makes me wonder- heh- who the babyfever got talkin’ more. You or her.”
He was babbling nonsense - and you were, too.
The raw ruptures of his bloated head making your jaw droop stupidly open, lashing around your heated insides to probe up rigorously against those sweet spots. Toji Fushiguro had no relent - he had no mercy.
Because he was promised another damn brat for his birthday, and he wanted one now.
“N-now?” Your heart-eyes are bulging out, the trembly waver in your voice shrilling upwards after every drag of his balloony tip down the span of your elastic cervix. Oh, shit, did he say that out loud? Whoops. “Toji wh-what if it hasn’t ngh- taken yet-”
Toji’s cutting you off - urgent. Spitting, as if those mere words shouldn’t be spoken out loud. “Move that hand f’me-” Couldn’t even wait the few split-seconds it takes for you to shuffle your carefulling covering hand away before flinging it off with a rude swat. “-touch that lil’ bulge- ngh- wh-where I am. Feel me.”
Your fingerpads are shaky - unstable. Caressingly feeling for that riotous smooch of Toji’s bawling fat tip peppering tiny kisses onto your cervix. Your womb.
The blood in your veins boil with sheer need at the rounded globular edge, pressing down hard in just the way you knew that would drive Toji wild. Making his weighty breeder balls flinch with a harsh thwack! “See? Feel that? How m’alllll up in that cute womb? Bold of you to think that you’ll fuuuuck- walk outta this bedroom not pregnant, mama.”
He was determined. Feral.
Every puncturing rut had your spine arching into the most perfect curvature on top of him. Your back pressing heatedly in a lecherous massage against his heated skin, so bumpy with every flexing ab and muscle.
You couldn’t help but feel so…ruined. In the best way.
“I-is that a promise?” You’re craning your head over your shoulder, batting those tear-clung lashes in a way that makes Toji’s willowy eyes widen. Tongue pinpointing his sinful scar once his mouth waters. What a dangerous little thing you were. “Wan’ you allll inside, Toji—”
Yeah, dangerous alright.
“Can’t have it alllll inside if yer hngh- lettin’ this cunt drool.” You’re squealing when a few calloused pads of his strongly thick digits pry open your slobbering mouth agape. Letting your tongue loll out lazily for him to splatter a honeyed wad of saliva, “Tha’s what that hngh- filthy mouth gets.”
Before in the blink of an eye, he’s bullying a few free fingers between the pursed pucker of your sensitive folds until he was knuckle-deep. Rummaging out into the geysering orifices hidden against your melty walls, he’s knotting up the ribbony ropes of his creamy seed from trickling out.
Can’t have his pretty girl wasting a single ounce, now. How could he?
“And for my cutely ovulating wife…” You could barely even hear him above the thundering plap! plap! plap! of skin-on-skin, in such a cottony state of mind that you just register when you’re being gifted with another quick stream of spit lacquering your tongue. “-ya get- this.”
And it wasn’t just the slewing volumes of spittle that your open jaw was being splattered with.
It was the way you were cumming - without even realizing. Without even registering the uncountable heaps upon heaps of edging whines that flood your mouth, vision sparking white hot.
“M’cumming-” you’re gasping out. One limping hand bravely rovering to clutch onto Toji’s sweat-slicked locks and pull, “M’cumming m’cumming- ah! Toji–”
“Yeah yeah, e-easy on the merchandise, doll.” He’s groaning, but you can almost catch the way that he swallows. The way that his heavy balls shift with purpose underneath that girthy base to squeeze. Pulling taut. “Jus’ s-sit still n’ let me breed this ngh! goooood fuckin’ pussy like the good girl ya are.”
With a shudder, you feel like you’re being split-apart - more so than you already were.
Head buzzing with fuzzy little explosions at the thudding splatter! of just about the nth glaze of his seed scouring your deepest gooping insides. You’re being covered over and over in every tiny ridge and sweet spot with whipped icings of his potent cum.
And you can feel it almost knocking at your womb, creamed globs of it sliiiiding all the way down your walls with a promise.
“God…” You feel so full. Like your rubbery cunt was inflated widely enough that you think you might just burst.
He’s scoffing, “Toji works jus’ fine.”
“S-so cocky-” Head swimming cockdrunkenly with every jerking grind up into you, he’s slinging out the filthiest driveling squelches! that halfway drown out your pretty noises. What a shame.
“Oi oi, shut up-” But not to you. Toji simply can’t help but laugh - and if you were in any better state of mind, you’d have huffed at the sheer audacity. Gleaming ivory teeth snagging down onto your tender earlobe, “-the h-heh…mother of my kids is talkin’.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hubby material.
“Hands on the wall now, darling.” Nanami’s throaty order is spoken gently. Lovingly. But you knew better than to not listen - hastily planting your splayed-out hands onto the cool kitchen wall. “Good girl. Now gimme a little show.”
“Kentoooo-” That slutty arch of your back was almost embarrassing, and you’re sure that if it hadn’t been for the strong arm circled underneath your hips then you’d have been weakly collapsed on the floor. “J-jus’ put it in- already-”
“Shhhh- patience, my love.” Your dear husband is rewarding your pitiful whines with a sudden swat! right onto the jiggling mound of your ass. Tutting with every soothing squeeze of his massive palms, that glinting wedding ring cold against your stinging flesh. “Patience s’the number one trait a good parent should have.”
And he’s so proper.
Or…at least it seems.
Because those cracking whimpers spilling their way between your lips only make Nanami greedier. The slight tremble of your thighs when your teary slit douses the tile below with a sticky puddle of slick driving him wilder-
“I- I know-” you’re huffing, head craned with an oh-so-irresistible pout. “B-but a good parent should also be ngh- punctual.”
Punctual? Nanami Kento was always punctual.
To every date, every meeting, every appointment - everything but right now when he feels his swollen pink tip twitch at your smart little backtalk. Biting down on the hollowish insides of his cheek to keep that dark chuckling from slipping through.
“Hmmm…” Nanami’s letting his rich baritone drawl, perfectly knowing the way that it was enough to make your thighs squeeze together needily. He’s tapping a soft massage down your curved spine, “Let me think…you really think a good- hah- parent should be punctual, darlin’?”
“Mhm–”
“Y’know I always trust your judgement…”
And it’s so cute the way you can only nod and nod, babbling. “Y-yes. Please- Ken, need it- want it-”
Well then, if his wife says so. Right?
You’re barely even given the time to fucking breathe in a steadying gulp of the heady air before whatever remnants of it are being fucked out of your lungs.
Oh…this was a change.
Because there was something about the way that Nanami was shoveling all his long, solid inches into you with almost-reckless abandon. Something rough, something…carnal.
Like every heaving breath had his poor sanity fraying. Guiding one hand to wrap around his hefting hilt and smear away your adhesive-like folds with the globular mountain of his mushroom tip, the other steadied at the bottom of your back to angle you bent even deeper-
The stretch.
Fuck, the stretch - Nanami was so big. His incredible girth bullying past that taut first ring of muscle and peaking up into those spots without even trying. So fully encompassing each and every hidden nook inside your gooey walls that you always end it wanting more more more-
“Momma’s always gonna ngh- know best, hm?” Nanami’s hiccuping into your ear, flecks of golden blond sticking to his prespired skin and yours once he kisses away your cockdrunk splatters of dribble. “Awww, n-none of that hngh! drooling now, s’gonna make ya dehydrated n’ that’s not good for the baby, darlin’.”
You’re feeling a softened thumb glide along your lips to tenderly clean off the messy streaks of spittle. “Th-thank you, Ken-” Looking up at him with literal hearts for eyes, “-gonna be the best daddy.”
He was. He was going to make sure of it.
But hearing that from you?
Shit, Nanami has to sneak down a pinch at the side of his muscular leg just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or in heaven right this very moment.
Pulpy surfaces of his toned thighs smushing up against your own, he’s finding himself bending ever-so-slightly a few degrees at the knee to lessen the burden on his poor wife’s legs. Making your ears ring with the filthy paps of his hip-bones ploughing vigorously into your ass.
Bruising your skin, your cervix, your hips once one of his free hands scurry underneath you to take the pressure off of your ever-weakening hips. Crushing your back tightly against the rippling planes of his sculptured front.
And Nanami’s cooing gruffs come out scorching against the sensitive side of your ear, “C-can’t put too much ah- strain. S’not good for the b-baby…for my girls.”
Girls - not just one.
Nanami wanted two lil’ daughters that looked exactly like you, and loved you exactly as much as him. A blissful image of his little family drawing itself clearer and clearer with every smack! against the fat of your cervix. Tight. Close.
“Gonna take c-care of ya-” He’s inching his bludgeoning tip to slobber a fat stripe down the door to your womb, accompanied by an innocently tender peck against the side of your forehead. “Reeeal good care. A-and then…”
“And then, Ken?”
“Then- m’gonna-” You can only gasp when Nanami cranes his neck over to where your open palms are still positioned on the smooth wall. Glassy eyes ogling the twitch of the veins running down his throat when he’s placing a soft smooch right on your wedding ring, “-m’gonna marry ya all over again.”
Nanami Kento is sure that he’ll be renewing your vows every year. Every single week. Every single day - even after your daughters are born - perhaps if only you’d let him. If only you’d keep singing out his name in a sultry whine exactly the way you always do when you cum.
Head tumbling backwards with the sheer power of it, body wracking with boiling peaks of your high. Again and again and again-
“There we go, there- hngh- ready, my love.” He sounds so proud. So fucked. And you know you’re not imagining it when the rugged callouses of Nanami’s fingers dart around your throat to drag you into a steaming hot French kiss. One that left his weighty balls squeezing dangerously- “S’about to get…messy.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Baby SHOWER
“Oh shiiiiit, girl.” Geto’s rolling his eyes, softly rounded fingertips rovering down from its second-favorite position around your neck all the way down to his most favorite - smearing open your thoroughly stuffed pussy lips to pinch your puckering clit. Glazing his long five-inch digits with a treacly lamination of your translucent squirts. “Didn’t think you’d be so ngh- messy. S’this all f’me?”
Yes. yes, yes yes it was.
But you couldn’t mangle out the syllables right now - don’t think you had it in you to even try. Not with the way that he’s planting three sappy smacks! down your slobbering cunt. Snickering at the throaty little S-Suguruuu letting off from your lips-
“Ah ah- needy. Can’t even t-talk properly, huh?” And, fuck, was Suguru Geto ever-so-grateful that your copious amounts of orgasms tonight left you already fucked stupid. Because your saturated mind isn’t catching onto the way his rumbling baritone wobbles, the way he has to gulp before muttering. “Now, gimme a kiss. Heh, gimme a ngh- kiss n’ I might just cum inside to give you a little…daughter.”
The only thing you’ve wanted for so long now.
But Geto always did find you the cutest when you were teased. When you were split-open on his mean cock and whining for him to fill you up with each deeply vulgar stroke. It made him only want more.
Made his palms stretch your jittery thighs even wider in his filthy little mating press, like a gooey little banquet for him. Pearly canines showing off in such a snarl when you’re lolling your head upwards to press a few drawling smooches against the corner of his pretty lips, “O-oops. I missed, Suguru.”
“Try again.” Well, he has to build up the patience for raising his future daughter somehow, right?
Locking your ankles around that neck of his with only one strong arm, and the other grappling dexterously around your throat to drag you down. You’re being manhandled - unapologetically.
“But-”
“Again.”
“W-wan’ it insideee- wan’ a baby.” you’re squealing when his plummy cockhead spatters a few steaming hot dewdrops of pre against your poor cervix. Rutting out solid pound after pound. Each one making you desperately catch his chin, his jaw, his lips in a few drunken kisses. “Please, Sugu?”
Damn.
Damn that evil, evil nickname of yours.
And he really can’t help but steal a greedy peak down at your drooling cunt, scoffing at the way he feels his parted maw slip through a few rivulets of drool at the fucking sinful sight.
Your gummy pussy being molded wiiiidely open around his rummaging cock. Glossy rings upon rings of your sugary slick and his creamy pre being drenched upon every single inch that was bullied inside. Even more so when those bumpily inflated veins of his graze right against your forbidden sweet spots.
And Geto couldn’t stop his light-headed bout of laughter, teasing. “Second opinion?”
It’s almost as if every battering ram had your overfilled pussy talking back to him.
“C’mon- speak up.” He’s hastily swiping away the curtains of his silky black tresses sticking to his clammy forehead, yearning to hear those lecherous noises from below better. Before curling his engulfing palm once more around your delicate throat, “Not you- Oh? Mmmm-” he’s huffing out, ears craning. “If you say so, girl.”
Not to mention that you hadn’t uttered a single word.
But to Geto that didn’t matter, to him it was all he could do to nod along sappily as if having the most intriguing of conversations with your bulging cunt.
Nuzzling into the treasure trove of the crook of your neck, he’s gulping in your pheromones. Shuttering out hot puffs of words between every bludgeoning thrust, “Aren’t I so nice? Listenin’ ta what she says. Yer real lucky s’me fillin’ up this pretty ngh- pussy, gorgeous. Real lucky- because…”
“B-because- what?” You’re hissing, eyes decorating with puddles of oversensitive tears. They trek down your cheeks and make Geto groan once his ravenous tongue laps up every salty ounce.
“Because when I breed you, m’gonna do it right.”
A promise.
One he was already halfway through fulfilling if the way that Geto’s staggeringly full breeder balls were twitching against your slamming mounds of flesh told you anything. Urged you. Pushed and pulled with every mounted pump-
“G-gonna be all round and full, arent’cha, ngh- my gorgeous baby? Glowing?” And he was ruining the both of you. Brows marrying closer and closer with every cozy sheath, your clingy walls made his thickly swollen shaft just flood your spongy pulpy cervix with wiry ropes of precum. “Heavily pregnant?”
“Y-yeees-” Gaze heart-eyed and crossing diagonally together, you’re barely even noticing it when your dear lover rests his damp forehead against yours to pucker his lips and grace your tongue with a heavy wad of saliva. “Want it all, Suguru– a-all ngh- deep inside.”
“All?” He’s echoing, and something in his pupils amethyst pupils darken. Something in his voice hardens. Movements jittery and coated in a shimmer of awe when he strays one of your hands down to soothe over your tummy, “Sure ya e-even have the space? M’right-” Pressing down - hard - on that plump rotund tip of his driveling deeply down inside. “-here, y’know? Where our h-heh, daughter’s gonna be.”
Oh. Motioning out a lethargic nod, “All.”
Because Geto only lets his mind shatter for a split-second, his entire muscular body jolting. Fuck. You were going to be the fucking death of him.
Before giggling. Giggling. All drunk on your pussy and you, “Th-then- then, say it with me. Ngh- t-tell me you’re ready for the hah- biiiig stretch, gorgeous.”
“M-M’ready for-” Shit, so embarrassing even despite your barely-lucid state right now. “-the big stretch-”
“Uh uh- the biiiig stretch. Say it with me-”
Practically sobbing with need now - and your poor cunt wasn’t any different. You swear you could feel a sloshing pool of lewd juices forming right below you. “Fuck! Sugu- Suguru, m’ready for th-the ngh- biiig stretch.”
“Then…” he’s practically purring with delight. Ah, finally. “-fucking cum f’me, pretty momma.”
And when you do it’s riding upon the waves of his, too.
Seeing white, the peaks of your now-fragile high being ruptured and dragged out with every sticky waterfall of Geto’s aqueous seed.
Treacling into the narrow orifice of your sloppy hole, you could feel every swabbing ribbon slip and slide its way inside. Deeper and deeper every time Geto was fucking each voluminous ounce back in, in, in-
“Now now, what did I s-say…” Splattering out another sugarcoated douse of streaming spit onto your tongue, Geto is in no way shy about punishing your sopping wet slit with a resounding thwack! Tutting at the buttery white lipstain seeping from the corners of your puffed-up pussy and making such a filthy mess at his thickened base. “Look at all that ah- wasted. Mouthy pussy o’ yours said you could hah- take it all, but s’ like a shower.”
Your lips part when he’s pumping you doubly full with his relentless digits, shovelling back the velveteen slathers of his own seed back in. “Suguru…”
“Guess I jus’ hafta fuck ya full all over again.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Boys boys boys
“C-can you ah- hold my hand for this ngh! first time, baby?” He’s hiccuping out like a mantra - a prayer - after every sloppy peck of his ruddied tip onto your adhesive-like folds. Choso’s poor heart barely working up enough courage to dab a slow circle around your quivering entrance.
And he didn’t know what to do. What to expect but…the only thing that mattered was that he had you.
“Awww, of course, Cho—” It makes him so fucking shy how your warmly cooing tone is all it takes for his achingly hard cock to twitch. Mind shattering into a zillion shards as one hand of yours sweetly laces with his, “No need to be- ah- nervous.”
It was unfair - it was so fucking unfair.
You were driving Choso wild - absolutely feral with just a singular plap! of your rounded ass ricocheting down to ride your dear boyfriend free of his fucking soul. So tight. And…heavenly.
He didn’t read anywhere online that it was supposed to feel this good. Curving your sultry birthing hips in lecherous little circular motions that have his dewey eyes battered in tears-
And that was the fucking problem. Your hips. Your cute cunt. You.
“Fuh-fuck. So soft and warm…” Making him curdle out a few whining whimpers from between his plumped lips, puckering into an oh-so-cute pout as Choso bats his long lashes up at you. “Didn’t ah- didn’t know a p-pussy could feel so ah- good.”
He didn’t know what to do but let his slagging maw drool around where he was lathering the fleshy mounds of your tits with his syrupy saliva. Sucking.
Neat brows knitting at the way there was no milk - didn’t that manual say humans produced- ah, not yet. Not unless…He could faintly feel something in the very back of his melty mind sparking. “B-baby…”
“Mhm?” And oh, you could get used to that tone. Seeping out into Choso’s prettily rumbling voice whenever he got just a tinge too pussydrunk. Babbling. “Cho– what h-have I ah! said about talking with your mouth full?”
Fuck- Choso didn’t even register what he was doing - register what you were saying. Roughened pads of his tastebuds gleaming down your nipples for a solid few seconds before he’s gurgling out, “I- I want…”
You’re humming. God, he was so pretty like this. Handsome features blushing strawberry red at your half-lidded gaze and the way your clingy walls were smooching his bloated, mushroomy tip so tight. You had no mercy. “Yeeees?”
“I want a son.”
Oh.
Oh.
And just as soon as that sodden little confession is spilling from his lips - tumbling out like he didn’t even mean to formulate the words - Choso sees white. And he feels it, too.
Feels himself lathering your gooey cunt in heaps upon heaps of his torrential cum. Dousing thick, creamy swabs that pinpoint all your most tender orifices for him to dig into. So hot. Heavy. Swashing around in slight treacles at your thoroughly opened insides like a gluey second skin. And the rut of his hips is so animalistic - up, up, up with every ounce of cursed power he has.
Part of him knows he’s fucking pathetic to be cumming so early from just that - even if it was his first time.
But he doesn’t give a fuck.
Not when your pretty pussy had him seeing his future with you. Seeing stars - and you right there in the middle, holding onto a giggling bundle with his hair, and your eyes.
Not when his calloused fingers are latching onto your waist like he was planning on never letting go. And Choso’s jaw simply drops at those velvety ribbons of milky white spattering from your drooly cunt and sliding down the ladder of washboard abs.
You were clenching around him so cozily. So hypnotizingly. Perfect enough that…
Something snaps.
“Oh god-” he’s gasping, eyes wide - wild. Slender digits carving out neat crescents so harshly against your perspiration-simmered skin. Entire body hunching to French kiss the valley between your tits, “Oh god oh god oh…god…s-s’not enough. It’s not- I-I don’t think it took. Need to- to get you pregnant, baby.”
Sounding so genuinely devastated. You’re shivering at the warm splat! of his big, pearly tears between your bodies - lower lip wobbling at that heavenly slight right in front of him.
Of course it wasn’t enough. And, right now, Choso thinks it never will be.
His pretty lips are just letting out intoxicated nonsense by now. And during times like this, you really forget just how strong your beloved boy is.
How…greedy he is.
Because those electric aftershocks of his syrupy high had barely even passed. Barely even started to bate before he’s leveraging his superhuman strength to easily flip the two of you over.
You’re being crushed pliantly and helplessly in half between those drenched navy bedsheets and his flexing muscles.
Choso was just melting into you; saliva-glossed mouth slacking into a condensed kiss against your own, forehead desperate and feverishly hot resting against yours, big, beefy arms caging you in.
You could feel that sappy thwack! of his tight, globular balls smearing against your ass once more. That split, peachy cockhead of his skates right down your headily sweltering walls to gift a puckered snog against your cervix. And another. And one more. And just one more-
“H-hey…come back t’me.” He’s huffing out in lethargic little pants, palms clasping onto the crown of your head and pushing you down. Down. Down. Filling you up with his girthy cylindrical shaft until you were fucked stupid. He’s begging, “Hear me out- no zoning out, m’kay? Need you ta g–give me a baby, m’kay, baby?”
And despite the broken pleas that were flooding into his mouth, you couldn’t do anything against the way that Choso’s body was pinning yours down with hungry pound after pound. Fuck- is this what they say? About losing control? About…baby fever?
God, the thought is enough for him to curl his hips sleazily backwards until you’re squirming. Letting the fountain of opaquely milky seed gush! down your inner thighs with the wettest of squelches. They ring saturatedly in Choso’s ears like his favorite song-
Well, it was his favorite song now.
“Your hah- lil’ human womb s’gonna be so full- s-so cute.” Taking his time filling you back inch by inch. Choso’s button nose crinkles at the sight bouncy recoil against the spongy ends of your pussy. He can’t part from you - not even that. Doesn’t want to. Leaving kiss after kiss on your jiggling tits, sucking. “Need these f-filled. Need a son- m-my son. Gonna be the beeeest momma mhm- with the sweetest milk.”
