nerd!satoru gojo who NEEDS to hear the sound of your voice
riddled with the longing of your presence, it was only fate the way satoru pounced on you when you entered his dorm. his face pressed into the valley of your neck, breathing you in. “missed you…” he murmured, a hint of whining lingering in his voice.
his hands travel from holding your shoulders, down to your waist. his code was long forgotten, the cursor blinking while waiting for him to attend to it. but his girlfriend is here. he had better things to do.
his fingers tug your shirt above your head, your bra being unclipped by you. “you don’t know how miserable i was without you.” he whimpers, kissing down your sternum to your navel. a thin trail of saliva leaves proof of his affection.
he looks up at you with wide eyes, unbuttoned your jeans. his pout made you feel a bit regretful of your departure from him; but you knew he would make up for lost time.
his soft and needy demeanor disappeared right before your eyes as you were finally bare. he had you bent over his desk, the cool air kissing your glistening cunt. “tell me about your trip.” his fingers ghost over the slick covering your slit.
your voice came out as a desperate whine, your hips buckling out to his hand. “no, no. i want to hear about your trip, my love. i missed your voice.” he slowly slots a finger into your slit, eliciting a soft moan from you. “there you go…” he murmurs, placing his chest on your back so he could hear you better.
“th-the flight was exhau—augh!—exhausting!” you clenched around his single finger. talk about pathetic. “we all sat together but the place was stuffy.” you cover your head with your arms, causing him to stop. “mama, i can’t hear you if your head is down. sit up for me, please?” his tone turning pleading. you reluctantly lift your head up, continuing to regale your time away. “but France was ni-nice. the restaurants we went to we—”
a stripe of his tongue was dragged up your slit, causing you to jolt. “toru!” “i’m listening.” he pulls his finger out, using his hands to spread you. “keep going.” he mumbles, getting his face full of your backside.
but you couldn’t. the words died on your tongue immediately.
“baby. it’s not that hard.” he sighs, pulling his mouth off of you. “wait! no, i’ll talk!” you try sitting up but his hand pushes you back down.
behind you, you hear a zipper and the buckle of a belt hitting the ground. “if i can’t hear you talk, i’ll have to hear you in another way.” he sighs, moving the hem of his boxers to his mid thigh. he strokes himself a few times, lubricating himself with his precum. “biiiiiig stretch.” he poorly warns you as he pushes himself into you. “toru!” you whimper, silently sobbing as his length pressing against your walls.
he moans, “you sound so beautiful. i missed your voice so much.”
the argument was a low, simmering thing, the kind that built up over days until it finally boiled over in the kitchen at two in the morning. the fluorescent hum of the overhead light was your battleground, and he was its sworn enemy.
"it's a goddamn waste, woman," toji grumbled, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the thick corded muscle of his forearms tensed. "every single light in the whole fuckin' apartment's always on. you're scared of the dark or somethin'?"
"i like to see," you shot back, not looking up from the mug of tea you were pointlessly stirring. "it's called being a functional human being. some of us don't have built-in night vision, fushiguro."
he scoffed, a short, harsh sound. "functional. right. my electric bill's doubled since you moved in. feels like i'm livin' in a damn lighthouse. can't even get a decent night's sleep with that shit bleedin' through the cracks."
"then just wear a sleep mask!" your voice rose, frustration fraying the edges of your words. this was such a stupid hill to die on, but he was so stubborn, so immovable. "it's not my fault you're a cave troll who prefers to stumble around in the gloom."
"i'm a cave troll who pays the bills," he countered, pushing off the counter to loom closer. the sheer size of him should have been intimidating, the way he blocked out the light, casting you in his shadow. but you knew the shape of that shadow now, the heat that radiated from his body. "maybe if you contributed, i wouldn't mind the high bills."
that was a low blow, and he knew it.
the air went sharp and cold with the unspoken thing between you. his jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just below his scar. the argument had veered into dangerous territory, and the anger on his face was now tinged with something else, something defensive and raw.
and that's when you decided to end it.
you didn't say a word. you just let the spoon clatter into the sink. your eyes held his, a challenge and a promise all in one. your hands went to the hem of your soft, worn t-shirt—his t-shirt, you realized absently—and in one smooth motion, you pulled it up and over your head, letting it drop to the linoleum floor.
the change in the atmosphere was instantaneous and absolute.
the rest of your fight died in your throat, rendered meaningless. toji’s next retort evaporated on his tongue. his eyes, which had been narrowed in irritation, widened just a fraction. his aggressive posture, all coiled tension and ready for a fight, simply… dissolved.
his gaze dropped from your face, traveling down the exposed line of your throat, over your collarbones, and lower, drinking in the sight of you standing bare from the waist up in the harsh, unforgiving kitchen light. the angry set of his shoulders slumped. the hard line of his mouth went soft, parting slightly. a slow, deep breath left him, not a sigh of exasperation, but something heavier, more visceral.
"you can't jus' do that, ma," he murmured, the word barely audible, stripped of all its previous heat. it was an accusation, but it sounded like a surrender.
he took a step forward, then another, until he was right in front of you. the fight was gone, replaced by a different, more familiar kind of intensity.
"i'm sorry for sayin' that," one of his large, calloused hands came up, his knuckles brushing almost reverently against your ribs, making you shiver. "you contribute in your own ways, i should've kept my big mouth shut."
you stifle a moan when his thumb brushes over your nipple, arching your back instinctively into his touch. "s'okay, i'm sorry too."
"so, you want all the lights on, huh?" he smiles, his voice now a low, intimate thrum that you felt in your bones. his other hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. "guess i can see the appeal."
he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes closed. "how else am i gonna get a good look at these perfect tits?"
the first thing you notice when you wake up is the sheer weight of him. heavy, warm, and absolutely immovable.
toji’s arm is slung across your stomach, leg hooked over yours with his chest pressed into your back like he’s trying to fuse you together. his hair is a wreck, sticking up in every direction, and his breath is hot against the side of your neck.
you try to wiggle out of his grasp, and you get halfway out of bed — one foot on the floor, the other still on the mattress under his thigh. but your freedom is short lived, his large and veiny arm clamps around your waist like an anchor and tugs you back down into bed. his grip is ridiculously strong and entirely effective.
“where d’you think you’re goin’?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep and half-hearted grump. his face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin every time he blinks.
“toji,” you whisper, poking at his forearm. “i need to pee.”
“five more minutes.” his voice is a croak; it could be a demand but it sounds suspiciously like a plea.
"i can't hold it. i need to go now."
a low, gravelly complaint rumbles in his chest, more growl than word. then: “no.”
“no?” you huff, half-laughing. “i said i need to—”
his arm tightens, dragging you back down into the sheets. “i don’t care. stay.”
you twist your head just enough to see him. his eyes are half-lidded and his lips pouty with sleep. you’d call it cute if you weren’t currently pinned like a bug under a rock.
“you’re so annoying.”
“’m comfy.” he buries his face in your shoulder, voice muffled. “you’re warm. don’t ruin the mood.”
“toji, you’re crushing me.”
he cracks one eye open, smirking faintly. “not my fault you're so small.”
you try again, squirming, and he groans dramatically, like you’ve personally offended him. then, after a beat, he murmurs, “okay fine, just kiss me.”
you stare at him silently.
“i want a kiss, baby.” he repeats, lips quirking lazily.
you blink. “what?”
he lifts his head just enough for you to see his face: puffy-eyed, hair a tragic halo, mouth already twisting into that smug half-smile — that i-deny-i-care-but-i-actually-do-care expression. “woman, kiss me,” his tone is small and grumpy and absolutely manipulative. “or you’re not goin’ anywhere.”
you scoff. “seriously?”
“dead serious.” his eyes close again, smug. “payment required. i can't just let go of you for free.”
you lean back a little, teasing. “i'm not gonna kiss you.”
his brows knit, and for a second you think he’s going to argue. instead, he huffs, flops onto his back with all the grace of a sulky teenager, and announces, “fine. suit yourself.”
you sit up, staring down at him. his eyes are shut tight, his mouth in the most exaggerated pout you’ve ever seen.
“oh my god,” you say, amused. “are you seriously—are you pretending to be asleep right now?”
nothing. not even a twitch.
you lean closer, grinning. “toji. i know you can hear me.”
he doesn’t move. and you start to wonder if he isn't being dramatic this time.
you poke the side of his head. “are you actually asleep?” you whisper, because you know him. he’s pretending. he always ignores you when he wants you to do something — and it always, always works.
and yet, still no answer. the silence stretches, and you almost laugh because this little game is so painfully him. you smile, tracing his high cheekbones, feeling the scruff of his stubble tickling your fingertips.
then, you make a show of pulling a pillow over your head, thinking you’ll win the battle of wills by simply refusing to entertain his childish antics.
and that's when you feel it: a thumb ghosting over the curve of your hip and a tired rumble in his chest as he sighs right by your ear.
“you’re so mean,” he mumbles, fake-sleep voice double-layered with intent. “all i want is a kiss from my girlfriend.”
“i am not—” you protest, but your words melt into a giggle because he sounds like a whiney toddler and it’s impossible to remain indifferent.
he shifts, heavy and warm, and the mattress dips as he folds himself against you. he drags his nose along your jaw, eyes closed but lashes fluttering as if in concentration. “kiss me,” he says again, softer, like it’s a spell he’s casting. “please.”
you hover for a beat, loving the whole ridiculous scene: the messy hair, the lazy eyes, the way his bottom lip juts out in a theatrical pout. you can't possibly resist.
so you lean down, as quick as a wink, and press one soft kiss to his temple.
he doesn’t respond at once. you pull away, triumphant, but then his hand slides up to your neck and tilts your face, and that sleepy smile of his cracks into a wicked grin. his lips finally find yours, and it’s gentle, surprisingly. a lazy kiss that’s all quiet sighs and soft lips, as if you have all the time in the world to love eachother slow.
when you pull back he’s still smiling, still half-asleep, mind you. but the pout has vanished. “thought you’d never give in,” he murmurs, thumb brushing a stray crust of sleep from your eye.
“i still need to piss,” you remind him, voice soft.
“hmm,” he hums, dragging his nose over yours. he presses another kiss to your forehead, long and lazy. “5 more minutes.”
the silence in the apartment after your argument was a living thing, thick and cold. you’d both said things—sharp, uncharacteristic things that now hung in the air like shattered glass. nanami had retreated to the bedroom an hour ago. you stayed on the couch, staring at the wall, until the hurt and the stubbornness twisted into something else, something raw and needy.
you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his work slacks, head in his hands. he looked up when you entered, his usually sharp eyes clouded with a fatigue that had nothing to do with curses.
"darling?"
you finally face him.
“can i… can i touch you?” he continued, his voice hoarse. it wasn’t a demand. it was a plea. "i just... i just need to be close to you right now."
you wanted to stay angry. you wanted to make him feel the sting you felt. so you just gave a stiff, small nod. “fine.”
he moved slowly, as if you might break or bolt. his hands came to your hips, guiding you onto the bed, laying you back against the pillows. he undressed you with a reverence that felt at odds with the tension between you, his fingers careful on every button, every clasp. when he settled between your thighs after pulling down his boxers, you turned your head to the side, fixing your gaze on the alarm clock’s glowing numbers. 11:47 p.m.
he entered you with a slow, deep push that stole your breath. it was perfect. it was agony. he set a rhythm that was pure nanami—measured, thorough, devastatingly precise. each stroke was an apology he hadn’t voiced, each retreat a question.
you kept your eyes on the clock. 11:49.
his movements became less measured, a faint tremor in the muscles of his arms where they caged you. you could feel his gaze on your face, desperate and searching.
“look at me,” he whispered, the words strained.
you didn’t. you bit your lip, focusing on the cool metal of the clock, on anything but the pain in his eyes.
his thrusts lost their perfect rhythm, growing deeper, more urgent. a broken sound escaped him. “please. please look at me.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. a hot tear escaped, tracing a path down your temple into your hair.
that broke him. he stilled, buried deep inside you, his body trembling with the effort to stop. his forehead came to rest against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your skin.
“i’m sorry,” he choked out, the words muffled, wet. “god, i’m so sorry. i was wrong. i was frustrated and i took it out on you and i… i can’t stand this. please.”
another tear fell. then another. his lips pressed against the skin of your shoulder, a kiss of pure desperation.