A few sneaky set of his lips droop to your puffed-up nipples and bite almost mindlessly. Lacquering a heavy layer of spittle as Choso sucks like his favorite gummy candy.
And the way you arch your back into a perfectly slutty curvature to glissade your fatigued body against his sculpted front has Choso gaping. Has his eyes spying down at the bloated outline of himself inside you, nuzzling one mountainous palm. “A-and…ngh- daughter s’good too actually…maybe both. Maybe- maybe I just- jus’ really wan- need you.”
An uncharacteristically smug grin plasters all over his face at the way your mouth pouts, “B-boy or girl, Cho?”
Choso’s shivering. Aching with that red-hot depravation coiling at the bottom of his stomach to fill you up more and more and more- “Five boys- n’ one ngh- girl- all of ‘em with your pretty smile. You…you’re gonna g-give me that, right, ma’am?”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 1000 Yr. DILF?!
“Cummin’ on my cock again? Makin’ such a damn mess.” And anyone would recognize that disapproving tut wafting sternly from between the King of Curses’ lips, anyone would fall completely to their knees. “This yer hah- first time bein’ bred or what, girl?”
Except for you.
You’re not sure you could even if you wanted to.
Because Ryomen Sukuna had you all over him like his absolute favorite doll - your boneless limbs hanging on for dear life in this rude standing nelson he’d manhandled you into. His favorite.
One out of four of his massive palms splay out greedily onto the crown of your head, teasingly indenting the sharp corners of his black fingernails into your scalp. Dragging you to bear your droopy eyes into that cracked floor-length mirror at the very ends of his royal chamber.
“Oh riiight-” He’s rolling his eyes, hips bucking up to overstuff you full of his bloated shafts. And through the ever-so-slightly cracked lids of your own, you can spy his sleazing grin. “-it is.”
“K-Kuna Kunaaa-” Your mouth just can’t stop squealing it out like your own personal mantra, limp legs dangling in midair with every sloppy slap! of his dual lengths. You’ve never felt so…blissfully helpless. “I-inside. I need you inside-”
“M’already inside, woman.” Fuck- you were so cute when you got all stupidly cockdrunk like this. But it’s not like Sukuna was going to admit that, instead covering up for the roughened hitch of his breath with a snicker. Second free hand gifting a punishing swat! onto your clit. One. Two. Three. “Only thing tha’s not inside ya yet is my heir. Yet. Seriously- that fuckin’ ngh- greedy for me t-ta fill ya up till yer overspillin’ or what?”
And you can only nod. Nod and nod and nod while buttery scoops of his glossy pre sprayed all over your g-spot, your cervix, everywhere and anywhere.
Sukuna was leaving no crevice and sweet-spot unturned, the matchingly staggering sizes snugly barreling inside you until you were spellbound. And it really didn’t make him soothe his pace to be even just a bit more merciful the way those near-thirteen inches made your tummy swell.
Bloated up with such mouth-watering abandon. Just like it would if you were…
“...pregnant.” Oh, that word is leaving Sukuna with more of a whine than he intended. Hips snagging upwards to peak the lightning bolts of his thumping veins salaciously down the side of your g-spot. “A c-cute lil’ cunt like this is how yer gonna end up ngh- pregnant.”
Listen, he’s not one to get all stupidly sentimental.
But your heavenly pussy was just plaguing him with rosy visions of you and a lil’ gremlin to call your own. With pink hair and that stupid, stupid smug grin that was stolen undeniably from his genes. Dammit.
Who said you could make him feel all…mushy. He should have you charged with treason for this.
And, well, of course this was Ryomen Sukuna’s favorite position.
Of course, he’s taking that absolutely blasphemous advantage to let the second oversized tongue split apart his abs slosh outwards.
Slithering muscle careening its snailing pathway down your teary pussylips, lapping up ounces upon ounces of syrupy slick. Before twirling around and around that plump button of your clit. And it was so…filthy, it made you squirm.
“S-s’dirty…” You’re throwing your head back into the cushiony valley of his toned pecs in a frenzy, electric bolts of pleasure sprinting down your spine with every wet thwack! emanating from down below. Though, you weren’t complaining. You really, really weren’t complaining. “Kuna…”
And- fuck. You should’ve known.
Should’ve realized that letting your mouth smear dangerously open to echo out your whines would result in the devilish curse spitting a wet splatter right at the corner of your pouty lips.
And Ryomen Sukuna had perfect aim - he had the perfect ability to make this ordeal as neat as possible.
But where was the fun in that?
You were just so adorable with your saliva-slicked lips wobbling open, jolting at the terrorizing scrape of his overgrown nails smearing away the pools of delirious dribble. Gently.
“Dirty? Hah! Wha’s real hngh- dirty s’this pretty pussy in ovulation. Look.” He’s grunting out, and before you know it you’re being nudged even closer towards that ancient mirror. Fully drinking in the way that Sukuna was filling you up, the way that you were taking him. Chest heaving you up and down as he swallows in a deep inhale, “Can fuckin’ smell it on you- heh, my favorite time of the month. Has you beggin’ f’me to fuck you full with my seed? To give you an heir, huh?”
You were.
Throat scratching out the tiniest of pleas that you don’t even register slipping through your lips - but Sukuna could. He yearns for them.
Feels them stir up the heated depths of his rounded breeder balls when they stick against your ass after every tireless pap! Your hands crane around to claw useless into those bulging deltoids of his-
“Oi, where’d ya think yer scratchin’? Trynna run?” Preposterous. As if you could ever run away from him - from the bruising smooches that Sukuna was leaving down every elastic inch inside your goopy depths. Sopping. Sodden French kisses. “Or…” Tongue gliding down his bared canines, other tongue leaving a sappy plap! of a touch onto your peaked clit. “...or is it that momma here is gonna heh- cum?”
“C-cum-” Fighting to strangle out - as if you needed to, in the first place. You didn’t, but you were just so endearing like this. “-gonna cum- ngh- gonna- gonna-”
“A-after that, ya better fuckin’ make me a daddy.”
And if this was any other time then Sukuna would have mocked your pitchy whines. Lilted his growling baritone to taunt you as you fell apart.
But he couldn’t - because he wasn’t doing any better.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, so fucking embarrassing how the clingy embrace of your sopping walls clamping around his bloated lengths was enough to make him cum. Him. The all-powerful King of Curses at your utter mercy.
Those split, bawling divots of his splurging out seedy strings of pearly white, decorating your sloshing insides until it felt too heavy. Too tight.
Voluminous masses of his cum settling deep at the goopy depths of your pussy - and Sukuna always had so much to give. A smirk plastering all over his face once the sensitive undersides of his cocks brush up against one another.
Twitching to pry your gluey walls wide open enough to let a few thickly viscous dollops of seed frost your puffed-up pussy lips. Lips that his second mouth can’t help but kiss to clean up-
“Tch…such a damn mess.” You’re hearing ring inside our cottony brain from somewhere above, still short-circuiting blissfully. “But yer my mess, huh, Queen of Curses?”
♡ INO TAKUMA - “W-woah…”
Ino can’t stop himself - he can’t fucking shut up.
Pathetically drawling words tumbling out with every slight translucent sliver of fucking drool. With every pussydrunkenly content sigh that escapes him once he’s sinking back and forth past your tender entrance. “Atttta girl, th-this is the life…”
And, in fact, Ino can see his life with you when you’re on all fours and milking him so prettily like this. Especially when you’re like this.
He can see just how much prettier you’d look round and glowing and round- Filled to the brim with all of him until you pop out a cute lil’ boy with his eyes and your smile…or two boys…or three.
Ino can’t help but flex his wracking body forwards until you’re being absolutely crushed with the weight of all his slender muscles. Every plunging bump of his ruddy pink cockhead swirling into your most precious treasure trove of sweet spots. And the way your dewy eyes veer crossed with every one of his bludgeoning rams is so cute-
“P-pretty…” And he doesn’t mean it just as that cute lil’ nickname for you. Plumply puckered lips punching sweet little pecks down the pearlescent beads of perspiration at your forehead, “Wh-what do you think about taking ngh- us to the h-heh..next step.”
And, fuck- that should’ve been an inside thought.
That was supposed to have been something he kept to the confines of his sugarcoated brain.
But when you’re flashing a simpering curl of your lips like that, then he can’t stop himself from letting his angry cock twitch. Bursting with spattering showers of his scorching pre that make an easy trailway for Ino’s bulging shaft to slip and slide easily deeper. “N-next step?”
“Mhm–” Fuck it. He spits onto the curvaceous pads of his fingertips, gliding to nuzzle your swollen clit. Tugging on the hood of that sensitive nub in a way that makes you see stars. “The next step.”
“Engagement?”
“Nuh uh-”
“Marriage?”
“No, silly girl.” Letting off a few sickly sweet swats at your buzzing clit, he’s snickering at the way that makes your spine arch. Lips sleazing up a few kisses right down the middle, “M’talkin’ kids. M’sayin’ I wanna breed ya- knock ya up f-fuck I need to-”
And you’re so addicted to just how needy he is.
A bout of light-headed giggles making its way from between your slackened lips, that sound enough to make him huff out a pout and shovel a few solid inches even meaner. You’re mumbling out, “Th-that pussydrunk, Taku—?”
“Sh-shut up.” He’s grumbling, dousing his dextrous digits with a few candied slathers - for only a split-second before stuffing them into the slobbering orifice of your mouth. Making you taste yourself. Taste him. “Shut up when I’ve- ngh! g-got my cock kissin’ yer pretty cervix, sweetness.”
And it was true.
As if to make sure you don’t underestimate how serious he is - how ready he was right now - Ino’s trekking up one of his feet to plant right on the top of your head.
Pressurizing with that strengthened weight to shovel your face deeper and deeper into the pillowcase. Completely soaked with waterfalling layers of your saliva, only growing more drenched with every battered ram of his pulpy peach crownhead into that g-spot.
“Ngh- Taku-” Your fingers grapple hastily towards the creakily singing mahogany headboard, clenching. Moaning wantonly, “Taku- baby– fuck! Jus’ like that.”
“I know I know.” And he honestly doesn’t know how he finds it in himself to fucking roll his half-lidded eyes, all pretty white teeth bared in such a snarl. “Wanna milk me, huh? Take me fuckin’ cock n’ f-fuuuck gimme a ngh- son or two…” Mumbling, “...or three.”
Three.
Three.
Fuck.
It’s just about all you can do to weakly buck your hips in an attempt - an attempt - to meet his sloppy cadence. Nudging your hips up in sultry little gyrations that Ino is sure hypnotizes him.
And you can’t even blame him because you’re much the same-
“Wan’ it-” you’re muffling out into the silken fabrics, that awestruck expression on Ino’s face so cute that you’re gifting him with a long few sucks on his greedy tongue. Tasting him like your very favorite lolly, “O-one or two- ah! Want you to f-fill me up-” And he’s so tender interlacing his fingers with your own, letting you guide them up to your still-empty tummy and press. “-right here.”
You didn’t have to tell Ino Takuma twice.
“Shit- shit.” He’s gruffing out, mere moments before you feel his sharpened canines dig into the delicate crook of your neck. Hard enough to break skin-
Nothing more until he’s letting his sobbing divot burst out in stealthy ribbons upon ribbons of cum - already. Drawing out his initials into your rubbery cervix as much as he can over and over.
Ragged moans tearing into whines at just how blissful it felt, how embarrassing it was that he’s reaching his high just from a few of your words.
“M’sorry I-I-” Ino nuzzles the neat circle of his teethmarks, smearing the roughened pads of his tastebuds along those oversensitive indentations. That slight tinge of pleasurable pain making your gripping walls squeeze, and Ino hisses. “-actually- fuck! M’not sorry ngh- not sorry ta breed this ngh tiiiight cunt.”
You’re humming once one set of fingers loop your neck to drag you into every shuddering grind. Pumping your tight channel fuller and fuller with creamy swashes of cum, “G-gettin’ really cocky, aren’tcha, baby?”
“Only for you.” He tuts, “Gotta h-hope our ah- two sons don’t get my personality, huh?”
“Three, remember?”
Oh.
Oh?
“Can you…” Ino’s whispering, throat ragged and raw. Gazing droopily gluing together with tears and utter heart-eyes when he’s babbling onwards, “...can you marry me, pretty?”
♡ GOJO SATORU - SIX EYES
“Sweetheart…sweetheart-” Gojo’s voice comes out in more of a rasping growl than anything else, and it’s just as fitting that he’s latching his pearly whites onto your throat to help drag you down, down, down. “Dammit…you’ve gotta s-stop movin’ around so much n’ just ngh- Take it take it take it take- it-”
Take it you were - for the past few hours now, in fact.
And the electricity was already out in every ward of Tokyo, your bed was already splintered and useless.
But Gojo’s heavy cock was still sputtering out rummaging swab after swab into you right then and there on your bedroom floor. Leaving creamy remnants of cum glissading down your insides everywhere. Anywhere.
Fuck - he came again.
Gojo can barely blink his eyes open to admire the traces of gooey white that made their home inside your sweltering hot pussy. Good, he’s stuffing back that soppy puddles forming at the ends of your puckered crease, very good.
“W-was told m’Christmas gift would be ngh- you all round n’ pregnant-” he’s whining in a sickly syrupy tone against your ear. And you’re catching the way that Gojo’s gummy pink lips curl into a pout, “So we’ve gotta start early.”
Shit- you didn’t know what to expect telling Gojo that you were…ready.
But it certainly wasn’t for the famed strongest to lose his goddamn mind, for him to lock one beefy bicep around the small of your middle and drag you like some glorified ragdoll to meet his determined mating press.
“T-talk t’me pretty momma–” He’s plastering his body all over yours, greedily sucking up every ounce of space you own. It was his space now. Just like this was his pretty pussy that he was breeding.
“Satoru—” Your fatigued fingers cradle the side of his handsome face, motioning to scrape across Gojo’s cloudy tufts of white in a way that makes him purr. That makes his overworked cockhead douse your heated cunt with copiously thick dredges of pre. Perhaps even tiny wisping ribbons of cum. Just from that. “H-how are you still…”
Honestly, you didn’t even have to ask.
Because even through your bleary heart-eyes, you’re catching the way that his narrowed eyes bolt with miniscule flickers of bright blue lightning. Zapping with cursed energy as they droop drunkenly half-lidded, “H-heh…perks of bein’ ngh- fucked by the honored one, girlie.”
But the one ruined here was him.
Every warm lacquer of his own treacly seed swirling and sloshing against his shaft with every jittery rut. The weepy swipe of his peach-pink tip has Gojo’s fuzzy mind blanking. Feverish ounces of blood making his bludgeoning cock swell fatter and fatter-
“Sh-shit…” Gojo’s maw spills open, watery eyes of sapphire sprinting all the way to the very back of his lid. Only to be greeted with visions of stars and you, you you - all round and…pregnant. Fuck, he needed this bad. “Dammit dammit- dammit! Think m’gonna cum–”
You’re nodding, “Cum f’me, Toru– D-don’t miss.”
As if he would ever miss.
“Damn- how filthy.” He’s grinning, “Could cum from j-just that, y’know?”
But if you noticed the urging tease in his words then you don’t snap back - you can’t. Making the towering man himself let out a low whistle, “Oh? No mockin’? Shiiit- that fucked dumb, huh?”
And you really shouldn’t be surprised when the stilted atoms in the air seem to freeze around you two. Everything tight and stuffy with the use of cursed energy as Gojo’s activating his six eyes, glowing eyes eagerly feeding down upon- oh.
You can’t help but let out little whimpers at the bzzzzz–! of jujutsu when he’s skimming a few six-inch fingers down your tummy. Down, down, down like he could see through-
“Hmmm, right on time-” Gojo’s chuckling - and there’s something else that’s utterly dark tinting his sing-song voice. Something…dangerous. This really was the strongest. “-yer ovulatin’ right now heh- this one’s gonna be th-the ngh! one.”
“Wh-what?”
“My daughter and my son- duh, my silly girl.”
Fuck, what?
Only being able to gape at the lustrous sheen of drool flooding from between his grinning lips. Snowy brows raising the longer Gojo’s gaze locked right where your womb was. He was so fucking eager.
Barely even realizing what he’s doing - whether he’s even using his powers - when resting your boneless legs on top of two strong forearms. You could feel the flex of his muscles underneath your flesh as Gojo unabashedly and unapologetically cracks your legs even further open.
His own personal buffet.
Vicious thrusts ruining the syrupy harmony inside, “Not gonna miss- never g-gonna miss f’it’s ta ngh- make my cute lil’ twins, m’kay, my girl?” Patting at your inflationary cylindrical outline, “Gotta s-safe space riiiight here s-so just-”And you keen when a fat fingerpad lathered in vibrating jujutsu thumbs over your clit. “-cum.”
And you were more than happy to.
To let that tautly pulled string of yours burst to fall right over the edge. You’re cumming with Gojo’s mouth on yours and his swollen tip French kissing your bruised and battered g-spot. Marking out permanent indentations of his girthy circumference.
“Thereeee we go-” He’s giggling - giggling. Limitless long since flickered off to let your nails drag their red, red patterns down his Herculean back muscles. “Mhm- Toru’s here. Tha’s right, h-hngh! hold on wh-when ah, fuck- Toru here fills ya up…”
And it was much more than just filling you up.
Because it’s like Gojo was trying to flood your poor insides, his cock hitting in a sappy thwack! against the rubbery end of your cervix to glaze out thick wiry bursts of cum. Again. And again. And again and again and again- because he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
“Take it- oh, take it.” He’s breathing out, heaving right into your open mouth. Perhaps if you were in any better state of mind you’d have noticed the way the furniture jitters, moves. Reeling into the magnetic field that was Gojo Satoru and his six eyes bumping into overdrive. “Can see it- hehhhh– My good fuckin’ girl milkin’ every inch of me. Just look at h-how you have the ngh- strongest. On his fucking knees…”
But Gojo didn’t mind - not one bit as his creamy dabs slipped and slided to stain your pussylips a glossy white. Pretty pinkish balls squeezing out a weighty few wads of sap before he’s whimpering. Yes, whimpering, “Ngh- I c-can tell the ah- first s’gonna be a girl…my cute daughter- gonna be as ah- pretty as her momma. And my son- heh, total momma’s boy.”
Just babbling right now - begging and begging for you to take even more with his hips fucking you powerfully full.
“Sweetheart…” Gojo’s eventually piping up over those ringing squelches, oversensitive eyes fluttered firmly shut.
“Hm?”
“Yer gonna be such a fuckin’ MILF.”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Pony.
“Ride it, angel-” Higuruma knows he should let his poor girl take it easy, he knows he should wipe that filthily sleazy grin off of his face when your hips stutter even harder down all of his mean inches. “-I said ride it- ride me. P-put those hips to work now like a good girl f’me.”
And you were.
You couldn’t stop - not when your babyfever was at an all time high.
Barely even letting your poor husband walk two steps past the front door from work, barely even letting him take off his sexy office suit before burying his swollen cockhead deep past your sappy folds. Needing him.
You were leaving needy smooch after smooch of your glossy folds on the neatly trimmed happy trail down his washboard abs for what seemed like hours now.
But it still wasn’t enough. Still. Your mouth aching for the same kiss-
You’re wrapping your fingers around the silken fabric of his tie to haul him even closer. “Wan’ a k-kiss, Hiromi–” His pretty first name dripping from your tongue like a prayer, and the way that only makes him gulp has your velvety orifice spraying out a sodden rivulet of treacly slick.
“A kiss?” Higuruma’s batting his dark lashes teasingly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a simpering smile that only you had the privilege of ever seeing. Your glissading body gets easily pulled into his with a hefty arm wrapping around your waist, head tilting upwards. Close. “Really think ya deserve a hah- kiss, my slutty girl?”
“Y-yes–” Your hips are swerving in languid gyrations to swallow everything that Higuruma has to offer. To let your depraved walls cling onto the heated girth of him tight enough that it’s almost as if you were trying to permanently imprint every one of his bloated ridges, every vein, every thwack! against your plush walls. “W-won’t you give the ah- mother of your kids a k-kiss, Hiro?”
Oh.
Oh…
Higuruma’s dewy eyes are snapping open, jaw loosening with raw shock and something…carnal. You really were made for him - you clever, clever woman.
“So…” He’s quirking up a stern dark brow, and suddenly you’re reminded why so many find your attractive husband so intimidating. “A kiss, huh?”
Clasping one of your wrists to place a long peck against the back of your hand - it’s so gentlemanly. So tender. “How about this for a hah- kiss? Or…” The complete opposite of the way that Higuruma’s hips were bucking uncontrollably up, up, up - breaking through your steady tempo to plant a thorough clash of his mushroomed tip against your cervix. Sneaking in a loooong drag right down the middle to make sure that you’ll feel him puckering up there for days. Weeks. “-how about this?”
Fuck.
He was so mean.
Cackling out at your huffing and puffing, “S-so rude- Ngh- I take it back, don’t want ya to b-breed-”
“Awww, don’ say that my pretty lil’ wife-” The mahogany bedframe sings out protesting creaks when he plants his feet onto the cushiony mattress, driving his scouring crownhead into you lazily. Mazing through those gluey walls of yours to wrench out tiny squeals as he easily takes over. “Don’tcha know how hck! badly I wan’ my own lil’ family. A lil’ daughter.” One hand tugging on the tie that was still dangling haphazardly from his neck, “You jus’ hafta- hah- sit there all p-pretty and take it. Let me fuck ya full, tha’s all…”
That’s all but it felt like anything but.
Because Higuruma was no stranger to letting his speed pick up as dirtily as he wished, pounding into the tight crevices of your gummy hole until you felt like you were molding to his exact circumference.