“ken,” you breathed, the fight draining out of you all at once.
he lifted his head. his eyes were red-rimmed, glistening in the low light. the sight cracked the last of your resolve. you brought a hand up, your fingers gently brushing the dampness from his cheekbone.
a shuddering sob wracked his frame. he turned his face into your palm, kissing it. “i’m sorry. i love you. i’m so sorry.”
you finally looked at him, really looked, seeing the fear and the regret etched into every line of his beloved face. “i know, i'ts okay.” you whispered, pulling him down for a proper kiss. it tasted of salt and forgiveness.
a ragged, relieved breath shuddered out of him, and he kissed you back with a sudden, desperate hunger, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as if trying to taste the truth of your pardon. when he broke for air, he didn't go far, just pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes squeezed shut.
"thank you," he breathed, the words a warm puff against your lips. "thank you."
then he gathered you into his arms, rolling so you were both on your sides, still joined, facing each other. he pulled you tightly against his chest, one arm banding around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head. he buried his face in the curve of your neck and shoulder, and began to move again.
this time, there was no distance, no punishing precision. it was slow, deep, rocking motions that felt less like fucking and more like the most essential form of holding on. with every inward glide, a low, broken sound vibrated against your skin.
"so good," he moaned, the words hot and damp in the shell of your ear. "you feel so good. so perfect." his grip tightened, his hips pressing forward in a deep, grinding circle that made you gasp. "n-never want to hurt you. never again. only want to make you feel good."
his confessions came between soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, each one punctuated by another reverent thrust. "love you. love you so much. forgive me. please."
"i-i do," you murmured between sighs, turning your head to find his lips again. "i forgive you, ken. i love you."
that seemed to unravel the last of the tension coiled inside him. his movements became less controlled, more urgent, driven by a profound need for connection. his moans grew louder, less words and more raw, feeling noise—deep, guttural groans of "ahh, ahh, yes," that he muffled against your skin. "gonna come. n-need to feel you. come with me, please."
wrapped in his embrace, surrounded by the scent of him and the sound of his vulnerable pleasure, you couldn't hold back. you fell apart, clenching around him with a soft cry, and he followed instantly, his whole body seizing as he spilled deep inside with a long, trembling groan of pure release that sounded almost like a sob.
he held you through the aftershocks, his large frame shuddering, his breaths gradually slowing. he didn't let go. he just kept holding you, one hand stroking slowly up and down your spine, his lips occasionally pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder.
"happy?" he whispered after a long while, his voice rough with emotion and exhaustion.
you nodded against his chest, where you could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart. "yes. are you?"
“p-please… please, just like that,” choso gasps, his head thrown back against the pillows, hands gripping your hips as you ride him with a slow, deep rhythm. his eyes are squeezed shut, lost in the sensation.
you lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under your palms. “you feel so good,” you murmur, watching his face contort with pleasure.
“i know… i know, it’s so much,” he whimpers, his voice cracking. his hips stutter up to meet your downward strokes. “feels too good— c-can’t think…”
you slow your pace, grinding down in a tight circle that makes him cry out. his fingers dig into your skin. “don’t stop… please, don’t stop!”
“i won’t. don't worry,” you promise, resuming that steady, rolling pace that drives him mindless. his babbling starts up again, a stream of consciousness spilled into the air between you.
“s-so good to me… always so good— y-you take such good care of me…” he pants, tears gathering at the corners of his closed eyes. “wanna be good for you… w-wanna make you proud…”
you smile, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “you always make me feel good, cho.”
that seems to break something in him. his eyes fly open, glassy and desperate, locking onto yours. the words tumble out in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “th-thank you… thank you, mommy—”
he freezes. his entire body goes rigid beneath you, his eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. the plea dies in his throat, replaced by a choked, silent gasp. the color drains from his face, leaving him pale and stricken.
the world stops. the only sound is the ragged pull of his breath.
his hands fall away from your hips as if burned. he looks like he’s just been physically struck, his mouth working soundlessly. shame floods his features, hot and immediate, followed by a wave of panic so profound it vibrates through him.
“i— i didn’t—” he stammers, his voice a shattered whisper. he tries to move, to pull away, to hide, but he’s trapped beneath you, exposed in every possible way. “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean— it just slipped out, i swear, i would never— oh, god.”
he brings his hands up to cover his face, a broken, mortified sound escaping him. he’s trembling, not with pleasure anymore, but with sheer, catastrophic embarrassment. “please forget i said that. please. i’m so sorry.”
you don’t move. you stay seated on him, feeling the frantic, panicked hammer of his heart against your core. for a long moment, you just look at him—the way his shoulders are hunched, the red tips of his ears visible between his fingers, the absolute devastation in the line of his body.
slowly, you reach up and gently pull his hands away from his face. he resists at first, a weak, pathetic sound in his throat, but you’re persistent. you uncover his eyes, which are screwed shut, fresh tears leaking from the corners.
“choso,” you say, your voice soft but firm.
he flinches at his own name. “i’m sorry,” he whispers again, the words wet and broken. “i ruined it. i’m so stupid—”
“look at me.”
it takes him a second, but his dark, watery eyes finally blink open, meeting yours. the shame there is so deep it’s painful to see.
instead of speaking, you lean down. you kiss him. not with passion, but with a slow, gentle sweetness, swallowing his next shaky apology. you feel him go still beneath you, confused. when you pull back, you’re smiling, just a little.
“call me that again,” you whisper, your breath mingling with his.
he stares, uncomprehending. “w-what?”
“you heard me.”
a full-body shudder wracks him. “i… i can’t,” he breathes, his voice trembling with a new kind of fear. “you’ll hate me.”
"no i won't," you shift your hips, just a tiny, subtle clench around him where he’s still buried inside you. he gasps, a sharp, punched-out sound. “try.”
the conflict wars on his face—the mortification, the desperate need, the dawning, terrifying hope. his lips part. nothing comes out. he tries again, a silent shape of the word.
then, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, choked and thick with emotion: “…m-mommy.”
you reward him with a slow, deep roll of your hips, taking him all the way to the hilt. a broken sob escapes him, this one laced with relief as much as shame.
“again,” you urge, your voice a low command.
“a-aahngh,” he moans, a little louder, his hands coming up to clutch at your arms. “please— fuck!— mommy…!”
it unlocks a floodgate. once he starts, he can’t stop. the babble returns, but now it’s laced with the word, each one a confession that seems to both torture and liberate him.
“feels so good— thank you, thank you… ‘m so close— please… w-wanna be good, wanna make you happy. d-does this feel good for you, mommy? am i doing g-good?”
his hips are moving in helpless, stuttering thrusts, chasing his release, his face buried against your chest. he’s clinging to you, his earlier horror completely overwritten by a desperate, needy devotion. you whisper praise into his hair—“you’re so good for me,” “such a good boy”—and each word makes him cry out as if struck.
when he finally comes, it’s with a wailing, shuddering cry that he muffles against your skin, his body convulsing under yours as he spills himself deep inside you, utterly spent and completely owned.
he collapses back, boneless, his breathing ragged. you ease off him, lying down beside him. he immediately turns into you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his entire body trembling with aftershocks and residual embarrassment.
“sorry,” he mumbles again, but it’s softer now, drowsy.
“don’t be,” you whisper, kissing his temple. you feel him relax, the last of the tension bleeding away, replaced by a warm, sated exhaustion. he nuzzles closer, and within minutes, his breathing evens out into sleep, one hand still clutching yours like a lifeline.
your husband has a very bad habit of taking his pants off whenever you yell at him.
it’s not intentional. at least, you don’t think it is. it’s like a pavlovian response. you raise your voice, and his hands go straight to his belt.
the first time it happens, you’re furious about the dishes piling up in the sink for a week. “toji fushiguro, if you think i’m your personal maid, you've got another thing coming!” you shout, hands on your hips.
he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed. you see the twitch first— his fingers flexing. then, with the casual efficiency of a man who’s done this a thousand times, he pops the button on his jeans. they hit the floor. boxers too.
you freeze mid-rant. “what the fuck are you doing?”
he shrugs, already half-hard. “you’re sexy when you’re mad.”
“don't be disgusting— put your goddamn pants back on!”
he grins, stepping closer, making no move to comply. “make me.”
it happens again two days later. you find mud tracked through the hallway. “are you five years old? who comes into the house with their boots on?”
snap! belt unbuckled. pants down. he’s standing there in the entryway, thick cock tenting his briefs, looking at you like you just offered him dessert.
“toji!” you shriek, torn between outrage and reluctant arousal. “this is not a strip club!”
“could be,” he rumbles, palming himself through the fabric. “you gonna keep yelling, or you gonna do something about it?”
you hate that it works. you hate that your traitorous body responds to his shamelessness. you hate that he knows it.
the final straw is when you discover he’s been “forgetting” to take out the trash again. you march into the living room, where he’s sprawled on the couch watching some brainless action movie. “i swear to god, toji, if i have to do it one more time—”
ziiiiip! pants gone. he spreads his legs wide, making himself obscenely comfortable, his erection now fully freed and standing proud against his stomach.
“really?” you demand, even as your mouth goes dry. “have you no shame?”
he smirks, slow and filthy, giving himself a lazy stroke. “you know the rules, doll. you get mad, i get hard. you wanna yell at me? fine. but you’re gonna take care of this first.”
you throw your hands up. “this is ridiculous! i’m trying to have a serious conversation!”
“serious, huh?” he hooks his thumbs in his waistband—pure showmanship— and tugs the briefs down further. “come tell me how important taking out the trash is while you’re riding my cock, then.”
you hate him. you hate that you’re already stepping between his spread thighs, pushing his hand away to wrap your own around his thick length.
“you’re so fucking annoying ,” you grumble, even as you sink to your knees.
“and you love it,” he chuckles, threading his fingers through your hair. “now swear at me some more. i like it when you’re feisty.”
you do. and he does. the trash still doesn’t get taken out, but the hallway floor gets very clean later.
nanami who is trying to work late at the office, tie loosened, glasses perched low on his nose, the lamplight carving severe lines of concentration into his face.
you’ve been distracting him for an hour—a hand on his thigh, kisses along his jaw—and his professional resolve is a thin, fraying thread.
“you’re going to get me in trouble,” he sighs, not looking up from his spreadsheet, but his voice is already warm, fondly exasperated. his hand covers yours on his thigh, his thumb stroking your knuckles. “this report is due by nine.”
instead of sliding to your knees, you stand and swing one leg over his lap, straddling him in the big executive chair. his eyes snap up, finally leaving the screen, wide behind his glasses. “what are you—”
you silence him with a kiss, grinding down against the hard line of his erection straining against his slacks. a low, surprised groan vibrates from his chest into your mouth.
“just… the tip,” you whisper against his lips, your hands working his belt and zipper free. “that’s all. so you can keep working.”
he huffs a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “that’s a… ah… that's not a good idea.” but his hands are already on your hips, helping you shimmy out of your panties, his touch urgent.
you rise up, grip him, and sink down slowly, taking only the broad, slick head of his cock inside you. you stop, letting both of you feel the unbearable, teasing stretch.
nanami’s head thunks back against the headrest, a ragged “fuck” tearing from his throat. his hands clamp on your hips like vices. “oh, god… that’s… ngh… you're a cruel woman.”
“i am?” you breathe, lifting yourself almost completely off, then sinking back down onto just that same throbbing inch. you repeat the motion, a slow, shallow piston that gives him nothing but the barest hint of penetration.
his whole body tenses, a muscle jumping in his jaw. A desperate, shaky moan leaks from his lips.
“yes… shit— y-yes, you are,” he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut. His hips try to buck up, to seek more depth, but you hold him down, controlling the pace with infuriating slowness. “please… baby, please, just a little d-deeper…”
“but your work,” you murmur, leaning forward to nip at his earlobe. you settle into a rhythm that’s pure torture—tiny, maddening circles, the wet heat of you sheathing only the crown of him, again and again.
you can feel him twitching, leaking against your inner walls, begging for more.
his moans are continuous now, soft, broken sounds that fill the quiet office. “I can’t… I can’t think when you’re… mmphn!… when you’re this tight,” he pants, his hands sliding under your blouse to roam your back, desperate for contact.
his breathing is coming in sharp hitches. “you’re going to kill me— yes yesyes— just like that…”
you watch, enthralled, as a flush creeps up his neck. you stop moving entirely, just clenching around that sensitive tip, a slow, internal pulse.
he whimpers. “n-no… d-don’t stop… please.”