“H-hate how you always know what to- ah!” He doesn’t even let you finish your half-heated sentence, letting your hands rest precariously on the broad deltoids of his shoulders. Because you felt so weak.
“Mhmm— love you, too, angel.”
He knew exactly how to ruin you.
Tweaking a few fingers over to rub that silvery sheen of your sweet, sweet juices taking over the sensitive nub of your clit. Flicking at where you were the most tender with one index, he mutters, “Heh- cute.” Before tap! tap! tapping your gorgeous tummy - oh, how he loved every part of you. Every part of here that he’d make sure grows full…glowing with his kid. “S’bout time I ngh- filled ya riiiight here. Must be feelin’ awful empty, huh?”
Glazed eyes of yours latching onto his, “Yes- fuck- f-feels so lonely without ya.” Shit, those babbles were affecting Higuruma more than he’d like to admit. More than he wanted but- really, he couldn’t complain. He was addicted. “Want you to c-cum in me. Okay, Hiromi?”
Higuruma can only titter, “Yes, ma’am.”
And when he does - when he finally, finally does with a few vicious strokes plummeting against your most mushy spots - it’s so much that whatever shredded rationality left in you seriously wonders about your little request.
“G-gonna gimme a ngh- daughter, right?” Feeling the hot trickle of Higuruma’s cum showering your inner thighs, buttery globs of pearlescent white drooling from your pussy lips. “Lemme p-play hah- barbies with her. Lemme teach her to have one h-hell of a smart mouth like her parents.” Talking up to him in saturated squelches with every drilling plap! up into your overspilling pussy. “Teach her ta be as sweet as her momma.”
He was daydreaming. Eyes slipping dangerously closed with each stubborn dab of seed pushed into your womb.
And you’re running your fingers through his now-disheveled slick-back, “S-sounds amazing, baby–”
“Yeah? This ‘nough?” He’s groaning against your jaw, your throat. Needy and clingy - just the way that he can’t help getting at the honeyed slosh of his seed inside you. “Take it- take it, okay? Shiiit ya got even tighter- S’allll yours ta milk and…and…”
“And- ah! what, baby?”
Peck after peck until, finally, against your lips, you hear- “And, if ya take it all like a good girl n’ I’ll let ya hngh! ride my nose next, angel.”
you finally call it quits on your boss and taboo lover, gojo satoru, fearing that the age gap will never work out. in your grief of missing him, however, you find yourself hooking up with less than savoury company. . . at least your new boyfriend is your age right? you could compensate for him. that is until, of course, you're reminded exactly why someone double your age did it so much better.
⌗ wc : 8.5k ( throat it to the base pretty pls )
♡ ₊˚‧ cws. age gap ( 40s/20s ) :: smut :: angst :: alcohol consumption :: protective!satoru :: reader's bf makes her super uncomfy :: yearning :: hurt/comfort :: makeup sex :: f.oral :: dry humping :: body worship :: praise :: slight degradation :: pussydrunk!satoru :: p in v :: riding :: mating press :: rough sex :: overstim :: multiple orgasms :: phone sex :: possessive!satoru :: creampie :: idiots in love
♡ ₊˚‧ sweetheart. this was commissioned by @chewiebee , thank you baby! art by the glorious @baobei-bu
꒰ guys my age info post ꒱
You always loved challenges. From academic rivalries. To exam duels. To contesting yourself against your previous record of how many hours straight you could study before your eyes got blurry and your brain shut down.
But this one did more than just physically exhaust you. It ached deeper: your heart.
You didn't even know you had a heart. Physically, scientifically, yes. From a young age you learnt that your brain outweighed the little organ pumping blood to it. That's simply how it was for a valedictorian. Studies first. Feelings later.
So why was your heart louder than your brain nowadays? Surely not because you called it quits with a certain white-haired, blue-eyed, genius chairman, right?
. . . Right?
It was for the best. That's what your brain said. Gojo Satoru, your infuriatingly charismatic boss and taboo lover had poisoned your mind like a neurotoxin. Shutting down all executive function and binding your logic. He was distracting you. Jumbling your goals. Making you feel.
Your heart told another story. Whispered the truth to your bitter mind. That it was scared. Scared that Satoru needed a woman that could keep up with him. Someone mature. Who he could settle down with. Not some college girl.
Not someone your age.
That day in his office, you let your brain speak. Told him that he was distracting you. Getting in the way of everything you were working so hard for. You didn't need his spoils, nor his favour. Didn't need him handing you the easy life on a silver platter when you wanted to meld the metal with your own hands.
He thought you were joking at first. You couldn't blame him. Just a week ago you were in his penthouse. Drinking from his coffee mugs and wrapped in his shirts. Just a week ago, you were in this same office. Sat in his lap. Held by his arms.
But you were always the cold type. The kind of crystal that froze rather than burned. And that day— you gave Satoru frostbite.
So why were you the one feeling the chills?
The following month was more than cold. Winter stole away Japan's long awaited spring in your heart. Shrouding it in frost and slowing it to a dull squeeze.
Whatever. You didn't need a heart anyway. Didn't have one. Your brain was all that mattered so it was what you put to work. Thrust it into overtime with your nose buried into books and your eyes drowning in equations.
This was your time to focus. Chase those dreams and leave the fantasies behind in the dirt. It wasn't easy, of course. Satoru was still your boss.
His eyes were still naturally drawn to you in meeting rooms. His tongue still remembered each endearment when he'd thank you for bringing him paperwork. You'd made it a mission to avoid him.
Because maybe then you could forget how the same hands that scribbled out theories on a glass whiteboard were the same hands that caressed you. Tender, rough and anything you wanted them to be. Maybe then you could pretend that the same voice giving announcements and directing orders was the same one that whispered to your ear. Lulled you to sleep or teased you to squirms.
Maybe. Just maybe. You could wrest all the memories into your palms and squash them with that same clinical coldness you've always known. But every time you tried— they bloomed. Like a flower through the cracks of snow. Warm. Taunting.
So you decided to uproot it. Force spring back since your heart was so insistent. Plant a new garden with new flowers. New memories. With someone new.
Hiroshi was right up your alley. Someone new. Loud, and boisterous and not chained by the academic curse. A little disorganised. A little everywhere. But he certainly was new. Younger.
Your age.
He was nice. Or at least, he tried to be. Probably just a little airheaded with a lust for life rather than the future. Live fast, die young. That's exactly what you needed, right? Someone to get your mind off of the ghost haunting it.
Sure, he was a little messy. But most guys were, weren't they?
Satoru wasn't.
Yeah, he made you split the bill every time you went out. But that's a fair expectation, isn't it?
Satoru wouldn't.
And sure, maybe he was a little inconsiderate when it came to your body. But you shouldn't expect him to put your pleasure first, right?
Satoru would.
Spring locked away in the depths of your heart and winter reigned supreme. No matter how hard you tried to wedge Hiroshi into the open wound left in that pesky organ, it was hopeless. He was but a peephole in the crater that Satoru's absence left within you.
Whatever. You were just making excuses. Of course being with someone your age after months in the bed of a man who was double it was going to be a whiplash.
You're overreacting. You just needed to adapt. Give Hiroshi a chance. You liked challenges after all, didn't you?
That's why you're here now. Florescent lights skittering like the thrilled bodies bouncing all around. Bumping and grinding. Drunkenly dancing to the beat blaring from vibrating speakers. The music crumbled with static at the corners. Too loud. Too bass heavy. Too everything.
Parties were hardly your scene. At the end of the semester most of your friends fled their homes for a night on the town— while you readied your markers and colour-coded the next semester's planner.
But instead of schedules and highlighters, your hand occupied a red solo cup. Still brimming. Barely touched. The very plastic itched your fingertips. You still reeled from the bitter taste of bear on the back of your tongue. Curled in when you remembered how much skin the shimmery mini dress exposed. Another thing Hiroshi insisted on.
Your eyes flitted through the sea of heated bodies and dazed dances. Feet glued to the floor and a weight strung on your tense shoulders. Relax, Hiroshi had told you. Let loose and enjoy the party life for once.
He had called you a hermit. Rolled his eyes and gave you the silent treatment when you first denied him. So here you were now, with your boyfriend one-too-many cheap drinks down and his arm heavily wrapped around you. Swaying to whatever beat of whatever song you couldn't even recognise as he chatted— or rather, shouted— to his equally as wasted friends.
Go with the flow. That's all you did nowadays.
Their laughter pierced your ears and jostled you back to the overstimulating reality as one of Hiroshi's friends pointed his almost-finished cup at you clumsily.
"She's a pretty one huh 'hiro?"
For the fourth, disgusting time that night, your boyfriend hauled you in and smashed his lips to yours haphazardly. Smearing the bitter taste on your mouth and sludgingly sucking on your tongue until you'd shove him off again.
"Mhhm, she sure is," he slurred. Carelessly squeezing your ass in spite of his tittering friends. You squeaked. Shot him a small glare, but still tried to smile.
Hiroshi only tugged you further. Grinning with glossed-out eyes to his friend. "Wanna try?"
You thought it was joke. Hiroshi always cracked terrible ones. But when he nudged your side and gestured to the guy's eyes who lit up— your hand braced his shoulder.
The protests died on your tongue. So you shook your head. Hoping the little gesture would usher them both off, or at the very least get one of the other guys to tell them to knock it off.
But Hiroshi only huffed. Wrung you closer and snatched your jaw. "C'mon babe don't be like that. 's jus' a kiss."
You shook your head again. This time with some violence. "Hiro I don't wann—"
"Don't be a bitch."
He wrest you forward. Squishing your face hard between his fingers. Your hip cramped under the hand of his friend who stumbled forward. Mouth opened. Heavy for yours.
The surge of panic took hold. Your foot slammed on his. Elbow jammed into Hiroshi's side. You utilised the nails you had to manicure with your own damn money after the bastard went back on his promise and clawed until you shoved them both off.
"What the— fuck!" You hissed at Hiroshi whose face went red.
Crack!
You stained it redder.
Smacked your hand straight across it and shoved one more time until you were stumbling on your heels. Ignoring his slurred hollers and the jackal laughter of his friends as you pushed through the crowd.
Ears ringing. Heart racing. You scampered into the thick sea of heat and pungent booze. Flashing lights blinding. Music deafening. But you managed to stumble out of the blasted place.
The crisp night air slapped you in the face. Was that spring's lingering chills or the winter inside of you that spilled out?
Heart hammering. Maybe your mind— nope. Scrambled too. Fuck. Not a good combo.
You're not sure which of the two made you snatch your phone despite shaky hands. Heart, mind— brain, soul— who fucking cared anymore. Your thumb jerked through your contacts and jammed the bottom of the list.
Against the curtly renamed Mister Gojo.
You barely heard the call's ringing with the cotton stuffed in your ears. Once. Twice. Thrice. He usually picked up on the second ring. Now you're on the forth.
You should hang up. What were you thinking? It's been months—
"Hey."
The night air had nothing on the way that voice rasped with tiredness froze you to the pavement. Drawled with ungodly hours in his lab, you're sure. He was probably on his way out. You could picture him. Still in his lab coat. Rimless glasses shoved in his tousled hair.
"Been awhile since you called me, sweeth—" his caught the slip of his tongue. Cleared his throat. Maybe rubbed the tiredness from those heavy blue eyes. "Need something?"
"Satoru."
Miles apart and still, you felt him go stiff over the line. His name was a tremble on your lips. No last name, no titles, no honorifics. Just a shaky, raw, Satoru.
"What's wrong?" He asked quick. Wide awake.
"Please come get me." You bit back tears. Sucked in a sob and locked eyes with the concrete. "I— I'm sorry. I just need you to come get me pl—"
"Sweetheart, where are you?"
The gentleness of his voice, the seriousness of his question and the tenderness of the nickname strummed a deep ache in your chest. A sob finally cracked into the line. "Sent you the location. Please come get me."
"Sshh, it's okay. Coming to get you right now okay? Stay where you are."
You yearned to stay on the line. You're sure he wanted you to as well. But your shame swiped the end call button and you stuffed the phone back into your purse. Hands clinging to your elbows as you slumped back into the bricks.
The minutes droned on in your spiralling mind. Replays of tonight's events and several other offences tallied. A miserable repeat of the last few months and all the bullshit you endured with Hiroshi. All for what? Your insecurities?
While your heart was put to some ease, shivers still crawled goosebumps up your arms. You shuddered. Hugged yourself closer as your dress shimmered in the moonlight. What the hell were you even doing in an outfit like this in the middle of spring?
Ah, right. Your boyfriend— soon to be ex— told you to ditch the jacket. And of course you fucking listened to him.
You attempted to rub the goosebumps away as you leaned against the bricks. Limbs pressed into each other as you contemplated the ridiculousness of it all. You're here, in a dress that barely covered your ass, with cheap booze on your tongue and your disgusting boyfriend's kisses on your lips. Haunted by the incessant replay of whatever happened back there with the cold biting into your—
Warmth chased the winter. Wrapped around your shivering body in leather and the scent of familiar cologne that eased your muscles. Your fingers instinctively clamped around the dark jacket as you huddled into its comfort and the strong, embracing arms that came with it.
"You okay?" A voice murmured against your temple.
Your gaze snapped up. Tears flooding the second you met those soft blues behind rimless glasses. Satoru stood before you. His height and shadow shielded you from the horrors inside. Brows knitted and mouth pulled in a frown. His jacket hugged around your quivering form and his arms as your refuge.
You choked on his name. Melted into his warmth. Knees ready to give out as you shook your head and tried to stifle a response.
"I just—"
"Hey! The hell you doin' with m'ah girlfriend?"
The drunken slur stiffened you in Satoru's embrace. Your hands gripped on his biceps as Hiroshi staggered over. Eyes glazed and hands balled. Sporting the nasty hand mark you left on his face.
Satoru didn't need any explanations.
Soft blues sharpened into ice. Cut over his glasses and struck Hiroshi where he stood. His arms tightened. Voice steeled.
"Get lost."
Your hands fell to his shoulders as he crouched down. Fingers unclasping your heels and slipping them off of your aching feet. He paid no mind to Hiroshi who wobbled forward with his finger pointing and face flared.
"The fuck are you?" His slurred voice raised. Satoru hardly flinched. Hooking an index into your heels while his forearm braced around your waist.
Hiroshi shouted.
"D'you have any idea who the fuck yer talking to?"
Not a wince. Not even a blink. Satoru scooped you up into a princess-carry and jerked his head to the drunkard. Staring down his anger with a cold warning and hard glare.
"Do you?"
Maybe it was the way in which he didn't have to raise his voice. Or the blizzard that brewed in his pale eyes. More than a threat. A dare. A dare for Hiroshi to put his money where his mouth was while Satoru's got your teary face tucked in his chest.
"I won't tell you again. Fuck off if you know what's good for you." Cold and crisp. Satoru held you closer and turned heel on the gobsmacked Hiroshi. Leaving him a statue in the winter while you were tucked into the warmth of a car you missed so dearly.
He set your shoes down and clicked in your seatbelt, before shutting the door and rounding into the driver's seat. Not a word. Not even a glance. As the engine stirred and for the first time in months— you actually felt safe.
The car ride stewed in silence. Street lights glinting through the window you fixed your stare to. Despite the warmth that both protected and caressed you, winter peskily crept on your forearms and tugged at your heart again as the adrenaline faded.
You were here again. In his car. In his jacket. Next to him. You called, and he came. Your mind tried to face it with logic. You were a young woman and Satoru, for all his theatrics, had morals. Of course he'd come for you.
But once more your whispering heart, damn her, told another tale. Repeating the reality that he was here. Not for obligation or ethics. Satoru was here. He came because you called.
Your mind scrambled while your heart sung. Some hopelessly romantic lyric about how she knew he'd never forget her.
After forever and half, he didn't shatter the silence, but nudged it.
"What did he do?"
You steeled it. Tucking further into the seat and hiding your stiff shoulders in the jacket. His jacket.
"It's fine."
No tongue clicks nor breath hitches. Just the small flex of his fingers on the steering wheel. A tiny crack in the cool display he held. Yet not a single followup.
Your shoulders eased again. Satoru left you be for the time being, but you knew that wouldn't last. Not with the way he stared unblinking at the windshield. You'd deal with it when it came. For now, you sunk into the familiar seats and let him drive you home.
For someone who would poke and prod as to why he needed such a lavish penthouse if he lived alone— you missed the marble floor and grand glass wall that overlooked Tokyo's neon city.
His home wrapped around you the second he carried you in. Lights turning on as he stepped into the living room and plopped you onto the large, comfy L-shaped couch. You almost reached back for him as he withdrew.
He rounded over to the open kitchen and filtered a glass of water before returning. Placing it in your shaky hands as his eyes scanned your curling form.
"Want something to eat?" He asked.
You shook your head. Not that it mattered as he still ventured back to the kitchen and opened his pantry. Pulling out ingredients for a ramen your slowly rumbling tummy remembered well.
Classic Satoru. Always so insistent that you take care of yourself or he'd do it for you.
The familiarity of it all ached your chest. Just a few months ago this would have been routine. Him taking you home after a busy day at the institution to cook you a warm meal. You, in his arms or his lap. Snuggled up on the couch or his bed. Comfortable. Safe. His.
Now? The walls felt like they were staring through your soul. Chastising you. Why did you ever leave?
Because you had no other choice.
That's what your mind said. Your heart promptly rolled her eyes. You ignored them both in favour of the water. Sipping on the rim and chasing the memories of his fingers brushing against yours when he'd handed you the glass.
You drank— more like gulped— the water down quicker than expected. Was that the adrenaline residuals or your rattling nerves? You weren't sure.
As the rich aroma of crushed garlic and simmering chicken broth caressed your senses, your tense shoulders sagged. Reminded you that you were safe. What were you doing? Hiding from a man who probably got three speeding tickets just to get to you?
Steeling your resolve and shoving the nerves deep within your gut, you stood to your feet. A tremble still in your knees as you cast a hesitant glance over your shoulder.
Satoru was focused on the rhythmic dicing of his knife. A few strands of his white hair dangling before glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't exchange looks. But his rigid shoulders told you that he was acutely aware of every move you made. Including your glance-turned-stare on him.
Drawing a breath and ushering your anxiety, you stepped into the kitchen. Just like old times. Walked right past him and set the glass in the dishwasher. Like it was normal. As if it hasn't been months since your bare feet felt the cold marble while he cooked for you.
As if it hasn't been since forever and a half that you felt his stare between your shoulder blades.
You thought you'd grown accustomed to being his eyes' favourite. Satoru was never one to curtain the windows to his soul. Now, they felt like a conviction rather than a comfort. Condemning you to this prison of tension you subjected the both of you to.
"So, are you gonna answer my question?"
His mouth was more of a prosecutor than his gaze was.
"I told you I'm fine."
And your tongue, ever the defendant. Sharp and quick from years of academic debates. Unfortunately for you, Satoru loved a challenge just as much. He wasn't Hiroshi. But he was your mirror. A part of you hated him for it.
Hated yourself for the way your heart stuttered as he set the knife down. Cleaned his hands and turned to you. Hated your knees for their wobbles as he observed the far cry of your usual demeanour.
Those convicting blues dragged their judgement down your body. Tracing every tremble, every jitter, every terrible attempt to assure that you were fine and not a quiver away from shattering like porcelain on his dark marble floors.
"You're shaking."
Damn scientists. Their very livelihood was to be observant. Look for patterns. Determine conclusions. And your physicist was expertly experienced in every formula of your body.
You couldn't meet his eyes. Frightened of the theories you might find swimming in the blue. So instead you cowered your stare to the counter. Clenched your shaky fingers and fell back on the only thing you had when your pride had been crushed.
Defence.
"You weren't supposed to bring me here. I have a home."
"Deflecting doesn't look good on you."
"I'm not deflecting."
"Could have fooled me."
His audacity willed your stare. You snapped your head back to him. Daggered your glare and so desperately tried to gulp down the venom. But it was a lost cause. Satoru and you were two sides of the same coin. Him the mirror and you the cracks. You the gasoline and him the match.
"What's your problem?" You hissed.
"You're asking me that?"
"I called you cause I needed help. Not a lecture."
"And I'm not trying to give you one." He closed space. Leaving just a gap, but towering over you all the same. He stared at you over his glasses. "So drop the attitude won't you?"
You taut. Festering a retort on your tongue. Burying your heart for the sake of your scrambling mind— only to stop once you saw his eyes. Really saw them.
There was no conviction. Only concern. Deep, drowning worry as they softened at the corners and he drew a long breath, then exhaled. His shoulders sunk.
"Just. . . tell me."
You shouldn't.
You really shouldn't.
But the soft warmth of his eyes unclenched your heart and eased your vocal chords. There was no helping it.
"He. . ." you started. Sighed. "I wasn't even supposed to be at that stupid party. He got drunk. Tried to get me to kiss his friends. I didn't wanna so he—"
You should have stopped. The second you saw frost creeping back into his stare.
"He. . . tried to force me. So I hit them. Ran off. And now we're here— completely fine. Absolutely fine."
You huffed out the last part and clung to his jacket. Fine. Sure. Fine didn't search for comfort in leather. Or quiver in the knees just from recounting the night. Fine didn't sound shaky like you. Nor did it look like damp lashes and pursed lips.
Fine. You were anything but fine.
The softness cracked into a blistering winter. Satoru's gaze frosted over. But then, he chuckled. Nothing warm. Nothing humoured. He shook his head and pushed his glasses into his hair.
"You really know how to pick 'em, huh?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
You retorted instinctively. Bristling as he turned back to the counter. Snatching the knife and taking his frustration out on the cutting board. Muttering a string of boys and your generation.
You weren't sure what it was. Probably the overwhelm. Probably your mind reeling and your heart squeezing. Probably the disapproval that flickered in his stare. But you spun to him. Irritation wrinkling your face and tongue sharp with accusation.
"Yeah, well. At least he's in my generation, huh?"
Satoru was always fast. For some unfair reason he was blessed with both brains and brawn.
The small of your back pressed to the counter's edge. His body trapped yours. Cornered, but not uncomfortable. Even as his brows narrowed and his jaw set tight as his face invaded yours. Frustration etched in the lines of his eyes and the strain on his mouth.
"He wouldn't know how to treat a good girl if she was standing right in front of him."
He grunted.
"I'm not a good girl."
You gritted.
"You were mine."
His achingly tender retort stopped your heart and mind. Focused on the sharp softness of his voice and the gentleness of his knuckle that brushed your cheek.
He was your mirror. It was only natural that your gaze mimicked his. Even if all logic urged you to stand firm. Logic. You didn't need logic right now. All you needed was. . .
"Gojo." You hesitated.
He hitched. "Don't."
As he pressed a thumb to your cheekbone. Not a demand. Not a scold. But a plea. A soft, breathless beg.
"Don't do that to me. Please."
"We can't."
"Because I'm holding you back?"
"Because I'm too young for you."
You spilled. He stiffened. Thumb stopped on your cheek as he stared into your eyes. Your mind reeled. Pulled and tried to lock away that pesky organ. But your heart burst at the seams. Heavy. Hurt.
"You need someone your age—" she wept. Clenching your chest and choking your words. "Someone you can settle down with. Someone that can understand you. Someone that's not—"
He cupped your face. Stifled your whimpers as his forehead pressed to yours. Firm. Tender.
"Don't you dare." He quaked.
You quivered. "It's true."
And so his kiss silenced you.
But surged you all the same.
Months of beer-riddled and lazy smooches steered you to kiss him back. Lips eager to feel the softness and sureness of his. That guiding force that left a sore in your heart. Now comforted by the tilt of his head. The cradle of his hand at the back of your neck.
You melted. Unravelled. Into his strong arms that always caught you. Drowning in the delicate kiss simmering into a passionate caress. Your arms looped around his neck. Dragged him closer. Begged him not to leave. One of his hooked on your waist. Drew you in. Promised you he wouldn't.
You cursed air. And every biological function that needed it. That resulted in both of you having to part from the suffocating need of your lips on his.
For a moment your eyes locked. Breaths bated. Hearts synched.
And then he yanked you back in. Just like you tugged at him. Air be damned. The mere atoms of space between your lips too. Your mouths crashed into that familiar, raw wreck. That collision of white, hot stars.
The shatter of galaxies. That's how he always described it. You'd laughed at him back then. But now you understood it. Deep in your fluttering heart as his fingers threaded into the milkyway that was silky hair.
The arm on your waist slipped down to scoop you up into it. Settle you on the counter as his hand dropped from the back of your head to switch off the stove. Muscle memory, much like the way he mouthed down your neck and smoothed his palms to your waist.
A tremble in his fingers. A fear in his touch. He breathed.
"Tell me what I can do."
And you bled. Oh, you bled.
"Everything."
He groaned into your pulse. Bundled you against his chest and stepped over to the couch. Splaying you out like his sweet treat and object of his worship. The jacket fell from your shoulders. His lips traced over them while certain hands hiked up your dress.
Spaghetti straps gave out to his sharp teeth. Dragging them down to reveal more of your skin to him. To appreciative eyes that awed like you were his idol. The entity of his every desire and very devotion. His mouth made sure to praise. Hot and heavy on your breasts. He savoured their warmth beneath his lips. Caressed the undersides. Stroked and kissed on your firming nipples.
The shudders rocked your hips up against his. Bare thighs kissing his pelvis and drawing another groan from the depths of his chest. A large hand found your hip. Cupping the bone and guiding you, as he always did. Steering your needy grinds into him.
"God, sweet girl." He panted in his pathway to your stomach. "You're shaking."
His hands slipped between your thighs. Spread them apart with shivering strokes. His lips joined them in mellowed kisses.
Your fingers delved back into his hair. Drawing him up against your pelvis with a shaky: "Please."
"Shouldn't have to beg for anything baby. Where'd you learn that from?" His kisses flared. Hot against your panties. Mouthing on your slit to indulge on the whines from the back of your throat. That's right. Satoru never let you beg. Pretty girls don't have to beg, they simply deserve, he'd tell you.
Deserved to have his face stuffed against your sweet cunt. Deserved his wrecked inhale on your scent and his deep groan rattling into the fabric. As he tongues on the damp spot in the cotton. Sucking on your slick through your panties as if not even a smear of your sweetness could be wasted.
He dragged the waistband down. Eyes dilating as your glistening cunt glimmered in the reflection of his pupils. Tender, yet eager thumbs brushed your folds back with a low, drawled:
"Hi there, sweetheart."
And then suffocating smooches down your slit. Spilling some of your wetness that he caught on his tongue. He licked his lips and groaned. Deep and throaty into your quivering cunt. "I know baby, I know."
He crooned. Like he was shushing your pussy and assuring her with strokes. His warm hands splayed on your thighs and squished them between his finger gaps. Heaving you into his hot, awaiting mouth.
His tongue flattened at the bottom of your slit. Dragging a long, filthy trail up to your clit. White lashes flitting with his fluttering eyes. Like he was high as he suckled on the trembling nub.
"So sensitive. Fuck. You been neglecting her?" He slurred.
"Not me." You whimpered.
Satoru huffed through his nose. Squeezing your thighs as he tucked his mouth closer. "Guys your age just don't know how to treat her right." He grunted as his tongue swished on your throbbing clit. Circling and laving while his chin ground into your slit.
You spilled for him, and he relented on the blushing bundle. Chasing kisses down your cunt and stuffing his face back into it. Hands clamping on your ass and squishing as you squeezed around his head with pitching moans. Grinding on his rabid mouth that worked on you wildly. Hungrily.
Filthy slurps and wet squelches be damned. He feasted on your sweet pussy with sucks, and suckles, licks and laves. Drunk on the sweetness you'd deprived him of. Addicted to the velvet.
He groaned. Loud and wrecked. "Fuuuckk. Missed this sweet pussy. Missed her s'much." He drooled. Parting to watch you quiver as his firm fingers tapped meanly on your clit. Buzzing the bud and shivering your slit into more spills. Probably soaking the couch in a puddle of your slick and his saliva.
You broke into whimpers. Bucking into the friction and choking on his name in the hot air riddled with the smell of sex.
"Mmm. And it looks like she missed me just as much." He husked a chuckle. Shooting you a wink as he tucked his head back between your thighs and lathered another long lick to your drenched pussy.
Once more, his face buried. Flushed into your gushing centre and working his tongue and mouth frantically. From sucking on you folds, to fucking you on the pink muscle. He shook his head. Nuzzled into your wetness. Slurped and suckled and spat all over. Wringing that knot tight and hot in your gut as he gulped on your musk.
You clung to his hair like a lifeline. Fingers tight on the white strands as you steered your hips into his face. Smearing your mess all over it. Not that he minded— not with the way he groaned pistoned his tongue into your dripping pussy.
"Cumming—" you gasped. You couldn't remember when last you'd said that. When last release had been in clear sight.
Your grip tightened. Fear trembling your fingers. Fear that he'd pull away. Leave you stranded. Fear that it was all just some yearning dream to begin with and you'd wake up in the brutal reality in which you were still not his.
"Cumming— S'toru. . . fuck," you whined. Praying to the stars and whatever divine being that science proved otherwise. For this to be real. For you to be here. Cumming on Satoru's face after months apart.
His thumbs dug into your thighs. Fingers latching you closer. His mouth smushed against your cunt as he drove you through the release. Evert messy tongue flick on your clit like a filthy declaration: I'm here. I'm here I'm here I'm here, just cum for me.
Your nerves flared. Tummy clenching with your cunt. Tight and trembling until the knot finally snapped— and you wept. Shaking in the flood of heat and toe-curling pleasure. Shivers surging up your spine and tossing your head back.
"Satoru," you moaned. Raw, weak, wrecked. Clutching his hair and riding his face that ground into your spasming cunt. Tongue working overtime to gulp down your sweetness and ensure not a trace of your cum was wasted.
Whining. He was whining. Nuzzling into the mess as your body flopped back on the couch. Tears pricked at your eyes, and still, you tried to watch him. As he rode out your high and eased the pleasure into a tender simmer.
"Atta girl," he groaned, throat bobbing. He lapped up the stickiness and traced its strings back up our thighs. To your tummy, chest, until he finally crashed back to your lips.
His tongue shoved in. Clumsy for someone as experienced as him. You weren't the only one brought to your knees in these few months, and it showed in the urgency of his kiss. In the mumbles and groans. One taste of your pussy was the only hit he needed to be addicted all over again.
Your mouths moulded. Tongues tangled. His glasses fell back over his face and fogged with your heated breaths as he kissed you into the couch. Hands groping and squeezing whatever he could while yours slipped down.
Despite your high and shaky thighs, your hips bucked up. Grinding your sopping, oversensitive cunt against his bulge. His cock hot against the fabric and throbbing into the way you smeared all over his crotch.
A groan caught on your lips together with his teeth. Hands clamped on your waist to guide you into a heated hump. A needy rhythm of his clothed cock against your little clit.
You had always been impatient. And he always urged that you took what you wanted. Your fingers fumbled with his belt. Haste in your hands as you ripped it open and shoved his pants down. Eager to pull his cock from his briefs without a second to waste.
It felt bigger as you palmed him. Heavier. Or maybe you had gotten too used to whatever Hiroshi was. He didn't have veins like Satoru. Didn't crook to the side from the sheer weight and size. Didn't blush all pretty on the tip as you rubbed your hand up and down its long length.
He kissed you harder. Sucking on your lower lip as he pressed your head back into the cushions.
"Greedy girl."
He groaned.
"Thought I was your good girl?"
You giggled.
"Always my good girl."
He braced your hips and effortlessly hauled you up. Flopped you into his chest while he fell back into the couch. Your thighs naturally straddled his lap. Like magnetic poles with an intense force buzzing between you both.
You flushed into him. Hopelessly rubbing your sticky slick all over his pulsing veins. He grunted. Grabbed your thighs and angled just right so that his cock could wedge between your folds. Dwarfing your little cunt and reminding her how she struggled and stretched whenever he was balls deep.
Shivers poured into your kisses as he glided between your soaked folds. Mouths meshing and teeth catching as you both familiarised your heats. Rubbing all over in some sort of lewd greeting as he caught your clit and you throbbed against that prominent underside vein.
"Still remember how to ride it?" He mumbled as he forced himself to part from your lips. Blue eyes shaped in hearts with the clear want to chase after the string of saliva strung between your panting mouths.
It snapped as you chewed your lips. Hands steadied on his broad shoulders and re-familiarising the toned muscle. You flushed into his tip. Pussy pulsing on his pre-cum.
You managed a nod. Locking eyes with him as your nails scratched on his skin. It was a moment of heat. Tension. A hundred words sparking in the gap, but only one action needed.
Satoru guided your hips. As he always did. Squeezed assurances into them as his tip prodded through the first ring of resistance. Then the second. Third—
You clenched. Cunt and jaw. Sucking air between your teeth and curling tight on his arms. He mirrored your hiss. Brows pinched as you pulsed around him hard. He groaned from the back of his throat.
"So fucking tight."
His thumb fell to your clit. Rubbing slow circles under callouses he developed from years in the lab. "My poor girl. Look what you did to her. She's so neglected."
His tongue clicked. Before his lips pursed and he spat. Aimed for your clit as his thumb swirled to the beat of its throbs.
You whined at the friction. Hooked your arms around his neck again and sunk your hips further. Focused on the deep thrum of his cock and the strain of your poor, spasming pussy. Eager, or rather impatient, to feel him in his entirety at last.
But it seemed Satoru had other plans.
He clasped your hips tight. Squeezing them in his big hands and locking them from dropping any further. The protest died on your tongue when his deep drawl caressed your ear.
"Eaasyyy baby." Another squeeze. Another breath.
He guided you down. Bit by bit. Inch by inch, with his hips slowly nudging into yours. Dragging you down gradually. Agonisingly. Until you were fully seated on him.
At last, you felt it. Every thrumming vein. Every twitch. Hitch. The bumps and curves of his cock that you woke up in cold sweat over. Now surging heat deep into the hum of your quivering pussy.
You hid into his shoulder. Muffling your whines and whimpers as your arms sagged down his back. Fuck. You felt so full. So terribly stuffed as you desperately tried to adjust to his size again.
Maybe rutting would help. That's what your impatient hips told you as they rocked against him. Needy and grating. A pitiful hump into his lap.
You knew better. So did he. So he steeled your hips again and pressed a comforting kiss to your temple as you whined. It simmered your patience. But not the heat. Deep and swirling in your tummy.
Your breaths became his for the moment. Pants and huffs exchanged. As if you both needed a second to check reality. Understand that this was real. Two scientists, frightened that your meshing atoms would melt away into a cruel dream.
Satoru made the first move to prove otherwise. Rocking your hips into strokes. Long and slow. As he pulled you up his cock and sunk you back down. Dragging the sticky strings and snapping them round his base with each drawl.
"Gotta teach this pussy how to take me all over again," he huffed. Leaning back into the couch so that his eyes could drown in yours. But the blue was indecisive. Flitting between your heated face and your spilling cunt.
He watched you. Adored you. The way he stuffed you to the brim until your pussy trickled round his girth. The way your thighs quivered in his hands. How your lips festered his name and breathed it into the thick air.
The sway became familiar. Your muscles moving in memory as your rocked with his hands. That gradually loosened as you fell back into step.
Even with the struggle, it was no use. Your body was hopelessly his as his was yours. The rhythm came naturally. Just like how your cunt thrummed on that underside vein and milked it perfectly each time you sank back down and swirled your hips on his balls.
His head fell back. Silky strands spread out on the backrest of the couch as he his deep groans spilled. "There's my girl." His touch roamed. Cupping your ass and squishing it as his hips finally joined yours in fervid rolls.
You found solace in his hair once more. Gripping the back of it as you both matched the rhythm. Pace desperate and moderate as the couch creaked beneath the consistency.
The fire returned. Hot and burning between your exchange of movements. Satoru's face limped into your chest. Burying into your bouncing breasts and sucked hickies around your nipples.
Your cunt poured. Slicking up your laps and slipping him easily in and out of you now. Diving him deep, deep, deeper— so that his cockhead smooched your cervix and his balls flushed your folds. Your clit caught on his pelvis each time. Grinding it into quivers. Into pitiful little moans as your mouth fell open.
"It's so deep," you whimpered. "So good."
"Yeah? Better than that loser?"
Abruptly, his hips snapped. Hands yanking you down and humping on the tight muscle. Frustration bleeding into every filthy grind as your nerves bristled.
Head tossed back. Spine thrown into an arch from the sudden intensity. Maybe it was the neglect. Or the sheer need for him. But white clouded your vision and your voice pitched in that slutty tone as you crumbled into yet another orgasm.
Quicker than the first. Messier too. You limped into his chest as you fell back onto your pathetic attempts of ruts into his lap. Whining and babbling his name incoherently as you spasmed in the flood of heat.
In your delirium you hadn't perceived the chord of Satoru's control. Wound tight and thin, until it— snapped! with your warm release drowning him.
"Fuck." He sneered.
It was quick. Brutal. He wrest you into the couch until your back hit the seats and your sweaty skin stuck to the leather. He shoved deep inside of you as strong hands seized your knees and yanked them with him. "Can't believe you let some fucking punk touch this."
A kiss seethed to your knee. Before he tossed both over his broad shoulders.
"Can't believe you let him neglect it."
His hiss merged with a feral, wet shmack! as his hips snapped into yours. Driving his cock in a precise, sharp fury. Skin smacking against skin as wetness strung and snapped in strings between your soaking thighs.
He fucked a pitched cry from your bobbing throat. Your hands shot out to tug at the tuffs of his white hair as he shoved you into the sofa and chased the spasms of your cunt in hasty, heavy thrusts.
Mouth hot and filthy, Satoru spilled a mixture of degradation and praise. Calling you his pretty slut and whorish good girl in husked pants and deep groans.
The couch joined the wrecked symphony. Creaking loud and pitched. Nothing compared to the whines caught at the back of your throat as his hips made it their mission to leave bruises on your thighs. Leave a dull, satisfied ache in every nook of your cunt so that you woke up feeling him. Remembering him. Him.
Haughty hands hot with hostility snatched your ass. Squeezing the fat between the gaps as he hauled you in and fucked you at just the right angle. Just the right crook. So that he ground and hit a devastatin bundle that sent your glossy eyes and damp lashes fluttering back.
"Sat—toru!" You croaked.
"That's it. Mngh. Don't you ever forget it again."
A feral fever rumbled in his voice. Deep and throaty as he dragged his teeth into your shoulder. Egged on by your choked whines and strangled gasps. Eager to remind you that you didn't need some young jerk when a guy twice your age could pummel your pretty pussy into his expensive couch.
His balls slapped on your puffy folds. Round and throbbing as he grunted into your pulse through the pitiful clenches of your cunt. He chased another orgasm. Yours. You were always first. He'd make you cum twice, even thrice, before he decided to stuff you full.
"You're gonna fuckin' cum again," he ragged, lungs burning as he spilled that fire into your ear. Trapping it between his teeth as his thrusts grew cruel. Drawn-out and deep. Hammering into gooey bundle until your toes curled and your cunt splashed around him.
"You're gonna cum again. Cum on this cock. Show me it's still yours." He huffed. Pistoning from the tip to the base so that you felt every inch of that same cock that was gonna have you creaming.
And then, in the haze of pleasure and the peak of highs— your ringtone cut through the musky air.
Satoru barely slowed. But he tossed his head to the side and stared at your phone vibrating on the coffee table.
The name Hiroshi with a little red heart nearly had the same effect on him as it would a bull. Swirling his mind hot with anger and throbbing the back of his eyes.
But through the glare and grunt, he grinned. "Well. Look who it is."
Voice still drawled even when it deepened. Cooed like the fucking devil as he easily snatched the device and swiped the answer button before your bugged eyes could so much as clear. He gripped your face. Squishing it into his knuckles as he pressed his panting mouth to your ear.
"Show him whose good girl you are, yeah?"
Your mind hazed. Heart hammering. You could barely process what Satoru was even talking about. Even after that grating voice crackled over the line.
"Babe? Where the hell did y—"
"Angh!"
Satoru slammed. All the way. Heavy and hot and oh so suffocatingly deep. Pounding your poor pussy into the soaked couch and pummeling you to weeps and whines. Shallow and hard as his thumb wretched to your clit. Shattering your conscious and throwing both your head and back into a filthy arch.
"There ya go baby," he grinned, feral. "Sing it for me. Whose pussy 's this?"
"Satoru— S-Satoru—! Toru, toru hngh, 's yours!"
He jerked back. Hands clambering on your waist. Steeling them with his strong fingers and yanking you down onto each thrust. Every brutal fuck into your squelching pussy. Loud and clear down the line, he's sure.
He didn't care. You didn't have the capacity to.
All you could was whine. Toss your head back and claw on the slippery leather as Satoru made sure the loud, wet claps battered down the line. Made sure your boyfriend—
No.
Made sure that your fucking ex knew that it was Satoru stuffing this sweet cunt. Him drowning in your cum. Him hammering on a spot Hiroshi couldn't even dream of. Until your eyes rolled back and you tongue drooled. Until your body cramped and your voice sobbed oh so prettily for him. Until—
Your walls squeezed and spasmed. Your mind numb and heart soaring as your body locked up. Higher— and higher— until your nerves burst into a blistering heat and your head swam with white, feverish pleasure.
A filthy squirt sprayed all over him. Cunt squelching and squealing as his balls slapped it messy and his pelvis ground your clit until it spasmed.
"Fuuckk, so my girl still remembers how to squirt for me?" He laughed. Loud, boisterous and breathy.
He threw a grin to the phone. Heard cyrstal clear like your sopping pussy over the line. "You hear that? Her pussy's finally gettin' it good. So just fuck off already."
Bink.
The line died. Not that Satoru was paying attention. Not that he cared. His blue eyes were blown out and focused on one thing and one thing only— his pretty sweetheart gone limp and whining beneath him.
His gaze glossed over. Jaw slack like some animal as his thrusts pounded on autopilot. Like it was simply engraved into every muscle to know how to fuck you into a trembling, teary mess.
Satoru knew your tells. Knew the shakes and the quivers. Knew that your poor little body was frazzled with overstimulation and still reeling from the nasty squirt you messed him with.
"Can't," you croaked. "I-I can't, I can't toru!"
"Of course you can," he grit. "You're my girl. Course you fuckin' can."
His hand tucked beneath your hair. Not to tug it. But to cradle. Holding the back of your head as his hips ached into your shaky ones. He nudged you to look up at him. Meet his panting huffs and whiney breaths as he fucked himself dumb on you too.
"So perfect—" he strained, eyes fluttering with yours as he pushed you both higher. Devastatingly. Agonisingly. "So perfect. So mine. Cum—" his throat bobbed.
"Cum for me. Cum with me. Hah."
All babbled and broken as he smashed his lips back into yours. Colliding those hot and heavy stars as you tugged on his hair and he tethered to your waist. Drowning and strangling on each other's moans until the collision cracked into a ruinous wreck and your orgasms crashed like nebula.
Your heats crushed. Merged. Your pussy gave out in pitiful, milky bubbles. His cock spurted and frothed. Spraying deep and hot as he lathered up your cervix the same way you did his balls.
Whining. Gasping. His bit on your lip and you gulped down his noises. Desperate and clumsy in fumbling rocks and grinds of your hips. Riding out your highs until the heat simmered into an aching warmth and all you could do was hump uselessly.