“begging doesn’t sound very professional, ken,” you tease, but you reward him with another shallow, dragging slide. his head rolls side to side on the headrest, his composure utterly shattered. he's trembling with the effort to hold back, his knuckles white where they grip the armrests.
“y-you feel… nngh… you feel too good,” he rasps, his voice thick with a pleasure so intense it’s bordering on pain. “i'm not… i-i can’t last…”
you finally relent, sinking down another devastating half-inch. he cries out, a raw, beautiful sound, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “there— right there… oh, fuck— fuckfuckfuck—”
you begin to move in earnest now, but still keep the strokes frustratingly short, building the tension coil-tight within him.
his thrusts become shallow, frantic jerks of his hips, meeting your bounces. the desk chair creaks a steady, obscene rhythm. swear dampens his temple. “i'm close… so close… ah! d-don't stop, s-so good—”
you wait until you see the wild, helpless look in his eyes, the complete surrender, before you finally, finally sink all the way down, taking him to the hilt.
the effect is immediate.
he whines, a guttural, unchecked sound, as his control snaps. his release is powerful, wracking his frame with wave after wave, his hips pumping up into you as he empties himself with deep, shuddering groans that go on and on, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring him to you through the storm.
he slumps back, boneless, glasses askew, hair mussed. nanami stares at you, dazed and utterly ruined, his chest heaving.
after a long moment to catch his breath, he gestures weakly at the dark computer screen.
“you,” he says, his voice hoarse and full of wonder, “are a catastrophic risk to productivity.” he pulls you in for a long, slow, deeply satisfied kiss. “the report can wait until tomorrow, i suppose.”
toji's loves stuffing you full before the kids wake !! ೀ
the house falls quiet after the kids' bedtime story. little megumi's door clicks shut, the toddler's nightlight humming soft in the hall. you wipe down the counters, humming some lullaby under your breath, hips swaying in those tiny sleep shorts that ride up your ass.
toji's been watching from the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, that scar tugging at his lip like he's starving.
"fuckin' hell," he growls low, stalking up behind you. his big hands clamp your hips, yanking you back against the thick ridge in his sweats. "look at you, my beautiful wife. kids tucked in?"
you gasp, hands gripping the edge of the sink, but you arch into him anyway. "yeah. megumi's out cold. we got... maybe an hour before the baby needs feeding."
his laugh rumbles dark against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. one hand slides up under your tank, palming your heavy tit, thumb flicking the pierced nipple. "an hour? baby, i'm gonna stuff this greedy cunt in ten minutes flat. isn't that right?"
you whimper, already soaking through your shorts.
he's been like this since megumi—your first accidental miracle from a drunken fuck in some seedy motel. then the toddler came along, deliberately this time, toji pinning you down night after night until it stuck. now it's a 'ritual'. post-bedtime. kitchen counter. his cock reshaping your insides like he owns them. which he does.
"toji, wait—the counter's still wet," you half-protest, but your thighs part on instinct, ass grinding back.
he snorts, shoving your shorts aside with zero patience. cool air hits your dripping folds, and his thick fingers plunge in, two at once, curling ruthlessly. "wet? fuck that. you're the one soakin' your panties like a bitch in heat. hear that?" he pumps harder, the squelch obscene in the quiet kitchen. "that's what i do to you. stretch this pussy out, fill it up. and alllwhile the kids are sound asleep 'cause their daddy breeds mommy right."
your knees buckle, elbows hitting the counter. "oh god, toji—yes! l-like that. m-missed you all dayyy."
he chuckles, free hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back. his mouth crashes onto yours, tongue fucking deep, tasting like the beer he nursed during storytime. "missed you more, baby. been thinkin' about it since dinner. watchin' you bend over for that dish? fuck, i almost dragged you under the table then and there."
you moan into his kiss, clenching around his fingers. he's merciless, scissoring you open, thumb grinding your clit.
"fuck, you're tight. do you have any idea what you're doin' to me right now?"
"p-please," you beg, voice wrecked. "w-want you!"
that's all he needs. he yanks his sweats down, fat cock springing free—veins throbbing, tip already beading precum. no condom, as always. he notches at your entrance, rubs it through your slick. "say it louder, baby. come on. tell me what you want."
"shit, toji— i-i want your cock! please— hurry uppppp before the kids wake!"
he slams home in one brutal thrust, bottoming out balls-deep. you scream, but he slaps a hand over your mouth, grinning feral. "shh, sweetheart. you'll wake megumi up, and we don't want that, do we?"
the counter bites into your hips as he sets a punishing pace, each snap of his hips jolting you forward. his cock drags every ridge inside you, kissing your cervix ruthlessly. "god, listen to that. you're suckin' me in, begging for it. you looove this shit, don't you? bendin' over every night like a whore while our kids dream upstairs."
"mmph—yes!" you whine against his palm, drool slicking his fingers. your walls flutter, chasing that edge. he shifts, grinding deep, hitting that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
"that's my girl. t-take it all. gonna flood this cunt. knock you up again— g-give megumi a little sister to boss around." his voice drops to a rasp, hips stuttering. sweat drips down his scarred chest, onto your back. "s-shit— i'm— i'm gonna—"
you shatter first, orgasm ripping through you, gushing around his pistoning cock. he groans, hand slipping from your mouth to pinch your nipple hard. "yeahhh, atta girl!"
three more thrusts, and he buries himself to the hilt, roaring low. hot ropes of cum paint your insides, pulsing thick and endless. "fuck, you're perfect," he murmurs. he stays plugged in, panting against your shoulder, cock twitching with aftershocks. "did so well f'me"
you laugh breathlessly, leaning back against him. "n-not so bad yourself, old man."
toji pulls out slow, watching his cum ooze from your puffy hole. he scoops it up, shoves it back in with his fingers. "damn straight. now we gotta clean this counter for real."
"we obviously do," you straighten, legs shaky, kissing his jaw as you giggle. "i am not chopping vegetables on whatever mess you just made."
"you make a good point," he smirks, tucking himself away. "i fucking love you. you know that, right?"
"i love you too, toji."
he grabs the disinfectant spray and a roll of paper towels, tossing one at you. you’re both wiping down the granite, still half-dressed, when a small, sleepy voice cuts through the quiet.