Hazed, Satoru sucked on your tongue. Panting hard as he spluttered whispers into smudged kisses.
"I missed you. Missed you. I missed you— I love you. Love you. I fuckin' love you."
His weight collapsed into yours. Trapping you into the sofa and melting into your warmth. His chest heaving with yours as the adrenaline sizzled off into a calm stir.
You were stiff. Mind still. Heart frozen. As you contemplated his babbles.
I love you.
Your breath thinned. Had you heard wrong? No. You didn't. He'd never said that before. Never spluttered it out no matter how hazy he fucked the both of you.
You stewed on his words. That familiar, aching fear climbing up your gut and wrapping around your heart as his hammered into your chest. It beat for you. It loved you. This was bad. So very bad.
But it was your mind that eased the storm. That steered your arms to wrap shakily around his neck. That urged your heart to bring your lips to his temple in a kiss.
In a tender whisper.
"I love you."
As your face buried into his shoulder. And your heart mirrored his.
As you allowed yourself to want. To dream. Of you and him— him and you. Even if just for the moment.
Accidentally calling Sukuna “daddy” and doubling down on it when he questions you. nsfw 18+ mdni.
──── ୨୧ ────
It had slipped out before you can think better of it. In the throes of pleasure, struck by the heat of it and with drool beginning to dribble out from the corner of your parted lips you’d said it - “daddy”.
Before you could even consider how odd it really was, how jarring and out of place it might have sounded to someone so removed from the modern age as Sukuna. But with him moving above you, all rippling skin and thick firm muscle, that lewd honorific was all you could think to utter - to cry out in a strangled moan when he sunk back inside so deep that a sizzle of little stars danced in your vision.
“Daddy?” He echoes the word with a flourishing scoff, though it’s not judgement that laces his tone, to your dulled surprise you find that it’s interest.
“Well you’re -hn-…” you begin to reply, only to swallow down another choked moan when his hips roll in a particularly well placed thrust, “you’re gonna take care of me aren’t you?”
“How archaic,” he replies plainly, and though he offers nothing further you can tell by his sudden silence that the great cogs of his mind are turning.
Typically he would be teasing you, cruel taunts snuck between deceptively sweet little slips of praise. Not that you can find it in yourself to really concern yourself with his lack of banter, or with what he’s thinking about. Not with the way each steady pump is knocking all sense of coherency loose from your brain, adding a fine layer of dreamy fuzz over your vision.
His movement snares your attention as he shifts suddenly above you, his lower half dropping low enough that he can begin to grind between your spread legs. The spatter of hair at his base tickles at your over sensitive clit while the tip of him continues to kiss incessantly somewhere tight and silky - deep enough that a pleasant little ache blooms to life low in your gut.
His knuckles dig into the mattress either side of your head, muscles leaping in his thick forearms, and you groan unashamedly at the sudden closeness of him. You all but melt into the new layer of contact, head tossed sideward until your lips graze his skin, frantic breaths puffing hot and humid over the delicate skin of his wrist.
“Oh ffffu-huh-…oh fuck, ‘kuna…” you moan, shaking your head, lips parted in a mindless sort of awe.
All you can feel is the firm smack of his hips as he works you into the mattress. The sensation is stunning, all consuming, enough to send your legs into a trembling wobble on each downward pump, each thrust winding that little coil in your belly ever tighter.
“No,” He grunts from above you, “not ‘kuna.”
He lifts the last word into a pitched lilt - high and a little breathless in a pointed mockery of you.
“It’s daddy now, isn’t it?”
The sheer sound of his voice, that dirty word growled in his silky rumble is enough to send your eyes rolling skyward. You moan - weak, unashamed, and you hear him chuckle lowly in reply.
“What’s the matter?” He coos, though there’s nothing soothing about the hungry edge his voice has taken on, “you wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?”
You nod wildly, struggling to lift your lids to blink up at him - a task which suddenly feels herculean with the way his attention is scrambling your already pleasure drunk brain.
“Go on,” he purrs, slow thrusts turned suddenly lethal - firm slaps of his hips tight and wet against your own. Your thighs are trembling now beneath the weight of his assault, wracked with the sheer force of each thrust, “call for me again, pet.”
And you do. You cry for him - spineless and pitiful and all manners of desperate, with tears beginning to dribble hot and glittering over your flushed cheeks.
Synopsis: Everyone thinks you hate Ryomen Sukuna, and the performance is flawless. But hatred doesn't usually end with your back pinned against his locked bedroom door.
CW: minors dni, fingering in bathroom
A/N: wassup, im finally back from exams and my brain is completely fried. ik u guys have been on my ass for some sukuna stuff, so im unleashing this old fic. i lowkey dont even like it EL OH EL but hopefully you guys do. anyway, thank u so much for 500!! mwah <3
Art: @/v7undead
Everyone thinks you hate Ryomen Sukuna, and honestly, it’s an easy mistake to make.
They see the sharp, instinctive twist of your mouth whenever he invades a room. They hear the biting insults traded between the two of you in crowded lecture halls and packed fraternity houses. They watch you roll your eyes so hard it looks painful whenever his name inevitably drops into a conversation.
And Sukuna gives them every single reason to believe the lie. He isn't friendly, and he’s entirely uninterested in making people like him. Towering over the crowd, hands shoved deep into his pockets, carrying a permanent, unreadable expression that keeps everyone at arm's length.
Most people avoid him out of pure intimidation. The rest spend their nights trying to earn a single glance from him, completely hypnotized by the sheer, heavy presence of him. It’s hard not to look. He has a shock of pink hair that refuses to blend into the background, and a silver brow piercing that glints under different lights. Then there are the tattoos—dark, intricate lines of ink that crawl up his face and down his arms. Tonight, the frat house is suffocatingly packed, but he still manages to look entirely isolated.
Across the room, Toji Fushiguro nudges Sukuna with an elbow, a lazy smirk on his face. "There’s your favorite sorority president." Sukuna doesn't even bother to look,“don’t have one."
Toji snorts, taking a sip of whatever cheap concoction is filling his red cup. "Right… you gonna go piss her off or what?"
Finally, Sukuna glances up. His gaze cuts through the sea of moving bodies, and locks onto you. Your eyes meet from across the room.
You immediately roll yours, turning your shoulder to dismiss him.
Sukuna scoffs, a dark, raspy sound that barely carries over the music, the silver in his brow catching the neon glare of the kitchen lights. "Why would I waste my time?"
Toji barks out a rough laugh. "Because you two are obsessed with each other."
"Pretty sure that's just her," Sukuna mumbles, though his eyes linger on you for a bit too long.
"Keep telling yourself that."
Sukuna flips him off without looking back, which only makes Toji’s grin split wider.
Nobody on this campus has ever seen the two of you spend more than five minutes together without a fight breaking out. It’s a flawless performance. And it’s exactly why nobody notices when Sukuna quietly slips out of the party first, his broad back disappearing down the dark hallway.
They don’t notice how, exactly ten minutes later, you set your drink down on a random table, murmur an excuse to your friends, and quietly follow his exact path.
Every single time.
Because hatred doesn't usually end with your heels thrown across the room and your spine pinned hard against his locked bedroom door. It doesn't end with a large, tatted hand shoving your panties to the side, rough fingers bruising your hip as he buries his face between your thighs and devours you—listening to you choke on your own breath while he takes you apart like a starving man claims his last meal.
────────────────────
Without a party in full swing, the frat house is almost unrecognizable. The chaotic roar of music and crowded bodies has bled out, leaving the house echoing in silence.
The back door clicks open with familiar ease—unlocked ahead of time for you, just like always. Slipping inside with heels dangling from a finger, the door is barely eased shut before a familiar hand catches your wrist. You barely get a breath in before he pulls you forward, his lips immediately on yours. Sukuna crowds you back against the door, his height swallowing yours, one hand firm at your waist, the other tilting your chin up just enough to deepen the kiss. Savoring something he already knows belongs to him. “You’re late” Sukuna murmurs against wet lips.
“You started without me” you shoot back, breath uneven. A low exhale brushes your mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, his thumb pressing into your waist. “I’m finishing with you.” His grip tightens, guiding you through the hallway, up the stairs, and straight to his room like it’s second nature.
Because it is.
The moment his bedroom door clicks shut and the lock turns, the pristine "sorority president" vanishes entirely. Two steps into the dark room are all that’s permitted before he’s crowding the space again, backing your body up until the edge of his mattress hits the back of your knees. “Wore this just for me?” Sukuna hooks a finger into the belt loop of your new denim skirt, tugging hard enough to force a sharp exhale. His eyes trail down the fabric. “It’s new.”
You roll your eyes, trying to mask the way your chest is heaving. “You’re not that special.” Slipping out of his grasp, your handbag is set down and your heels are tucked neatly beneath his desk—routine grounding you for a second before you move toward his dresser.
There shouldn’t be a need for anything in there. It’s a known rule between the two of you—there’s no real point in keeping a spare change of clothes here when the night always ends up tangled in one of his shirts anyway.
And still, the second drawer slides open. The clothes are right where you left them—folded and tucked away as though they'd always belonged. You never told him you put them there, and the sight catches you off guard. "You kept them." The words come out softer than intended, the bite gone from your voice.
Sukuna steps behind you, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back into him, his lips brush the shell of your ear. “You expected me not to?”
A slight shake of the head follows, “no… I just thought you’d say something.”
“Didn’t need to.” His large hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, rough palms warm against your soft skin.
Later that night, your head rests over his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heart while his long, inked fingers trace lazy, slow circles along your bare arm—as if he has nowhere else in the world to be.
────────────────────
Back at the sorority house, the rules still stand.
No men upstairs.
It's a golden rule. You enforce it—you live by it.
What your sorority sisters don't know is that the moment your bedroom door clicks shut, the rule is already shattered. Because waiting right there in your room is a certain man with pink hair, tattoos, and a silver eyebrow piercing.
“You’re breaking your own rules,” Sukuna taunts, leaning against your wall with his arms crossed. You don’t even pause, dropping your bag by the door. “They aren’t for me.”
“They’re for me.”
“And yet—” you gesture lightly around the room, “—you’re here.”
That earns the faintest shift in his expression—not quite a smile, not quite anything anyone else would recognise as a reaction. The pink haired man pushes off the wall and closes the distance between you in a few unhurried steps. “Yeah,” Sukuna says quietly. “I am.”
There’s no crowd here, no audience—this is not a performance.
His hand lifts, knuckles brushing your jaw before his fingers hook under your chin, forcing your face up. The scent of him instantly overriding the floral perfume of your room.
“Because you let me.”
It’s not a challenge or a question. Just something he says like it’s already been agreed upon long before either of you stepped into this room. And somehow, standing there in the quiet of your own territory, you don’t correct him.
────────────────────
The next mixer is louder, packed and chaotic. Music booms through the frat house, voices layering into a constant hum that presses in from every direction. Your eyes still find him anyway. Not because you're looking for him—he's just hard to miss.
You fake a scoff, taking a slow sip of your drink. “Ugh, I hate him.”
“Then stop staring,” your friend teases, nudging your shoulder.
You don’t look away, because he’s already moving. He doesn’t dare glance your way in plain sight—that would break the script. Instead, he slips out of the main room, disappearing down the hall before anyone else can even notice his absence.
Your phone buzzes once in your hand.
come.
One word and no explanation.
Without a hint of hesitation, you set your cup down on the nearest surface. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you say smoothly, already stepping away before anyone can offer to tag along.
You slip into the bathroom down the corridor, easing the door shut. The lock clicks. And when you turn around, he’s already there, leaning against the marble counter. His sleeves are rolled, exposing his muscular tattooed forearms, and his dark, hooded gaze lifts to trap yours effortlessly. “You took your time,” Sukuna mumbles.
“You’re impatient,” you retort, rolling your eyes but stepping directly into his personal space anyway.
That’s all the invitation he needs.
Sukuna pushes off the counter and a large, calloused hand grabs around your waist, spinning you until your lower back hits the edge of the sink. His mouth slams into yours, lacking the patience he had a minute ago. It’s a starved, dirty kiss, his tongue invading your mouth while your fingers instantly tangle into his pink hair, tugging hard. He groans against your lips “Careful.”
“You started it.”
Suddenly—knock, knock. “Yo—someone in there?”
Your entire body tenses, panic spiking in your chest. Sukuna doesn’t freeze—not even a little. “Sukuna—” you gasp out, planting your palms flat against his broad chest to push him off. “Stop.”
“Relax.” His lips leave yours, but only to drag an agonizingly slow, wet trail down your jawline, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He acts like the person outside doesn't even exist.
Another aggressive knock. “Hello? People are waiting!”
“They aren’t leaving,” you whisper frantically, your hands gripping his shirt.
“They will.” Calm and certain. He doesn’t even glance at the door, entirely consumed by the heat of the moment. To prove his point, his teeth graze the sensitive skin right above your collarbone, sucking a dark mark into your skin. Your fingers tighten desperately in his shirt. In one effortless motion, his hands slide under your thighs and lift you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist to keep yourself from falling, your dress bunching up around your hips. His hands settle heavily on your bare thighs, pushing your knees wide open.
Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down, his tatted hand sliding your panties to the side.
Your breath hitches into a sharp sob as his long, thick fingers stroke over your wet folds, mapping how desperately ready you are for him. He doesn't hesitate. Sukuna slides two fingers straight inside you—so deep, you let out a quiet whine and claw at his broad shoulders just to stay upright.
The knock comes again, louder this time, rattling the door frame. Your heart is hammering against your ribs.
“You gonna answer that?” he murmurs, his hot breath brushing your neck as his fingers pump into you, curling deliberately to hit that exact spot that makes your hips twitch helplessly.
“You’re not letting me,” you gasp, head hitting the mirror behind you as your eyes flutter shut. You bite your lip, fighting a losing battle against the sound that's about to escape your throat.
“Exactly.”
He pulls his fingers out just enough to drive them back in deeper and harder, grinding his thumb against your clit. A loud, needy moan nearly tears from your throat, but before the sound can leave your lips, Sukuna’s mouth crashes onto yours. He shushes the sound straight back into your lungs, smothering your breathless cries with a filthy, tongue heavy kiss.
Outside, the footsteps finally fade away, but you can barely process it.
You let out a ragged, exhale against his lips when he finally lets you breathe. “…We’re going to get caught one day.”
“No,” he says simply. Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you, as his fingers continue to thrust deep inside you. “And so what if we do?”
You don’t get the chance to answer—he doesn’t let you. His lips are already back on yours, consuming your reply before it can even form.
Because no matter how perfect the act is—how sharp the words are, how convincing the distance looks—you still end up here: same timing, same rooms, same pull.
On this campus, reputations are everything—carefully built and carefully performed. And when your secret finally slips, it won’t be subtle—it’ll be the exact moment someone finally notices that the two of you never disappear alone.
You and Satoru agree to become friends with benefits with one cliché rule: no falling in love. But you do. And you stupidly confess. What now?
Tags: Smut, angst w comfort if you squint, fwb, p in v, riding, kinks, gojo is a little avoidant shit, model!gojo. Haven’t proofread yettt, I don’t write as much lately. 18+++ I have never written smut please don’t fire me..
Shit.
Shitshitshit.
You have felt Satoru everywhere by now—buried deep in between your legs, lengthy cock stretching you and hitting that one spongy spot that makes your vision go blank, his hands on your face like he's holding something precious.
You have felt his large hands map every inch of skin you wear. No surface untouched especially late at night when he texts you he's coming over with little to no explanation why.
No feelings.
No strings.
That was the deal. No, that is the deal.
Just sex.
And you have had a lot of sex with Satoru. From fucking in the comfort of your bedroom or his, to riding him all sweaty and hot in his jeep, to even getting eaten out in changing rooms during his fittings.
He's tried everything with you. Every curiosity he's had about a new toy, a new kink, a new position—he's tried and fulfilled with you. You've been stretched into positions you never thought you could with him.
Your legs over his shoulder with him greedily thrusting, your back so arched against his chest while receiving mean back shots, reverse cowgirl with a leash around your neck, full nelson—anything, you name it, you've done.
You've had him in between your legs so many times to point out that he particularly dislikes missionary, loves rope play, biting and marking your skin like you don't have a shift next morning—but he's never vanilla.
Never.
Well, he never was.
He always devoured you with a hungry mouth, a desperate and lustful look in his eyes, animalistic thrusts, brutal grip on your hips when he slammed down on you like he wanted you to break.
Sex was casual between the both of you.
The rules were clear. No hickeys, scratches, bites on him while he could mark you as freely as he wished to do so.
Never a mark on him though.
And no, no feelings.
None at all.
Sure, he was attractive. And you didn't have a problem with hooking up with him when he'd bring you over the gates of heaven or soothed you through the most aggressive orgasms ever.
You were fine with the whole arrangement before last week when he'd texted you "I'm coming over, leave the door open." At 2 AM.
Shrugging, you left him on read, unlocked the front door and he was walking through it no more than 15 minutes later—dark gray sweatshirt masking his muscles, hood messily pulled over his white tuff of hair, sunglasses slipping from his nose bridge, usually bright eyes dull like you'd never seen them before.
He had crossed the threshold to the balcony where you were curled up in on the couch, crawled on top of you and...
Kissed you with soft lips, slow movements of his jaw, reverent touches, hesitant hands that mapped your body under him.
He kissed with too much feeling. With too much gentleness. With something so not Satoru.
Slid in between your legs, deliberately softened your walls till you could take him, tasting you on his tongue till you were tattooed in his mind, made you fall apart like he'd never done before.
Then he repositioned himself, chin glistening from your juices, didn't bother with a condom—you were too far gone to even stop him and remind him of protection, mind hazy with his unusual attitude.
He had pushed himself inside, losing himself in your wetness bit by bit, watching how his cock disappeared inside your walls.
Both your legs by his sides.
And he drew his chest down—skin flush against your breasts—locking himself in missionary, a position he avoided at any given chance.
You shook underneath him—eyes glossed over from the feeling of him, unprotected, raw in you. The slow drag of his cock in you, meeting your warmth over and over.
Veins imprinting themselves in you, leaving their shape, moulding your pussy to fit him and only him. The deep, intimate thrusts had your throat go dry, a ball growing there and your orgasm growing painfully slow.
Satoru's breathing was shaky, his lips on your neck, behind your ear. Sucking on your nipples, leaving faint marks you'd see in your reflection morning.
Desperately begging in your ears with pleas that had you clenching around him.
"Please look at me, baby, please."
He was making love to you.
No harsh grinding, no position switching or new experiments.
It was terrifying.
So terrifying.
Because you liked it too much.
You liked this Satoru too much.
Fuck.
Sex is never just sex.
You should have listened to your friends when they warned you.
You knew you were fucked when he came undone with you, whispering sweet nothings you found yourself silently praying to be true.
"You look so—hng- beautiful, angel."
Babbling when he held your face, blue orbs melting with yours when his gaze was zeroed on you and only you. Not on your skin meeting his.
"Just a bit more beautiful, I'm almost there—shit, you're close too, huh? Clenching onto me so sweetly..."
Those stupid nicknames of his—making your heartbeat falter, your pulse travel to pound against your temples, heat settle on your cheeks.
God, he's such an asshole.
Making love to you on your balcony under the moonlight, on the 10th floor where no one else lives.
When morning came, when you found yourself on your bed alone and with a heavy chest, you knew you were screwed.
He kept fucking you after that day like he didn't rearrange the wires in your brain with no effort.
He kept having sex with you like he wasn't kissing every crevice of you just a week ago. Like he hadn't silently loved every part of you, kissed and paid attention to every insecurity and scar on your skin.
Still, he took you to the moon, had you spasming around his cock like always—only this time, leaving you empty even after he filled you up with his cum.
You knew you felt empty because you wanted him to love you again. You wanted him to see you again, not the body he goes to whenever he wants.
Fuck, you really messed everything up.
You were asking for the impossible, for Satoru to care and love.
So you tried to push him away. Avoid meetups and his messages that only arrived after midnight strikes the clock.
It made no difference—in fact, you felt worse without him around.
By the second week of dodging him, you were about to cave and call him when your front door unlocked and there he was.
Dressed in all black, straight from work—black chemise with enough buttons undone to reveal his pale collarbones. Black slacks and perfectly tailored dark pants that only highlighted his height.
Your heart lurched—half fear and half relief that had adrenaline already coursing through your veins. You stumbled over your words.
"Satoru—what are you—how did you get in here?" Voice shaky, a light frown placing itself on your face.
He was wearing a stern expression on his face, all pursed lips and locked jaws is the kind. An unfamiliar sight to you as he was always obnoxiously smiling even when ticked off.
His hand rose to reveal your spare keys, you dont remember even granting him access to them but don't have time to ponder about that before his arm drops, he throws the keys on the counter and closes the distance between the both of you till he's looming directly over you—hands in his pocket.
"You have been avoiding me." He says, an underlying layer of annoyance sending a chill down your spine.
You try to deflect, "No."
A beat passes, the expression on his face remains.
"No, I haven't." You say more clearly.
And finish with, "I've been busy."
Complete and utter bullshit, you get off work on the dot and your shifts have never been so boring.
But he doesn't need to know that.
Not convinced at all, Satoru curves his spine till his glasses slide off on their own from where they were perched on his nose just enough for his eyes to pierce holes through you.
Blue, cerulean, sky blue consumes you.
And you hate it so much.
So much you wish you could swim in them.
In him.
"Try again." He says, not narrowing his eyes.
You swallow, feeling an uneasy sensation in your stomach that makes you want to throw up when revealing yourself to him crosses your mind.
But he won’t believe you if you spew some other bullshit out.
Fuck it.
“Satoru.” You whisper, seeing his eyes run over your whole face.
“I messed up.”
His figure stiffens. A thousand thoughts running through his mind, a billion questions. Shit, are you pregnant? Weren’t you on the pill? Fuck, what is he supposed to do now?
You see the way his adam’s apple bobs at your statement.
“What is it?” He asks, feeling his knuckles turning white in his pockets, a shiver overtaking his body.
Trying to start, you say. “I.. uh.” Still not sure, and still not confident enough.
Satoru silently prays it isn’t what he thinks it is.
A moment of silence passes, he watches you shift around, fiddling with your hands. Biting on and on your lips.
“Y/N?” He calls out to you and you snap out of it.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
And it’s not as stupid as it sounds.
You don’t like Satoru because he fucks you like no other man has. But because he messes with your heart without even knowing it.
Holding you after he’s done is not casual, it’s not normal. You’ve had ex boyfriends who don’t know the world aftercare, but Satoru bathes you, he wipes you clean.
Holds you in the bathtub, washes your hair, draws absentmindedly circles on your tired and tense shoulders.
Brings you your favorite dessert before he goes on to have his fav.
Makes you laugh a laugh that comes from the deepest parts of you which yearn to be light and happy with him.
He’s such a prick, completely unaware of his effect beyond his looks.
And you’re such an idiot for believing him.
For liking someone so good.
He stands there, quiet for what feels like an eternity. Your chest is tight with pressure when he straightens up and takes a step back.
Well, this is it.
“We agreed on no feelings, Y/N.” He says like your heart isn’t splitting in half.
You breathe out a shaky breath, slowly nodding because you are aware. “I know, I’m sorry.”
His eyes unlatch from you, taking a look at the window that shows the view of Tokyo from your floor like it pains him to look you in the face after the confession.
“I don’t see you that way.”
He never likes when you bring up another man, but he doesn't see you that way.
He whispers against your skin that he'd die seeing you with somebody else, but he doesn't see you that way.
You pull a tight smile on your face. “Okay.”
Then you tip the glass over, ruin yourself further. “We can keep seeing eachother if you want, my feelings won’t come between us. I know what I got myself into.” You say. A bittersweet feeling on your tongue.
When did it become so complicated?
You just can’t let him go.
He looks shaken by your proposal, head swinging back to you.
“No, you’ll just hurt yourself, Y/N.”
Stop saying my name, stop being so considerate.
You almost choke on your words from the thorns growing in your throat when you speak. “No, I promise I won’t. We can keep seeing each other.”
Push and pull.
He pushes you, you pull.
And you both keep seeing eachother.
But you detach yourself from everything. From him.
It doesn't even happen on purpose. You didn't mean to zone out when he'd start talking, mind drifting to how you both would've been if he hadn't rejected you.
You don't deliberately choose to start refusing his closeness outside of the bedroom on purpose, the growing cold pit in your chest just froze the strings between the both of you.
He notices your fucked out state on a different world the first time he feels you after the confession. A distant look in your eyes and not the usual cloud of pleasure in them.
Is he not making you feel good?
It took a week, a full week for you to let him in after what happened.
And it’s not true, you do feel good. You know you feel good because he’s doing everything right—the angle is perfect, his tip is brushing the deepest parts of you and the coil is threatening to snap in your lower stomach, but you don’t feel it as much as before.
You’re quiet, minimally moaning, hiding the noises. Not saying a single word unless he asks you something.
“Baby?” His hands find the back of your neck, making your eyes flutter open while he pounds into you.
Propping himself with one hand next to your head, his other holds the back of your neck while your sight settles on him and the worried look on his face.
“Hm?” You sleepily hum, exhausted from the orgasms, the rounds, the ache in your legs and the sensitivity of your clit.
He asks, breath heavy, pieces of hair clinging to his forehead as he reaches his escape—quiet groans filling your ears. “You okay, sweets?”
You nod with an inaudible hum, not really sure what he’s even asking.
“Fuck.” He groans, thrusting a few times before burying himself deep in you as you clench around him and feel his ropes paint your insides white.
Collapsing next to you, his hands leave your body and you run cold. An arm protectively swings over your waist as he readjusts on the bed, coming down from his high before he cleans you up.
You still haven’t said a word. Somewhere too far gone, feeling too used. But you agreed to this.
There’s no one to blame.
And though you’ve both been at it for hours, even though Satoru’s cum is oozing out of you and his cock is limp, he doesn’t feel satisfied.
That uncomfortable feeling in his pit stays there for days while he works.
A photoshoot here and there, a text to you which he receives no reply to, a runway, no response from you. A missed call. The absence of your messages or any sign of life from you bothers him more than he'd like.
Last time you replied was three days after your last hook up where you'd texted him a flat "I'm busy."
Not "Hey, I'm busy. We'll talk later." Or "Busy, ttyl." Which is still dry, but with a promise to talk later.
He finds himself wondering what you’re doing when you don’t reply.
Cooking in those skimpy little lace shorts he brought back for you from a high end brand? Brushing your soft hair with your legs crossed and your face stoic? Covering your beauty marks with concealer maybe?
The days drag on and on, hours struggle to bleed into other when his phone is so dry, when the smell of you is no longer clinging onto him.
His sex drive is dead. Libido low for the first time reaching a new low.
He doesn’t even text you multiple times a day for sex, he just wants you to reply.
Or to see you.
So much he considers driving himself back to your house again.
But he doesn’t have the spare keys anymore. The ones he had sneakily picked up one time.
Those would’ve been really useful for a surprise right now—he could’ve painted your apartment in pink roses, gift bags of Victoria’s Secret’s new line he heard just came out.
Gosh he’d do everything to see you in those new panties. To then take them off and kiss every curve of your body, every dip of skin.
Shit, it’s never really just sex.
You suffocate in your feelings, in the emptiness that comes of being a toy. Turns out, you’re not as strong as you thought you were.
Being nonchalant about what you feel is way harder than you thought it would be.
So you ignore him.
For days.
A month passes.
Your girlfriends are sick of it. Sick of hearing about him.
You feel stupid.
Maybe you are.
The whole scenario of him rejecting you runs another lap around your head as the elevator climbs 10 floors.
The familiar automatic ding of the lift snaps you out of your head. Doors opening, you step out.
You step out and boxes and boxes of pink flowers are on your doorstep, swallowing the entry with no way to get in your house.
Of course it’s him.
Sure, you knew he was a sex addict. But… not to this extent.
So when you catch sight of the singular envelope sticking out from the biggest box of roses and pluck it out, you expect something like “U and me tonight?” With a cheeky emoji.
But you rip the envelope open to “Please pick up the phone, princess.”
Fucking asshole.
Yet, you kick the roses sideways to make way, unlock your door, drop your bag and text “Door is unlocked.” With a disappointed sigh leaving you.
You make your bed knowing it’s going to get ruined in a few hours, clean the kitchen like he’s going to care about anything that isn’t ramming into you.
And the door unlocks sometime past 9 in the evening while you swirl a glass of wine in between your fingers on the balcony, sore legs kicked over the small coffee table.
He comes up on your right through the door. The details of his outfit unknown as you don’t pan your eyes over to him.
One month of no sex—no, no you, has shown Satoru that he does feel for you.
It’s shown him that what he felt was not just naturally from sex, it was straight from his heart. It wasn’t his hormones acting when his chest tightened when he had to leave.
Leave your peacefully sleeping figure in the morning all alone when it was practically begging for his arms to wrap around you again.
It’s shown him that he can’t breathe without you there.
He kneels in front of where you’re sat on the couch to reach your line of sight as you refuse to even acknowledge him.
Your eyes narrow to the wine before downing it all and setting it down on the glass table and swinging your feet off it.
The silence is thick with tension, unspoken words clawing at your lips. Both yours and Satoru’s.
You feel his eyes trace your every action.
Your spine meets the leather of the couch before you finally break the silence.
“I’m yours, Satoru. Just get on with it.”
His heart shatters into a billion different pieces. Just get on with it? Like you’re a task he has to finish? Like you’re not someone with feelings?
Feeling his heartbeat skyrocket, his mind starts running with questions. Do you not want him anymore? Does he not satisfy you anymore? Have you found someone else?
The thought of you with someone else has his stomach churning. He hasn’t even come to have sex with you, just to clear the air.
Still, your vague look and lack of expression makes his body go cold.
“I’m not here for that.” He says, feeling his voice waver, vocal chords shaking.
Your head finally turns to him. “Then why are you here?”
Internally, he winces. “Because I can’t go another second without you, Y/N.”
You feel the stars sparkle in amazement, the moon shine in delight. Your heart double over.
Is he..?
“I love you.” He cuts your thoughts off.
“I’m a liar, I love you so much I can’t breathe when you’re not around. When you’re not talking to me or holding me.”
“It was never just sex—I”
You cut him off, smashing your lips against him on his knee. There’s no need for you to reciprocate, he knows you love him.
He sighs against you, shoulders dropping from the tension in them leaving, forearms wrapping around your waist as he gets up and sits in your seat.
You land on him, knees digging onto the leather by his sides—feeling his heartbeat against your chest while he pulls you flush against him.
Your arms hold him tight by the neck. Moving around and repositioning yourself ears you a grunt from him as you feel him grow beneath you.
A sheepish smirk presses against his lips as you fail to suppress it. In revenge, his hands drop from your waist and onto your ass, pushing your clothed pussy over his hardening boner.
One month of celibacy has you sensitive to the slightest touch, the imprint of him being nothing like the shitty toys you hoped would get you off in his absence.
He groans once more as you shift over him—now deliberately grinding in slow movements.
A hand slips under the shirt you’re wearing to find that you aren’t wearing a bra, though he already suspected it from your hard nipples against his chest.
You let out a quiet moan from his cold hands against your back.
The low sound of his muffled chuckle vibrates against your lips as he invades your mouth, tongue tasting every inch of you.
Not letting him be in charge, you tug his hair and his mouth falls open for you to explore.
Your lungs beg for air and only then do you break the kiss, feeling his hand push your shirt upwards till your breasts meet the cold night air.
Without even catching his breath, Satoru’s mouth latches onto your nipple like he’s starved and you’re his favorite food.
His tongue swirls while his other fingers pinch your lonely nipple, coating your chest in saliva, bundles of nerves electrifying under his touch.
You’re a moaning mess till you have enough of the teasing.
“A-ah—Satoru-” He doesn’t stop at your calling.
“Satoru—”
Finally he perks up. “Yes, sweetheart?”
You try to focus on your words as he humps you dry. “Make-make—love to me.”
His eyes widen like it’s Christmas day. A second passes. He crashes. God, his name coming from your lips, the seemingly innocent request when it’s so secretly filthy. The wires reconnect in his brain and suddenly you’re grateful you only wore a really oversize, old shirt of his you stole.
What else would you need to wear with him around?
The damp material of your lacy panties gets pushed aside and he unbuckles his pants, freeing his hard, dusty pink, groomed cock out.
You gasp when his tip pushes at your entrance, having forgotten the sheer size of him and his girth.
“Satoru!”
He groans, head falling back as your juices leak down on him.
“Oh fuuuck,” he drags, eyes falling closed. “Ah- should’ve prepped you—It’s been a while now, hasn’t it, baby? But you’re so wet I’m sure you can take me, right my sweet girl?”
So you do, you bite your lips, stabilise yourself on his shoulders and slowly sink down onto him. He kisses you slow, pressing soft skin against you, bitting your bottom lip delicately.
His hands leave your ass and one of them wraps around your back, bringing you impossibly close to him.
The other presses into your hair, angling your head sideways so he can lose himself in your mouth.
He lets you stay bottomed out for a moment so you can readjust, relearn the shape of him.
A needy whine vibrates against Satoru's lips once he shifts inside of you.
You feel his grin against you before he delivers the first thrust—deep, slow, curved just right to hit your cervix right off the bat. Your lips part for you to let out a moan from your chest.
He takes the opportunity to bite your neck. Leave his mark and kiss down your carotid. Gentle, reverent kisses. Deliberate nips. Purple and pink shades decorating fron your neck to your collarbone and breasts.
You're his vision. His canvas.
With two hands under your thighs, Satoru bounces you on his length. Perfectly inclined pink tip that never really leaves your pussy when he lifts your hips, but meets the familiar muscular ring deep within you whenever he drops you down every.single.time.
The sound of skin meeting skin so intimately getting absorbed by the sky.
You writhe over him, legs starting to ache, lips swelling—throat going dry from the moaning once he starts to circle around your clit, drawing you closer to the edge.
In one sudden movement, he lays you down on the couch. Your back against the soft cushions—his hot figure hovering over you, hand on your hip, elbow dug in the leather to prop himself up.
And he really starts hitting the spot. Your sight starts to blur, tears prickling at the corners from the feeling of sheer fullness. He starts to pick up the speed just a bit, going harder, not fast yet enough for him to feel you reaching your climax.
Your nails claw at his back under his shirt, looking for something that will tether you to earth while you clench and clench till his rhythm is stuttering.
"Oh my pretty girl, I'm so close-ugh—you're doing so well f'me." His teeth sink into your shoulder and you feel your legs going weak.
A hand dips under you, hooking under your back and arching you upwards.
Once.
Twice, he thrusts.
And you come. Hard.
He follows immediately, shaking when he buries himself inside of you. Walls fluttering and pulling him in viciously.
Neither of you dare to move, he collapses over you and flips you both with him still inside your walls till your head lands on his chest.
You don't need to say it out loud.
But you're his.
And he's yours.
Haven’t proofed this yet because im a little lazy buttttt what if its not just a masterlist either…?
Working on pregnant reader x husbandnanami and hockey!gojo x reader..
“come on babe it’s gonna look so cool!” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy eyes in another attempt to convince him.
you’d been scrolling through pinterest, following your nightly routine, when you came across a really cute couple pic where the guy had lipstick marks all over his bicep, maybe an overly used idea but you still found it pretty cute. and well, safe to say the idea had been stuck in your head for a week before you finally decided to play dirty and convince him to recreate the exact same picture for your perfected instagram feed.
and in your book, playing dirty meant mean puppy eyes and pouty lips with glossy tears sitting tightly on the edge of your lashes, threatening to spill over them.
a sight you knew he was hopelessly weak for.
you grinned to yourself. he was as grumpy as ever, letting out a long groan before throwing an arm over his eyes in a poor attempt to ignore you. huge mistake.
you were sitting on top of him while he lay sprawled across couch with his legs hanging over the armrest. fond as he was of summer, he wasn’t exactly immune to the dry heat that came with it and now he was dealing with a persistent headache for days, causing him to lay in the same spot for hours until the sun went down. currently, he was in his fourth hour of the day.
“babee,” you whined with the exact pout you knew he could never resist.
he groaned again, one hand instinctively settling around your waist to steady you. “y’know you’re a fucking menace.”
you grinned. “does that mean yes?”
a tight silence stretched across his features. he sighed as his voice crawled up to a tone so defeated.
“do whatever you want.”
you let out an excited squeal, a scream of victory, before immediately reaching for the red lipstick.
ever since you’d started dating, you’d realized no matter how stubborn or intimidating he could be, never before had it seem as he had the determination to say a simple ‘no’ to you. at first he’d been genuinely confused by it, convinced there had to be some scientific explanation for why he was physically incapable of rejecting you. well, the explanation he came up with was that he was just a guy so in love. a guy weak and devoted in love.
he seemed to accept this half scientific explanation he had for himself wholeheartedly. he was a weak man.
and well, you never opposed to his logic.
you actually loved this side of him, where he was all sharp edges to everyone else with his permanent scowl sitting roughly on his face, for you he was simply a man in love who couldn’t even say a simple no because he adored you far too much.
you smiled as you finished applying the lipstick, settling yourself more comfortably on his stomach for a better angle.
leaning down, you pressed the first kiss against his bicep. perfect. you couldn’t help giggling when you noticed him subtly flexing, despite acting like he was being held hostage.
your lips lingered just long enough to leave a perfect imprint against his skin. and you felt his shuddering breath near your ears, caressing your neck. his hand tightened against your waist. he, again, exhaled softly. the soft breath brushed the side of your face and he caressed your skin with his rough hands.
“thought you were against to this,” you teased with a knowing grin. “it seems like you’re enjoying yourself.”
he gave your waist a light smack. “focus on your job.” you laughed, swiping on the lipstick over your lips once more.
by the time you were finished, his entire bicep was covered in neatly arranged and gorgeous looking kiss marks.
“i told you this would look good.” you said proudly. “kuna let me grab my phone real quick! i need to post this! where do you think the lightning would—“ your words turned into distracted humming as you wandered off toward the bedroom.
when you came back, your steps stopped in the doorway. you rolled your eyes. “this man…”
you gotta be kidding me.
you caught him in front of the mirror, his back slightly turned, flexing his biceps and his eyes trailing the kiss marks with a pleasant glint, admiring the view in the mirror.
“oh my god, kuna you narcissistic animal,”
he ignored you completely.
you winced seeing his smirk. he changed his pose, flexed his arm again and nodded with a certain approval.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ after three weeks of watching sukuna completely unravel over his feelings, you decide it’s time to put him out of his misery by kissing him.
✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, established friendship, first kiss together, sukuna is even more pathetic, mutual pining, reader has the upper hand, idiots in love, lots of kissing, sukuna is down horrendous for reader, longing.
part one.
three weeks had passed since that tuesday afternoon, and the thing about sukuna was that he was nothing if not stubbornly, infuriatingly predictable in his unpredictability.
he'd gone right back to flirting with you the very next day, like nothing had happened, like you hadn't watched his voice crack and his ears go pink and his entire carefully constructed confidence crumple like wet paper. he'd shown up at your usual coffee spot with that sharp grin and a comment about how you looked cute when you were sleep-deprived, and you'd blinked at him over your latte and said;
"cute enough to kiss?"
and sukuna had promptly choked on his own spit.
it was almost too easy, really, the way sukuna’s brain would short-circuit for a solid three seconds before he managed to pull himself together, the way his tattoos seemed to ripple with tension across his forearms as he scrambled for a response, the way his eyes would go just a little bit wide before he remembered to be annoying about it.
but he always recovered. that was the thing; sukuna would cough and sputter and glare at you like you'd personally offended his ancestors, and then he'd lean in close and say something like, "you wish, sweetheart", with that particular tilt to his mouth that was supposed to make you flustered.
except it didn't work anymore, because you'd seen the cracks in his armor now. you'd seen the way sukuna’s hand shook when he reached for his phone, the way sukuna had looked away first, the way sukuna had said please like it was a word he'd never learned how to use.
and you'd seen the way sukuna had started looking at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.
that was the part that stuck with you, honestly. the way you'd catch sukuna staring at you across the library table or from the other end of his worn-out couch, his expression soft and unguarded in a way he'd never let you see before that tuesday. the way he'd immediately look away the very second your gaze met his, his jaw tightening like he'd been caught doing something really embarrassing.
three weeks of this; sukuna flirting and panicking and flirting again, of you pushing just enough to make him squirm but not enough to break the careful dance you'd both settled into.
three weeks of both of you pretending that something fundamental hadn't shifted between you, that you hadn't accidentally kicked open a door sukuna had been trying to keep closed so freaking bad.
but today, you were done pretending.
today, you were going to kiss your flirty best friend, sukuna, and you were going to do it in a way that left absolutely no room for interpretation.
today, it was a saturday afternoon, the kind that felt lazy and golden and full of possibility, and you'd shown up at sukuna's apartment with a bag of takeout from that thai place he liked so much and the specific kind of determination that came from weeks of watching him flail.
sukuna opened the door looking like he'd just rolled out of bed, which was probably accurate given that it was almost two in the afternoon and he'd texted you at 4am about a dream he'd had where his stats professor turned into a sentient spreadsheet. sukuna's pink hair was messier than usual, sticking up in ways that shouldn't have been attractive but absolutely were, and he was wearing that faded black t-shirt that had a small hole near the collar and made his tattoos stand out even more against his skin.
"you brought food," sukuna said, his voice rough with sleep, and the way his eyes lit up made something warm curl in your chest. "i was about to text you to ask if you wanted to order something. i haven't eaten since, like, yesterday."
"that's disgusting," you said, stepping past him into the apartment. "and also incredibly on-brand for you."
sukuna made a little sound of protest that was mostly performative, shutting the door behind you and following you into the living room like a large, tattooed shadow.
the apartment was the same as always — slightly cluttered, faintly smelling like his cologne and whatever takeout containers he hadn't thrown out yet, with that old leather couch that had seen better decades and the coffee table covered in his notes and empty energy drink cans.
you set the takeout bags on the table and turned to face him, and of course, sukuna was already looking at you with that familiar, lazy amusement, like he was already gearing up to say something annoying.
"you know," sukuna said, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms shift, the dark lines of his tattoos pulling tight over bone and tendon. "you're kind of spoiling me. showing up with food, looking all—" sukuna gestured vaguely at you, his eyes dragging down and then back up in a way that was supposed to be teasing. "—like that. i might start expecting this."
"expecting what?" you asked, and you kept your voice light, casual, like you weren't about to completely upend both of your lives. "me bringing you food because you can't be bothered to feed yourself?"
"no," he said, and his grin sharpened, that particular tilt to his mouth that meant he was about to be a menace. "you showing up. looking good. being all—" he made another vague gesture, his fingers curling in the air like he was trying to grab the right word. "—you know. you."
and there it was, the thing that had changed, that you'd noticed more and more over the past few weeks.
sukuna had stopped simply saying you looked cute or making some comment about your outfit — the pink haired boy was getting softer, clumsier, like he was trying to say something real and didn't quite know how.
you could feel your stupid heart beating a little faster in your chest, but you kept your expression steady, and your posture easy. you'd been planning this for days now, running through it in your head again and again, trying to figure out the right moment and the right way to do it.