“...mom?”
you freeze, paper towel mid-swipe. megumi stands in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes, his dark hair sticking up. he’s clutching a stuffed shikigami dog.
toji doesn’t even flinch. he just keeps scrubbing a spot with exaggerated force. “kid. it’s late. you have school tomorrow morning, go back to bed.”
“i heard noises,” megumi mumbles, squinting. “like… thumping. and mommy sounded like she was crying!”
your face flames. you shoot toji a panicked look. he side-eyes you, his expression the picture of bored innocence, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“that was the… uh… washing machine,” you blurt, voice an octave too high. “it’s unbalanced. makes a thump. and i was crying because… because i forgot the fabric softener.”
megumi stares, unblinking. “mom, the washing machine’s in the basement.”
toji lets out a short, choked sound that might be a cough or a stifled laugh. he turns fully toward the sink, shoulders shaking silently.
“right! yes! but the… the… the pipes!” you gesture vaguely at the ceiling. “the noise travels. through the pipes. very loud pipes.”
megumi looks from your flushed face to toji’s vibrating back. his little brow furrows in a way that’s eerily similar to his father’s skeptical glare. “...okayyyy.” he sounds utterly unconvinced. “can i have some water then?”
“i’ll get it,” toji says, his voice suspiciously level. he fills a cup at the sink, hands it to megumi without meeting his eyes.
megumi drinks slowly, watching you both over the rim. he sets the cup down with a soft clink. “goodnight.” he pads back toward the hallway, then pauses, looking over his shoulder. “...don’t forget the fabric softener next time, mommy.”
the second his bedroom door clicks shut, toji loses it. he braces himself against the counter, a deep, rumbling laugh shaking his whole frame. “fabric softener?” he wheezes. “through the pipes?”
“shut up!” you hiss, swatting his arm, but you’re laughing too, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer absurdity. “he’s five! what was i supposed to say? ‘sorry, honey, daddy was just—’”
“don’t finish that sentence,” toji grins, pulling you into his chest, his laughter vibrating against your cheek. “kid’s too sharp for his own good. gonna be a menace.”
you bury your face in his shirt, giggling helplessly. “he’s your son.”
“yeah,” toji sighs, still chuckling. he kisses the top of your head. “lucky me. now c’mon. finish cleanin’. before he comes back askin’ more questions we can't answer.”
you both get back to wiping, the silence now punctuated by occasional snorts of laughter. tradition, indeed.
It’s hard to stay mad at Toji when he eats your pussy so good
You’re doing so good at the whole “silent treatment” thing.
You unshared your location, left his texts on read and ignored his relentless calls. You were on the couch, arms crossed, lips pressed into the angriest little pout you can manage while you scroll your phone. Toji’s been gone three hours past when he said he’d be back, and then had the audacity to stroll through the door without even a sorry. So yeah. Mad. Very mad. Righteously, correctly, validly mad.
…Until he drops to his knees in front of you without a single word. Those big scarred hands slide up your bare thighs, pushing the hem of your oversized tee higher. You try to clamp your legs shut—keyword: try. Toji just spreads them wider with zero effort.
“Go away,” you mutter, staring pointedly at the wall. Instead his mouth lands hot and open right over your panties, tongue dragging a slow, wet stripe up the cotton. Your whole body jerks before you can stop it. “Don’t,” you hiss, even as your hips twitch toward his face.
Toji hums against you, “You’re cute when you’re mad, baby.” Another long lick, this time pressing the fabric right against your clit. “Even cuter when you’re wet and mad.”
You grab a fistful of his stupid black hair and yank hard. “I said don’t.”
He just grins up at you, entirely unbothered. “Oww,” he drawls, not sounding hurt at all. “Careful, baby. You pull any harder and I might think you actually want me closer.”
You glare down at him, “I hate you. Go. Away.” You try to shove his head away but he doesn’t budge as he rips your panties off. Wrapping his massive arms around your thighs, yanking you forward until your ass is hanging half off the cushion, and buries his face in your pussy.
He circles the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue, flicks it fast as he sucks faster. “Still mad?” he mumbles right against your clit before flicking it between his lips.
You choke on your moan, “Yes—fuck—you’re still—late—ahh!”
He hooks two thick fingers inside you, and starts pumping in time with the relentless flick of his tongue. “What was that you were sayin?” he taunts,
You’re losing. You’re losing so bad. You try to glare down at him but your eyes are glassy, “You’re—such—an asshole—”
“Mhm.” He sucks your clit between his lips again, humming happily. “Tell me how much you hate me while you’re fuckin’ my face, baby. Go on. I’m listenin’.”
You open your mouth to snap back but all that comes out is a broken, high-pitched whine as he sucks harder, fingers pumping deeper. “Knew you couldn’t stay mad with my mouth on this sweet little pussy.”
You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the next moan, but he yanks it away immediately. “Nah, none of that. Let me hear it.” He curls his fingers, tongue flattening to lap broad strokes up through your slick. “C’mon, baby—yell at me some more. It’s cute.”
“I—hate—you—” you gasp out between whimpers, hips grinding shamelessly against his face.
“Yeah?” He nips your clit lightly, “Hate me so much you’re ridin’ my face? That it?”
You can’t even form the words anymore. Your head tips back against the couch, mouth falling open on a silent scream as he starts sucking your clit hard, fingers fucking you and the dual sensation makes you come fast gushing against his face.
He groans against you, “Goddamn, you’re soakin’ my face. Still gonna tell me you’re mad?”
When you finally slump back, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath as he pulls away slowly giving one last lazy lick that makes you whimper before resting his cheek on your inner thigh like he’s perfectly content. “So,” he drawls, “we good now?”
You glare at him weakly, trying to stay mad even post-orgasm.
Toji’s got quite the fkn mouth on him.
a/n: I hate when men make you mad and then use their mouth to make it up to u like fuck u now I’m mad and horny and it’s all ur fault and can u tell im ovulating 💔
you were a virgin. well, for a reason. it was rooted in puritan traditions as well as an idealistic personal choice of wanting your first to be with someone you marry.
“this isn’t sex. so don’t worry” satoru flashed a puerile smile, showcasing his milk white canine teeth which dug in to his spit glossed lips.
his cock, colored in a deeper shade of wisteria with protruding veins woven around, slid on the thin layer of your dampened panties. your thighs were parted with his obstinate hands, both knees pressed right on the mattress; having you in full view.
your cotton panties, were too wet, clinging on to you—even more so, due to him caressing and pressing it on your skin with the help of his shaft to vividly showcase the lining of your pussy.