"you," you repeated, and you stepped closer to him, just one step, close enough that you could see the way his throat moved when he swallowed. "is that supposed to be a compliment, kuna? because it's kind of vague."
sukuna's eyebrows pulled together, just slightly, the way they always did when you deviated from your usual deflections. his arms were still crossed, but you could see the tension in his broads shoulders now, the way sukuna was holding himself just a little too still.
"it's not vague," he said, and his voice had dropped just a fraction, that roughness from sleep still clinging to the edges of it. "you know what i mean."
"do i?"
you took another step closer, and now you were close enough to see the way his pupils had dilated just slightly, the way his breath had caught in his throat. his tattoos seemed to darken against his skin in the afternoon light filtering through the windows, those familiar lines shifting as his muscles tensed.
"you're doing it again," sukuna said, and there it was, that slight crack in his voice, the one that had been appearing more and more often over the past few weeks. "the thing where you're—where you act like—"
"act like what?"
sukuna's arms uncrossed, and for a moment he looked like he didn't know what to do with them, his hands flexing at his sides before he shoved them into the pockets of his sweatpants. the gesture was almost defensive, and you could see the way his jaw worked as he ground his teeth together.
"act like you're going to—" he stopped, swallowed, tried again. "you know what. you know exactly what you're doing."
"do i?" you asked again, softer this time, and you let your gaze drop to his mouth for just a second before bringing it back to his eyes. "tell me, then. what am i doing?"
sukuna's breath hitched; you heard it, the way it caught in his chest and came out uneven, and you watched the flush start creeping up his neck in that splotchy pattern you'd become intimately familiar with over the past few weeks. it started at his collarbones, just visible above the collar of his t-shirt, and spread upward in patches that stained his skin pink.
"you're—" sukuna started, and then he had to stop to clear his throat, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet apartment. "you're trying to make me—i don't know what you're trying to make me do, but you're doing it on purpose."
"maybe," you said, and you let yourself smile, just a small one, the same way you had three weeks ago. "maybe i just wanted to see what would happen."
sukuna's eyes went wide, and you could see the memory of that tuesday flickering across his flushed face — the way you'd leaned in, the way he'd frozen, the way he'd spent the rest of the evening in a daze, not flirting once, just staring at you when he thought you weren't looking.
"that's not—" sukuna started, and then his voice cracked, and the sound of it made something in your chest ache. "you can't just—that's not fair. you can't just do that and then act like nothing happened."
"i'm not acting like nothing happened," you said.
you reached out, slowly enough that sukuna could stop you if he wanted to, and let your fingers brush against his wrist. the skin there was warm, his pulse racing beneath your fingertips, and you felt the way he shuddered at the contact.
"i'm acting like something did happen. something that changed things. something we've both been pretending didn't happen for three weeks."
sukuna's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and absolutely nothing came out except this small, strangled sound that might have been your name or might have been a prayer. his pulse was hammering under your fingers, fast and uneven, and you could see the way his chest was rising and falling too quickly, like he'd just run up several flights of stairs.
"i—" he started, and then he stopped, and his free hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, the movement jerky and nervous. "you're serious. you're actually—this isn't a joke?"
"no," you said, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, close enough that you could smell his cologne and something underneath it that was simply him. "it's not a joke. it was never a joke."
sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the war going on behind them, the part of him that wanted to deflect and the part of him that wanted to just let go. his jaw worked, his throat moved, and his huge hand came up from his neck to hover near your face, not quite touching, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he made contact.
"you're serious," sukuna said again, and his voice was so quiet, so fragile, nothing like the sharp confidence he usually wore. "you're not—you're not just messing with me?"
"i'm not messing with you," you said, and you lifted your other hand to cup his jaw, your palm warm against the stubble there. his skin was hot, his pulse fluttering under your thumb where it rested near his ear, and you watched his eyes flutter closed for just a second before they opened again. "i'm not. i want to kiss you, kuna. i've wanted to kiss you for a while now."
the sound sukuna made was something between a whine and a groan, and his hand finally made contact with your face, his fingers splaying against your cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. his palm was warm and slightly rough, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, the way they shook against your skin.
"you can't just say that," sukuna said, and his voice was wrecked, completely destroyed, like you'd reached into his chest and pulled out something he'd been trying to hide. "you can't just say that and expect me to—i've been—do you have any idea how long i've—"
"how long you've what?" you asked, and you let your thumb trace along his jaw, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch. "how long you've wanted to kiss me?"
sukuna's eyes were bright, almost too bright, and his blush had spread to his cheeks now, staining them pink in a way that made him look younger, softer, nothing like the sharp and untouchable figure he pretended to be.
"yes," he said, and the word came out rough and raw, like it had been scraped out of him. "yes, okay? i've wanted—i've wanted to kiss you for years, and you—you just sat there on my couch like it was nothing, like you didn't—"
"like i didn't know?" you finished, and you leaned in, your forehead almost touching his, close enough that your breath mixed with his. "i knew. i just didn't—i wasn't ready. and then that tuesday, when you—when you looked at me like that, i thought maybe you were ready too."
sukuna's hand on your cheek tightened, just slightly, and his other hand came up to grip your hip, his rough fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt like he was desperately anchoring himself. sukuna's eyes searched yours, and you could see the fear there, the uncertainty, the desperate hope he was trying and failing to hide.
"i'm scared," he said, and his voice broke on the last word, splintering in a way that made your heart ache. "i'm scared that this is—that i'm going to—"
"you're not going to mess this up," you said, and you leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his. "you're not. i'm right here. i'm not going anywhere."
and then you closed the distance, and you kissed him.
it was soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his, testing, asking. sukuna's mouth was warm and slightly chapped, and you could feel the way his breath caught against your skin, the way his hand on your hip tightened convulsively. the kiss was tentative, almost shyly so, and you could feel the tension in sukuna, the way he was holding himself back like he was afraid of breaking something.
but then you pulled back just enough to breathe, and you looked at him, and the expression on sukuna's face literally made your heart stutter.
sukuna's eyes were wide, his pupils blown so dark you could barely see the red of his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, wet from the earlier kiss. sukuna's blush had spread down his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, and his breathing was fast and uneven, his chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
"was that—" he started, and his voice came out as barely a whisper, cracked and fragile. "did you—"
"yes," you said, and you couldn't help the smile that spread across your face, so warm and so genuine. "that was real. that was me kissing you."
sukuna made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and his hand on your cheek pulled you back in, and this time the kiss was not soft.
this time, it was desperate.
sukuna’s mouth was hungry against yours, like he'd been starving for this for long years and had finally been given permission to eat. his lips moved against yours with a kind of frantic urgency, and his huge hand slid from your cheek into your hair, his long fingers tangling in the strands and pulling you even closer. his other hand was still on your hip, his grip almost bruising, and you could feel the way sukuna’s whole body was trembling against you.
he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word from the past three weeks into the press of his lips.
sukuna’s warm tongue brushed against your lower lip, asking, and you opened for him, and the sound he made when he tasted you was something you'd never forget — a low, desperate sound that vibrated against your mouth and made your knees feel oh so weak.
you kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands finding his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles were coiled tight like he was barely holding himself together. his tattoos shifted under your palms as he moved, those familiar dark lines stretching and pulling over warm skin, and you could feel his pulse hammering under your fingertips.
when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, and sukuna's eyes were squeezed shut like he was trying to process what the actual hell had just happened.
his chest was heaving, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, and his hands were still in your hair and on your hip, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.
"that," sukuna said, and his voice was hoarse, wrecked, completely destroyed. "that was—"
"good?" you offered, and you were smiling, you couldn't help it, the way his whole body was trembling against yours.
"good," he repeated, and he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob, somewhere in between. "good doesn't even—i've been wanting that for—and you just—"
sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed, and there was something raw and open in his expression that he'd never let you see before.
"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for that."
"tell me," you said, and you reached up to brush a strand of pink hair from his forehead, feeling the way he leaned into your touch. "tell me how long."
sukuna's lips curved into a smile that was soft and almost shy, absolutely nothing like the sharp grins he usually wore. his blush was still adorably staining his cheeks, and his ears were pink, and he looked so vulnerable and so open that it made something in your chest ache.
"too long," sukuna said, his voice still rough, still fragile. "longer than i want to admit. years, maybe. i don't—i really didn't know how to tell you, and i didn't want to mess things up, and then that tuesday—"
"that tuesday," you repeated, and you laughed, soft and warm. "you were so pathetic. your voice cracked."
"shut up," sukuna said, but he was laughing too, his body shaking against yours. "i was caught off guard. you never—you never do that."
"maybe i should do it more often," you said, and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the way he melted into you. "maybe i should kiss you more often."
sukuna's breath hitched, and his hand in your hair tightened, and he turned his head to catch your mouth with his, this kiss slower than the last, deeper, like he was trying to savor it. his lips moved against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your heart swell, and his tongue was tracing your lower lip gently before pulling back.
"yeah," he said against your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper. "yeah, you should. you really, really should."
and you did.
you kissed sukuna until the takeout got cold, kissed him until the afternoon light shifted into evening, kissed him until he was a trembling, blushing mess in his own living room, his tattoos warm and familiar under your hands and his heart racing against your chest.
sukuna was still pathetic, still whining and blushing and falling apart every time you touched him, and you loved it.
you loved him, you realized, and you'd probably loved him for a little while now, even before that tuesday, even before everything changed.
and from the way sukuna was looking at you, his eyes bright and his face flushed and his mouth curved into that soft, shy smile — he loved you too.
"so," he said finally, his voice still hoarse, his hand still tangled in your hair. "does this mean you're my—like, you're—"
"yes," you said, and you kissed the corner of sukuna’s mouth again, just because you could. "i'm your something. we can figure out the labels later."
sukuna made a sound that was almost a whine, and he pulled you closer to him, burying his blushing face deep in your neck and mumbling something you couldn't quite hear but you were pretty sure was 'finally'.
and you laughed, warm and happy, and held him, and the evening light filtered through his windows and painted the room in shades of gold and pink.
three weeks of pretending had led to this, and it had been more than worth it.
And that's the part that's making me lose my fucking mind.
We lost an entire section of the MAIN STORY.
The livestream literally told us Valko's release was going to reveal more about the Aethercore—one of the biggest mysteries in Love and Deepspace and something that's been central to the plot from the very beginning.
So now what?
You think they can just delete him and nothing changes?
Do people genuinely think you can rip out an entire story arc without consequences?
Everything that was supposed to be revealed through Valko now has to be rewritten, redistributed, or outright cut. The main story is going to have to be retconned. Future updates are going to have to be reworked. Characters may have to be rewritten just to fill the gap he leaves.
If you're celebrating this because you "won," I sincerely hope you understand what you've actually cheered for.
They canceled valko. Literally. I hate that fandom and company. They canceled everything. I wanna cryy. This was the only time i was soo excited for the release of Li
it’s way too early in the morning and satoru’s perched up on the counter chair peacefully eating his cereal.
you yawn, padding up to him sleepily. seeing just how adorable and calm he looked, you ofcourse had to do something about it.
“hey babe” he chews, with his jaw working lazily and his pale hair all fluffed up.
you hum in response, coming up behind his chair and then slowly starting to climb him. you bring one leg over his shoulder maintaining balance by digging your palm into his skin.
your husband’s hand pauses for a slight second where he seems to mull over your actions and then, having come to some conclusion he continues to sip on the milk and eat his cereal.
you bring your other leg up and over hoisting yourself with a surprising smoothness.
not like you hadn’t mounted him before.
“watcha doin’?” you sing-song trying to play it cool as if you do this everyday. i mean, your boyfriend was a tree you’d climb any-day but…maybe under different circumstances.
“oh i was thinking we’re low on groceries, do you wanna join me later today?” satoru continues his conversation with you as if there was nothing abnormal about this situation.
you lean down to look into his eyes upside down, while carding your fingers through this messy yet soft hair.
“sure!” you chirp in response not really surprised at his lack of reaction.
satoru was a man as clingy as they came and you sitting on top of him like this was heaven in his mind. he rubbed your thigh affectionately excited by this new side of you.
“you’re so boring” you huff, swatting at his hand.
“BORING?” he gasps dramatically.
“yes boring, i wanted to see how you’d react to me sitting on your shoulders like this”
“oh i’m reacting alright, actually everything is reacting” he shrugs his shoulders with you on top of him, almost making you lose balance and you grab onto his ears hard to maintain it.
“ow-“
“can you be serious for one second?” you exclaim, literally fighting for your life.
satoru tilts his head upwards to look at you, “you know what, i love this you should do it more often!” he grinned his stupid smile, eyes shining bright.
Synopsis. Your clan leader husband only wants one thing - an heir.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! JJK men, BRÉEDING, creampíes, talks of heirs, they’re REALLY pússydrúnk, cúmplay, exhibítionism (Geto, Gojo), the elders, use of “ma’am” and “madam”, overstím, making him shoot BLANKS, matíng presses, chokíng, true form Sukuna, dp, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 5.9k
A/N. If this doesn’t post I’m living up to my username.
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Madam Zenin
“Please-” Toji’s panting out in ragged heavals, teeth sinking into any raw inch of unclaimed skin down the tender column of your neck. “Please- t-take-”
And he can’t even finish his sentence, can’t even finish his staggering gasp when his toned hips thwack like he was going painfully out of control.
With a leering groan, his strong arm slams! down to grasp desperately onto the headboard overhead, mouth dipping thoroughly drunkenly to press wet peck after peck onto your lips.
“Oh- oh-” He thumbs urgently down the side of your bulging folds to coat each and every one of his thick digits in a sheeny gloss of white. Eyes drooping half-shut when he’s popping those sopping wet fingers into his mouth. Tasting. “Oh, look at that- s’like she’s jus’ begging f’me to hngh- fill her up all over again, ma.”
“T-Toji–” Your nails claw angry red pathways down his flexing deltoids, in a way that Toji would let only you do. “Don’t know if a-anymore will fit-”
“B-but aren’t ya gonna give me an ah- heir, madam?”
With a roughened grunt, he’s jostling your limp legs to lock up even tighter around his neck, the sloppiest mating press he’d even manhandled you into. Baring such a feral grin that makes you realize within your heady mind that neither of you just might be making it out of tonight alive.
You don’t even know how it started - didn’t have a clue. One minute you’re at another stuffy clan gathering, speaking with a few other clan leaders from across the country; and the next, Toji’s all but dragging you towards the closest bedroom in your estate.
Rotund knees slipping and sliding across that ever-growingly sticky pool of seed dawning on the silken blankets.
But Toji can’t even bring himself to be disgusted, no, he wants more.
“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck s’too deep- hngh-”
“No-” he chokes out throatily. “S’not deep enough.”
Shakily, he’s splaying out his greedy fingers about halfway across your stomach, swiping across for that familiar nudge where he can feel his swollen tip glide wet gushes of swelteringly hot precum across your bruised g-spot. Where he was knocking into your very womb-
“There.” And without any warning, he’s pressing down - hard. Mean mouth dropping softly in awe at those saccharine sweet dredges of his cum drooling down your thighs, drip drip dripping in thick ribbons to paint a creamy ring around his reddened base. “N-now ya have space, dontcha, doll?”
One of his calloused palms slides down to attach to your squirming waist. “Don’t- don’t run away, ma—” And you swear you could hear his rumbling baritone crack ever-so-slightly at the very end of his words. Hips sloppying up the very insides of your thighs with every harsh smack! “Haven’t f-filled up this cute cunt all the way yet- ah h-haven’t oh- fucked a baby into ya.”
The rounded edges of his digits swirl in such a sultry way around your soppingly wet clit, leaving tiny swats! that make the puddle of cum and your sweet, sweet slick splatter. “S-see, so much of it gone to ah- waste. How am I s-s’pposed to show off to those fuckers who my pretty hngh- wife is. The pretty momma of my heirs–?”
Your bleary eyes snap open, a broken whine on the very edge of your heavy tongue. “S-so this is what s’all about- you were j-”
But his rummaging thrusts are too much. Inch after girthy inch being fed into your drooling pussy, you could feel his voluminous loads of cum sloshing around your gummy walls. Clinging to you so syrupy - and Toji couldn’t stop.
He didn’t even know if he could cum again, whether it was possible. But fuck, if he wasn’t going to try.
Dark brows scrunching together in ecstasy, strands of his soft hair sticking to his sweat-simmered forehead. His body hunches over with such a sensitive gasp, skin burning when he’s feeling his fat, cum-filled balls squeeze. Once. Twice.
Driving him mad.
“Y-yeah so what-” he’s grumbling out gutturally, and his eyes roll to the very back of his head. “Shit, hate those m-meetings. Hate those no-good bastards.” Teeth tugging on your wobbly bottom lip, “-so what if I wan’ show off- to have you so round and- and glowing that they know what I did, ma?”
The thought is enough for him to bark out a drunken bout of laughter. Humorless. Sleazy. Over and over where he’s rummaging at your melty insides. “They’ll know they’ll know- oh, th-they’ll know how I made ya mine.” Smearing a wet glide of seed down your throbbingly neglected clit. “How I hngh- f-fucked a baby into ya. How s’me that filled ya up- all me-”
And it’s just about all it takes for you to cum - for him to cum.
But Toji’s so fucking hypnotized by your heavenly pussy that he barely even realizes at first. Just letting his entire hulking body shudder with a trail of violent shivers, bowing enough to graze that raised scar of his positioned on his lips against yours. Soft. “Gonna be the clan momma- hngh- clan ah-”
Scratching back and forth back and forth back and forth- while he’s cumming blanks.
Angry, sobbing divot at the very end of his length shooting out wispy little beads of white. Again. And again.
You’re seeing stars behind your eyes and Toji- Toji might just be seeing heaven. With you right there, his pretty angel.
And he feels your skin underneath his sharpened canines. Biting into the crook of your neck so hard it was like he was out for blood.
“Me-” he giggles. Giggles. Shamelessly bringing forth two rude fingers to pry open your whiny mouth, “Me me me me- every other clan’s gonna see you and- hah- see me-” Punctuated with drippingly wet ruts of his hips, not even thrusts anymore. He didn’t have the sanity. And he spits a wad of honeyed saliva right onto your taste-buds, “-because you’re mine, aren’t ya, madam?”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Madam Nanami
Nanami thinks he might just be drunk - hypnotized - anything and everything that’s keeping him from paying attention to the important clan meeting currently at hand.
And of course, it was utterly your fault.
“My love…” Nanami’s deepened voice hums lowly in your ear from behind. His thick fingers curl roughly around your waist, holding your shifting hips in place. “We’re at a meeting.”
You’re batting your lashes as the haughty elders speaking over each other, sounding so utterly unapologetic when you leer smugly up at your husband. “What? M’jus’ getting-” And he can only suck in a shudderingly sharp gust of air when you grind your ass down even harder on his lap, dragging your sodden panties up to where he was rock-hard. “-comfortable, Ken.”
Over and over. Your puffed-up pussy lips positioned just above his fat, weepy head.
It’s been like this for too long now. And Nanami could feel his sanity dancing away, he could feel it building up within him. He was going to-
His drunkenly half-lidded eyes veer down at you, and you catch the way that his stern jaw clenches. Gritting through clenched teeth, “You’re going to be in trouble, ma’am.”
“So what?”
SLAM!
And it’s like Nanami couldn’t stand up fast enough, couldn’t shove your pretty body down onto the cool mahogany urgently enough. One hand of his long fingers curled around your throat, the other flicking towards the door, “All of you out. Now.”
Not even bothering to look towards whether or not they’d scrambled towards the door before your seepingly soaked panties are pulled just enough to the side.
He grunts, “Pretty–”
Barely even a split-second later before you’re being stuffed with inch after veined inch of Nanami’s girthy cock. He’s letting his head fall backwards, a leering dribble of drool placing down the corner of his lips already, toned hips snapping forwards at the clingy push and pull of your slobbering cunt.
And it feel so unfairly good when he sinks in with a few ragged breaths, so unfairly heavenly-
“Spit.” Nanami’s choking out, mouth falling slack, sculpted front pressed down bruisingly at your back. Keeping you stuck pinned underneath nothing but him and his mercilessly pressurized jackhammers. And you do - saccharine sweet saliva hitting his tongue- “Fuck fuck fuck, you feel s-so-”
And the clan leader can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed, can’t do anything but slur out a staggered mantra of your name over and over when that’s all it takes for him to cum.
Voice lilting up to a pathetic pitch, every wavering gush of seed having his head lolling. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, he heaves.
Far from finished.
“Can’t- can’t believe I-” The back of one of his thumbs comes to dredge up the gleaming white sheen of cum, and he’s going wild with the honeyed taste on his tongue as soon as he’s sucking. “Oh, were ya th-this wet throughout the entire ah- meeting, my love?”
You shiver at the way his still-fattened cockhead was nudging you open, the stretch so maddening. Your cunt so tight. “M-maybe-”
Smack!
And it’s like he’s thoroughly drunk on your pussy already when his soft palm splays out across the sting on your ass, gushing out in another sticky ribbon of seed down your g-spot. And another. He couldn’t stop- You can feel it swiveling slowly around your elastic walls.
Fuck, just your tone makes his hefty balls squeeze, so tight and painful with every stingingly wet thwack! thwack! thwack! against your cunt.
He hauls you upwards like some ragdoll with the vice-like grip around your throat. “Th-tha’s not ‘nough, darling-” he’s purring, nosing down your neck. “The m-madam’s gotta use her ngh- big girl words, no?”
You feel those tufts of blond scratch teasingly against the fat of your ass, rummaging the swollen length of his cock down every nook and cranny he could reach - every single one. Thump thump thumping! furiously against all of your tenderized sweetened spots. “C’mon now- tell me. Tell me what ya want so badly.”
“P-please-” Your mouth slacks in awe, “Want you to cum inside- to bre-”
Because Nanami Kento would give his madam anything. Anything.
Even if that has him pummeling his achingly hard cock into your even further, deftly covering your mouth with one of his palms. He’s huffing out in a feverish puff against your ear, “Mhm- did s-so well- now let your hngh- husband take care of it now, honey-” Kissing down the side of your forehead, he hikes up one muscular thigh to drivel his cock into you sloppier. Wrenching out loud squelches. “-let’s hear what this p-pretty pussy has to say now- let’s let’s hear-”
He was out of control.
Oh, he’s like a broken record, fighting with every shred of will left in his hunched-over body to stop his babbling mouth.
Pressing gentle kiss after kiss all over your face, fingers at your neck tightening. While his hips were rattling off the most mean crashes into your g-spot.
“I think–she’s saying-” Nanami’s dark groan sends shivers down your spine, hissing through his bared canines when your back arches even sluttier. Jostling at the perfect angle for him to pool the trail of milky cum dribbling from your soppingly wet lips onto two pads of his fingers, a glistening gloss all the way down to his wrist. And, this time, he’s plugging the creamy wads back into your overly stuffed cunt. Bullying. Stretching. “-that…”
Shit, he was going to cum again.
You felt too good. And he swears he’s going to marry you all over again.
“Wh-what-” you’re crying. Begging. Knees weakening to such an extent that your husband was gladly supporting your full body weight with one big beefy arm wrapped snugly around your waist. “-tell me, K-Ken-”
Ah, he truly was nothing against you.
He rasps in a low whisper against your ear, “-that I wanna make ya a pretty momma, my love.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Madam Geto
“Easy, girl, easy–” Geto’s silken purr made your thighs just quiver, gasps stuttering in your throat. “You could think of it as jus’ you n’ me.”
And he’s batting his dewy lashes down at you - his wife - shit, just thinking of the word was enough to have his cock twitch animalistically inside the very depths of your snug cunt.
Glissading his soft palms underneath your thighs to spread them even shamefully wider, making you keen at the utterly mean way he was folding you into a full nelson - all for them to see through the bed’s half-opaque curtains. The elders. The council. His pearly white teeth sink into your ear lobe, eyes drooping more and more close-lidded with every one of your squelching clenches. “Or…we could give ‘em a show?”
Ah, truly, this was Geto’s least favorite part of the marriage initiation - being watched on your wedding night. Or, at least, it was.
He feels drunk on your pretty pussy already when he’s rutting up in mindless, languid drags of his hefty cock down your velvety walls. Filing up every free inch of space inside your snug cunt with his swollen cock - every free inch.
You’re sputtering out at his ragged pace, squirming down sultry gyrations against his defined hips. “W-wan’ to give them a show, Sugu-”
And oh that was enough to have your all-new husband’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, to have his humorless bout of laughter ring in your ear. Dangerous. “The new madam’s gonna be the death of me, g-gorgeous-”
He was already planting pound after pound on all your most tender spots, fucking away like he was addicted to the lewd smack of skin-on-skin. Loud enough to drown out those low mutters from around the bed. About to lose it if he couldn’t feel the smoothened drag of your elastic walls massaging down his veins for just a second-
“Really wanna give ‘em a hngh- sh-show?” Geto’s echoing against your ear, still in utter disbelief at those filthy, filthy words spilling from your sweet mouth. Slender fingers glide across to your puffy clit, pinching. “Then how about–” Fucking heaving for air, scrambling to prattle out coherently, “-ya show ‘em jus’ how the next Geto heir is made.”
His hips are stuttering up at an almost inhuman pace, long locks splaying out into those plush pillows. Shit, the only thing keeping his head still held up was the sight of you down below.
The way your ravaged pussy lips were bulging around his fat girth, struggling to take him entirely even after so long. But swallowing and swallowing so greedily that it made his throat dry, eyes blinking open desperately to catch the way his twitchy balls smacked your drooling cunt.
“The next h-heir?” The words are just now registering, and just about all you can do right now is let your head loll backwards to graze a wet kiss along Geto’s blooming pink lips. “M’gonna make ya a d-daddy?”
Fuck- he rams his hips up thoroughly. Stuffing you full of so many of his staggering, solid inches that you’re being fucked stupid.
“Yes, ma’am.” Geto pants out, and you feel his curvaceous pecs heave up and down with each of his ragged breaths. “-g-gonna let me make you a pretty hah- momma, aren’t ya?” Craning his arm around to press onto your womb, smear his palms through every inch of skin he could reach. “Let me f-fill ya up? Have you all hngh round n’ glowing f’me? Pretty- gonna be s-so so pretty–”
God, his voice was so hypnotic.
But no one was thrown into a more feverish desperation than Geto himself.
He’s letting plaster a pussydrunken grin at the stares around your sweat-slicked bodies - some wide, some downturned, all shocked at just how completely he was ruining you.
Ruining himself.
Because soon enough shaky babbles are wrenching out from his lips, unsteady. Needy. “Makes me wanna m-marry ya I swear-”
Planting his two feet flat on the bouncy mattress to ram his weepy cockhead in rummaging swipes even faster, head whirling at every gushing clench. He leaves teary, overstimulated kisses down the side of your face. “-make you my hngh- wife- my madam. Make you the m-mother of my heir.”
You’re giggling, barely-lucid yourself. “M’already your ah- wife, Sugu–”
Fuck-
He didn’t think those would be the very words to send him over the edge - hell, he didn’t think his orgasm would be crashing into him this hard, either. Good, it felt too good.
Because you melty walls mold around him so tightly that Geto whines at how difficult it was for him to be spearheading his fat cock into your gooey insides. So cozy - and then you’re gushing.
Making his overworked, achy mouth fall in awe at the sheer way your dripping cunt was coating him in seeping wet waves of your juices. Glossing him in a translucent sheen - so fucking heavenly that he almost doesn’t realize that he’s cumming.
Pouring out thick stringy wads of his seed that french kisses the very bottom of your pussy. There’s so much of it that Geto can feel his swollen balls jolt, a swirling coat of cum creaming down his shaft.
Oozing out slowly, in a way that makes his mouth water, “You’re right–” he breathes. So quiet, so broken that it takes a second for your ringing ears to hear him. He chuckles, “-so now m’only b-behind on givin’ you my ah- heir.”
In a split-second, his powerful reflexes are pinning your back flat against the soft mattress, puffing out all the air out of your lungs with just how greedily he was shoving you. Your legs thrown over his shoulders, sliding at the perspiration, his cock smack! smack! smacking right on your clit.
Geto tilts his head towards your initiation audience, grinning. “Better keep yer heads down while I f-fuck the future mother of my ah- kids. Or I’ll kill ya.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Madam Kamo
“F-fuuuuck-” Choso really can’t help the way that his rawly red lips fall slack, he really can’t help the way his eyes droop even more pussydrunkenly lower. On his knees. Tongue lolling out to drag roughly across your sopping wet folds. “Might jus’ be addicted, baby—”
Your fingers thread even tighter into this long, sweat-dampened strands of hair. Tugging, pulling - but no amount of force could ever stop Choso Kamo from French-kissing his way to your clit.
“Ch-Cho you have to be oh-” you’re cut off with a sudden surging moan. Frantically covering your mouth with your free hand when he wraps his lips around your sensitive nub and sucks. “-t-to be quiet. We’re gonna get caught.”
That tiny inkling of rationality in Choso’s syrupy mind knows that maybe the chambers of his childhood estate wasn’t the best of places to utterly ravage you.
Knows that maybe - just maybe - he should tone down those honeyed squelches being reeled from your sopping wet cunt. Push back the rasping ah! ah! ah! resounding at the back of his throat, if he didn’t want to be caught by the rest of the Kamo clan.
But oh, you just tasted so good-
“C-can’t help it, baby–” the clan leader’s whining, teary lashes fluttering up at you. Shoving you weakly standing against the wall, pouty mouth twisting into a delirious smile, “-why did you have to g-go n’ act all motherly with hngh- Yuji.”
Shit, those drawling words almost hurt Choso to be able to wrench out. They threw his mind into such a syrupy state, and had his swollen, achy cock twitch with another ribbony ooze of translucent precum. Drip! drip! dripping through his yukata and onto the tatami floor.
With a pathetically broken whimper, he’s gripping on tight to the fattened hilt of his shaft. Hissing at the stark coldness against his swelteringly hot length, “Shouldn’t h-have done that oh- shouldn’t have-”
He was addicted.
Burying himself in so deep that Choso doesn’t even need air right now. Nose meshing against the very top of your drooling pussy lips, chin grinding against you with each trail of his scorching hot tongue back and forth back and forth back and-
“Sh-shit, Cho-” you’re gasping, back arching in such a slutty bow. “-that i-is what this is all about?”
It was. But right now he couldn’t even think of describing exactly what those tiny, domestic gestures did to him. How it’d awoken such a deep, primal part of himself.
So instead, he’s jostling one of your weakening thighs up onto his broad shoulder. Roughly attaching the pads of his fingers onto your wrist, tongue only growing more hypnotically hungry. “Love you-” he spits into your pussy. Wet, sopping wads of spit that connect in delicate strings all the way down to the lower half of his innocently flushed face. “-love you love you, my madam. Love you so-” His noble cheeks hollow around your clit, “-much. Hgnh- love you- what a p-perfect momma you’d make, baby–”
And then suddenly your ears feel like popping when your body wracks with waves of your orgasm. Over and over you’re cumming on Choso’s pretty face and he’s loving it.
Guiding both of your trembly hands onto his head, he makes you drag your slobbering cunt all down his features - using him.
Wrist aching with just how fast he was swirling his thick thumb around his rotund head, up and down up and down.
“Yeah- yeah-” his words are hoarse little whines. Eyes half-lidded shut at the gushing waves of your saturated slick, he’s blowing sloppy kisses around your winking hole. “Use me- use me. A-anything for you, baby- please- s’more baby– my wife-”
It practically hurts to pull away.
And your dripping pussy is left with the final vibrations of Choso’s disappointed moan- before he’s surging up unsteadily onto two feet.
One of his massive palms resting greedily underneath the globes of your ass, hoisting you up to kiss the very edges of your swollen folds with his fat cockhead. Gliding across a see-through glisten of precum before he’s cumming.
“Fuck.”
“Shhh, q-quiet, baby-”
Choso wrangles his fingers deftly around his thickened base, biting down hard on his lower lip when he squeezes out dripping wet load after load onto into your sloppy entrance. Fucking his hand ever-so-slightly to just milk out more and more, “C-can I put it inside, baby? Please, baby?” His babbling mouth drags against your own, not even capable of managing a kiss right now. “-wanna fill you up n’ make you allll mine, y’know? Wanna- please.”
You let out a honeyed giggle, smoothing down the big fat tears that’d started to roll their way down Choso’s eyes. “Of course, you can. No n-need to be shy, Cho.”
And you’re barely even finishing your sentence, the words only halfway registering Choso’s hazy brain before he’s plugging you full of his circular girth. “G-god jus’ being inside s’making me hngh cum again.” Streaming out whatever dredges are left of his cum-filled balls. “Please- give me an heir- please- a lil baby-”
It’s trailing down the end of your puffy slit, and Choso can’t help but gasp a sharp inhale when he’s pooling the milky dribble on his fingers. “D-do you think this got you p-pregnant, baby?”
“Maybe…” you’re humming in that smug tone that does anything but wonders for his sanity. “Might hafta hah- try it out again jus’ to make sure, don’t you think, Mr. Clan leader?”
There’s a sudden clack! as he’s dropping to his knees, barely even giving you a second to realize anything before Choso’s ravenous mouth was heated on your messy cunt once more.
Dragging his tongue across the milky outer layer, so filthy. Every pearlescent bead pooling on his tongue - and he just spits it back sloppily onto your cunt. Depraved.
“B-be quiet f’me, baby–” he’s hushing you in a drunken soothe. “Gotta make space.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Madam of Curses
“Kuna…” Your babbles are music to the king’s ears, and he can feel his sleazy grin plastered all over his face already. “-I-I want…”
Smack!
“Now, what have I told ya, brat?” The sharpened lengths of his black fingernails brush up on your plump clit. Sukuna’s rumbling warning blooms such delicious clenches of your gummy walls around his jostling cocks, forcing him to hold back a moan, “If ya want somethin’, don’t stutter.”
Well, Ryomen Sukuna would give you the moon if you so much as glanced at it with want - stutter or not. But times like this made his swollen tips twitch to tease those irritated mewls out of you.
You’re stubbornly wrapping your trembly arms around his hulking shoulders, just barely able to wrap around his muscles. Glassy eyes narrowing, “I want a baby, Kuna-”
Fuck, you might just have broken him. You’ve finally defeated the strongest sorcerer in history. Because those very words spilling from your pretty lips have his chest heaving with a deep inhale, his entire body bowing when his angry cocks gush excitedly inside of you. Smearing your melty walls with wave after dangerous wave of his steaming hot precum.
“Wh-what?” he’s hissing through clenched canines, devilish red eyes honing in on you as if you were his next meal. Hauling your body all the way down those silken sheets, until he’s spearheading his rotund tips right into your cervix. “Don’t talk outta ya pussy, woman.”
“B-but it’s true-” you’re sobbing at this point. Batting your lashes at him in a way that he knew you were pulling out your dirtiest tricks. “-dontcha hngh- want an heir, baby?”
Heir.
Oh, fuck. Heir.
Just the word has Sukuna’s head throwing backwards, snarling growls ripping from his strangled throat when his hefty balls clench in excitement. Just the word enough to get him to cum, but no-
“No.” His hot breath blankets your face, and before you’re able to bare him with that glossy pout of yours, Sukuna sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. Pulling. “I want two.”
And it’s like something snaps.
Because in an instant, he’s flipping the two of you over, until your snug cunt was filled to the brim with both matchingly hefty cocks. Sliding down, down, down. Sukuna’s creeping one of his large hands to your thighs, nudging them even more shamefully open.
He’s gifting the curve of your ass with a stinging swat, grinning, “If ya wan’ my heirs s-so badly then ride me for it, brat.”
And fuck, Sukuna underestimated how sheerly eager you’d be, shuffling your hand precariously onto his bulging pecs. Bouncing up and down on the rock-hard upright curve of his cocks like you were addicted to it.
God, he could feel those hoarse whimpers bubbling up into his throat. He could feel the way his heavy lids were fluttering shut every time your velvety walls constricted tightly around his girths, swirling around in wet gyrations.
And he finds it in himself to laugh - laugh, “Oh- oh god, I shoulda done this hngh- sooner. Soo much sooner-” Running those pinkish strands hastily out of his eyesight to drink you in even better, “Woulda b-been able to see what a cockdrunk slut the madam of curses becomes f’me, isn’t that right?”
All you can do is nod pathetically, and he’s gesturing his head much the same way in a half-mocking sense. Simpering, “Mhm– really wan’ me to fuck- fill you right up-” Running down one of his palms across your abdomen, “-here, right? Want to get p-pregnant on my cocks, brat? Should jus’ said so sooner-”
Sukuna can’t stop now. He doesn’t even know when it started but right now that slurring nonsense was tumbling out of his slack-jawed mouth faster than he could register it.
Rutting his hips up like an animal to plant pound after pound into your already battered insides, rummaging around his fat cocks.
One of his mean thumbs comes up to massage over that inflationary little bump where he could feel himself spearheading into your g-spot and your cervix. At the same time. “Jus’ like this, heh- j-jus’ like this but yer gonna be ngh- so much rounder, s-so much-” And one of his globular divots weep a stream of milky precum. So close. “-fuller. Gonna give me t-two, huh? Two brats- a girl and a boy.”
Milking himself for all that he’s worth, it’s impossible not to get absolutely hypnotized by the sultry grinds of your hips.
It’s all that he can think about right now.
Sukuna feels his tongue loll out - both of them, much larger one veering from that slit on his stomach to drag sloppy stripes up the areas of your puffed up clit. Rolling over the very peak, “Ngh- gonna have y-your pretty eyes n’ my hair. My strength and fuuuuck- so tight- your smile.” His eyes clench droopingly closed, glaring up at you lovingly. “Isn’t that right, my queen?”
And when you cum, it’s with those same eyes on you - and when he does, shit, they’re rolling to the back of his head.
Decadently royal bed creaking with protest at the aggressive crushes of your sweat-sheened bodies. Sukuna couldn’t get enough when one of his angrily rugged cocks cums, the swirling slosh of his warm seed spurring the other to burst just as much.
“Sh-shit-” you’re gasping, toes curling with the explosion of bliss. Peak after peak being fucked out when your shaky knees firm to ride Sukuna out of his mind. “So much- too much- fuck fuck fuck-”
He’s stirring your insides until you’re overspilling, flashes of white-hot pleasure melding with the steady stream of Sukuna’s voluminous cum seeping from your wet slit.
So much of it that he really can’t help but swipe his larger tongue easily across the absolute mess of a puddle. And you swear you hear his voice crack, “Heh, guess ya r-really were talking outta ya ngh- pussy, huh, woman?”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Madam Gojo
“Let them see-” Gojo’s panting, fingers so jittery where he’s pushing your trembly leg apart. Abs rippling and aching with just how long he’s been wracking his fatigued body. He’s kissing hungrily at your lips, “Let them- let them see- fuck I don’t care don’t-”
And Gojo can’t even bear to think about finishing his sentence before he’s being hit with another vicious clench of his sensitive balls. Heaving out another burst of stars behind his eyes. He throws his head back, teeth grit when his angry cockhead spazzes with another dry orgasm.
You’re blinking back the tears in your eyes, reaching up and arm to wipe away his own. “S-s’okay, Toru- we’ve been at this for hngh- hours.”
“No-” Gojo gasps, snowy brows knitting together furiously. And he’s shaking his head like he’s trying to wash away any thoughts of stopping. Because Gojo Satoru didn’t want to stop. Didn’t know if he could stop.
His bleary eyes focus on the circle of elders standing stock-still at the very end of the traditional tatami room, heads bowed so low that they touched the floor.
“I’ve got s-somethin’ to prove-” And another one of his harsh French-kisses into your very bruised cervix sends a gush of his stringy cum glossing down your inner thighs. Slipping and smearing everywhere when Gojo messily dances his fingers up to roll over your puffed-up clit. “-got to show ‘em. T-talking about fuck- my wife n’ my h-heir. Gonna show them-”
And you’ve never seen him this furious, blazing eyes driving down your body. Seeping into every one of his lewd movements when he’s drilling his swollen cock into your dripping cunt even more riotously.
No care or concern for the marks he’s sure to leave for the next week at least - his curvaceous balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, fingers everywhere and anywhere on any bit of skin that his ravenous self could reach.
Gojo couldn’t get enough.
Your pussy lips like velvet, swallowing him up inch by solid inch so greedily despite however long it’s been by now. An hour? Two hours? Five? Fuck, he doesn’t even know right now. Doesn’t care.
Doesn’t care what those shuffling elders have to think, either.
Can’t even imagine thinking about anything but stuffing your tight channel overly full, eyeing down with his hazy gaze at the way that makes his seed salivate out of you. He twists his deft fingers on your clit, it’s enough for your teeth to just sink into the tender junction at his throat.
And it makes him cum.
Sensitively. Depravedly.
Over and over in dry grinds of his hips, while his overstimulated head wrenches out nothing but wispy little beads of pearling white.
“A-again?” you’re gasping. Eyes blowing wide and resting on Gojo’s fucked-out face - oh how pretty the clan leader looked. With his innocently rosy blush, and eyes drooping so low it’s like they were almost shut, mouth pecking syrupy glides across yours. “Did you just ah- c-cum again, Toru?”
He shutters his head into your throat, darting out his tongue to run down that rapidly thumping pulse of yours. “Yes, madam. Your pretty pussy’s got me s-so fuck- hooked. Can’t s-stop-”
But he wanted to cum again. Properly, this time.
To fill you up over and over, adding another layer to the sloppy skin of creamy white that already stuck to your cunt. He was going to make those old gossips pay for having your name in their filthy mouths, for implying that their leader doesn’t fuck you properly if you haven’t had an heir by now.
He was simply going to show it to them.
“Need- ah- need you to cum f’me a-again, sweetheart-” Gojo’s babbling out the words, but his greedy eyes are locked on the sinful sight of your cunt, instead. “C-can you do that? Can the future m-mother of my kids do that?” It pains him to be slurring these out over your pretty keens, and he’s swiping a finger over and over on your clit as a tiny apology. “C’mon now, n-need to give me an mmpf- heir, right?”
You nod, hips arching up to make you feel like such a slut. “W-want it so badly–”
“I know, honey, I know–” his words come out in raw whimpers, cupping your face with his free hand to connect your foreheads together. “Which is wh-why you’ve gotta shit- cum, right? They say you don’t get p-pregnant if the hah- mother doesn’t cum, hm? C’mon baby, gimme an heir- please, please, please let me breed you f-full-”
It’s just about all the garbled mess he’s able to get out of his mouth before Gojo’s reeling you headfirst towards your nth orgasm of the night. Waves of pleasure making you convulse underneath him, forcing his big beefy arms to wrap around your waist to get you to stop moving-
His drool-worthy back muscles flex when Gojo’s bending all the way down to snap you in half. And you feel his heavy hanging balls twitch once. Twice. Before flooding your tight pussy with thick, smearing loads of cum, glissading down your thighs.
Spurts of it splatter down your slit, all the way to Gojo’s wrist when he’s circling your throbbing clit to wring you even harder through your high.
“Th-there we- there we go-” he’s shuddering, bursts of his hefty gulps of cum swirling around all of your sweetened spots. Stretching out your taut walls to their limits with how much he was inflating you from the insides. And it takes everything in Gojo to stray his eyes away from his wife - from his madam. Everything in him to focus on the crowd of silent elders, “So- s’that ‘nough of an heir for you or do I hafta make another one?”
A/N. Also hugging my babygirls in the US of A extra tight tonight <3