“relax cutie, this is within the rules” albeit, it actually wasn’t.
clearly not at all. but all you could do was let out indecent whimpers of bittersweet pleasure. satoru’s idea of celibacy was simple. anything but the intercourse—which was totally wrong but oh well. “come on, baby. don’t be shy”. his cheeky cadence trapped you in a profane dichotomy; left you teetering between a rebuke or an allowing of him to continue his orgasmic torture.
“’toru, mhm, n–no..” puny protests scrambled from your mouth earning a teasing chuckle from him. “haah—please” but it all simply met with complete disregard.
satoru’s bulky tip, a muted smudge of a pastel pink, was already salivating. a string of thick pre-cum on his slit, dispersed itself on the wetness of your panties. “hm, you sure say no but you are dripping for me” he uttered through clenched teeth, rubbing the underside of his length on to your clothed folds. “yeah, feel this huh?”.
a hedonistic smiled etched on to his porcelain face, the corner of his lips formed a torpid crescent. mischievously, his pale fingers guided himself in between your folds, his dick grinding itself between your puffed labia. “fuck, you seriously do grip like a damn virgin”.
he squeezed the bulbous head of his cock, his speed increasing with needy pantings. sweat beads laid artistry of webs on his forehead, temple and neck. his pearl luminescent face was flush with a spread of crimson from pure need and want.
his eyes had drooped, jaw tightened as he stretched the hem of your panties upwards till your naval. the movement caused the fabric to thin out—you could feel him. clearly. tangible even with the barrier of your soaked panties.
you let out a visceral moan when his tip nudged your clit with a soft, slow kiss. his cockhead traced the outline of your cunt, palpating red to stuff you full with his cum soiled dick.
“fuck, wonder what it’d be like inside this tight virgin pussy.” his lilt slowed, sensual as if aching with yearn. his blue-flamed orbs darkened in to a softer grey, half-lid, staring directly at you. “you ever wonder that, sweetie? this huuuge dick slowly filling you up, right inside this sweet little spot. would go all the way in yeah. mhm… ever think of so?”
“thinking about me bottoming out. you know what that is baby? every inch of me inside of you. inside your wet cunt. hmm, takin’ your virginity, corruptin’ every bit of your innocence.”
and there it was. with a few more incessant rubs against your outline, he spurted out thick loads of pasty-like cum on to you. his hand made sure milk all of it out, whorishly rubbing the cream all over your covered hole, giving your wet pussy a few slaps. “see, kept my word. didn’t i? no sex” an audacious statement formed with a complacent grin.
this wasn’t supposed to be.
the deal was simply to see what a penis looked like. not to have your best friend fuck you through your panties.
heavily inspired by a porn vid i saw ages ago on a sketchy website but oh boy—pantyfucking is so underrated
‧ ₊❝ overstimulating gojo by removing his blindfold
gojo always keeps his blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes to prevent sensory overload from his surroundings because of the six eyes. i can see this also applying to the bedroom, claiming he would “immediately bust a nut from how good your pussy feels”.
even though you’d always wanted to feel the intimacy of looking into those luminous blue eyes, you respected his wishes. and he always made up for it by fucking you real good.
but today, you were pissed.
his hands are bound behind the chair as you ride him deep and slow. he’s tugging at his restraints, head thrown back, hips bucking up to fuck deeper into you.
“please—need to feel you, feel your tits. you’re so tight around me, haah—squeezing me to death,” he gasps between moans, dick pulsing wildly.
the grin on your face is borderline wicked.
“should’ve thought twice before forgetting our anniversary dinner. had me looking like a goddamn idiot waiting for you. getting stood up by her date,” you spit, slamming back down onto his painfully hard cock.
“m’sorry, fuck, i didn’t mean to—shiit—i promise i’ll buy you whatever you want tomorrow. i’ll do whatever you want, just let me touch you,” he begs, tears beginning to stain the cloth over his eyes.
you drag a teasing finger down his jaw, raising goosebumps from your feather-light touch. you murmur, “hmm, there is one thing i want.”
“yes—yes, anything, please—”
wordlessly, you trace the edge of his blindfold, hooking a finger underneath. there’s a sharp intake of breath from the man underneath you. but he doesn’t object. you pull the blindfold down, letting it hang from his neck. the bulge of his adam’s apple bobs underneath the strip of fabric.
his eyes squint, struggling to adapt to the sudden brightness. before it hits him like a freight train.
the smell of your perfume. the metallic tang of blood from biting his lips too hard. the dips and curves of your naked waist. the shuddered breath as you struggle to take all of him. and worst of all, how tight and warm you feel around him. he can feel every ridge of your walls that are clenching so hard he’s sure it’s leaving an imprint on his dick.
you test this new-found sensitivity, grinding harder, slick making a mess of your thighs.
all he can see, feel, smell, hear, and taste is you. his mind is spinning, giddy from the sensation of you. he whimpers, thighs shaking from how dangerously close he is to an orgasm.
“g’na cum,” he moans, arms flexing, muscles tensed, from behind his back. he’s trying so hard not to cum into you right now.
“beg for it.” oh you were being so mean.
“please, i love you so much, ngh—let me fill you up, pleasepleaseplease,” his words are slurring together, his brain already short-circuiting.
“go ahead,” you purr into his ear, nibbling on the edge of his helix.
that’s all it takes before he’s spilling into you, with a groan that travels to your core. his fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles are turning white, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes roll back.
you reach your high soon after, the mixture of your releases dripping onto the chair. your body falls forward in exhaustion, pressing your sweaty chests together.
the weight of your body collapsed onto him was enough to make him harden again. his eyes glint with mischief as he starts lazily fucking up into you. you scramble for purchase on his shoulders, realising he’s turned the tables on you.
“guess i have the rest of the night to make it up to you.”
your nerdy fuckbuddy gojo has a tongue piercing?!?
“gojo—“ you said. “pause. stop.” you added, pulling his head up, away from your pussy. normally, you’d never stop him. ever. he pushed his slightly fogged up glasses up the bridge of his nose, and then spoke, his tone quiet and worried. “wh—what’s wrong? did— does it not feel good? a—am i going too fa—“ you shook your head quickly, and then sat up on your forearms.
“no, no, of course not— it’s .. i dunno. something feels.. weird. sort of.. cold.” you spoke, feeling sort of uncertain and deluded. you had never felt this feeling when he ate you out. you grabbed his chin lightly, and then thumbed at his lips. “do you have ice in your mouth or something?” you asked.
“uh—no..? but.. i.. can if you’d like that?” he said, looking up at you with a worried expression on his face. as he spoke, though, you noticed something shining in his mouth. “open your mouth.” you ordered. and he did so. quicker than you’d expected. he stuck his tongue out, and you gasped. “when did you get that?” you said, staring at the metal ball on his tongue.
“um.. a few days ago. i lost a bet with my brother.” he said, scratching his head and looking away, almost like he was embarrassed. “your brother.. the one in the fraternity?” you asked. “that’s the one.” he confirmed. wasn’t too far off from him. you’ve met him before— saturo. the sleazy, disgustingly sexy yet dangerous frat boy. you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want him.
“hm.” you said quietly. “do you like it?” he whispered, going back down so his nose was level with your cunt. “does it make you feel good?” he said, his breath fanning over the sensitive flesh. he gave you a long, slow lick, from your hole to your clit, not breaking eye contact. “when i got it done,” he said quietly, giving your clit a sweet kiss, and snaking his arms around your thighs to hold you down, so you wouldn’t twitch so much. “i couldn’t stop thinking of you. i was so excited to use it on you..” he murmured against you.
he reached up his hand, dragging his middle finger and ring fingers from your clit, down to circle around your hole, and then finally, inserting them in. he leaned up to you, giving you a sweet kiss on the cheek, then another against your ear as he fingered you. “satoru—“ you moaned, watching as his fingers disappeared in and out of you. you bit your lip, and then he leaned down to capture your lips, wasting no time to use his tongue.
his tongue circled yours, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, and the feeling of his metal on your tongue. “i lost the bet on purpose.” he whispered against your lips. “i overheard you talking about guys with tongue piercings, and..” he said softly, giving your lips a chaste peck, his thumb moving up to work your clit as he fingered you. “i got jealous. jealous that you potentially didn’t have me in mind.” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “i wanted nothing more than for you to experience this. nothing more than for you to use me for as long as you want to.” he said, his tone almost whiny as he pleaded.
nerdjo teaching you anatomy by playing with your pussy . . . [18+]
“focus on me, baby.” his face between your legs, thighs hooked on his shoulders as he looks at your sloppy pussy through his foggy lenses. “you want to pass this exam, don’t you?”
you look at him through narrowed eyes, too horny to actually pay attention, but decide to play along nonetheless. “y-yeah, i want to,”
he looks up at you from between your legs with a smile, like he’s actually happy to teach you something, even when your dripping cunt is right in front of his face. “mmm, good.” he simply murmurs. his hand slides from your thighs to your pubic mound, long and soft fingers caressing your flesh there, moving in a small circles. “this is your pubis,” he leans closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin he was previously massaging.
"ah–" you let out a gasp at the warm feeling of his lips pressed against your sensitive spot, hips already rolling up against his face.
“c’mon, we just started,” his hand presses against your pelvis, keeping you crushed into the mattress. “you have to work on your patience,” he states flatly as if he’s not about to make you cum soon.
satoru’s hand slides lower, letting his palm connect with your folds in a light, teasing slap. “this is your major labia.” his pointing and middle finger slightly pinch the fat of your skin, just enough to make you squirm on his bed. “their job is to protect your pretty pussy,”
you try to close your legs, but his firm grip prevents you from doing it. “don’t talk like that… it’s embarrassing," a barely heard whisper leaves your mouth, a mix of shame and arousal in your tone.
he hums lowly in his throat. “i may be embarrassing, but you don’t want me to stop, do you?”
the silence he’s met with is enough of an answer for him.
he tsks. “yeah, that's what i thought,"
his fingers spread your folds, letting the cold air hit your sensitive area. he finds your clit, rubbing it with two digits in small, precise circles, just enough to tease you. “here is your clitoris, its function is to provide sexual pleasure, but i think you already knew that, didn’t you?” he looks up at you from between your thighs, shooting you an annoying smirk.
you roll your eyes at his snarky remark. "smartass."
"you love me that way."
and you hate him for being right about that.
“now, my personal favorite,” his hand slides down away from your clit, pressing two fingers against your fluttering hole and slowly sliding in, inch by inch, until he’s buried inside you all the way up to his knuckles. “your vaginal opening.” satoru slowly pulls out his fingers, just to thrust them back in roughly, earning a breathless moan from you.
“god–yes, toru, right there–” you whined, hands going to his hair, wrapping into the soft locks.
he lets out a chuckle at your neediness, scissoring his long fingers inside you in an attempt to stretch you out, just for your pussy to clamp around him. “oh? someone’s desperate,” he mutters, his free hand going to push his slipping glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. he slows down the pace of his fingers, just to piss you off.
“c’mon, toru… you know what i want,” you whine, pulling on his hair, trying to make him listen to you.
“ouch–” his hand stops moving, a mean smirk on his face. "you should’ve asked nicer.”
“...please…” a reluctant mutter leaves your lips.
“atta girl,” he coos, before his head dives between your legs, mouth attaching to your clit immediately. his fingers get to work again, curling against your spongy walls, making you squeeze him even more. “that’s what you wanted?” he pulls away, barely, just to ask that and he’s gone again, slurping obscenely, practically devouring your cunt like a man starved.
"ngghhh–" you just moan, not trusting yourself to speak right now. the combo of his fingers and tongue makes your eyes roll back into your head, thighs tightening around his head, squeezing the frames of your boyfriend's glasses, but you don’t really care, at least not right now.
“can feel her clenching, baby,” he mutters against your soaked folds. his fingers move faster, rubbing against your sweet spot that makes you cry out. “let it go for me, cum around my fingers.” he spurs you on.
and you do.
your orgasm hits you hard, overwhelming shudder runs through your whole body, cunt spasming around his fingers soaking them in your juices. he keeps finger fucking you through it until your pussy gets so overstimulated you can’t take more.
he slowly pulls out his fingers with a wet pop, leaving your pussy empty, but satisfied. he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting your arousal with a loud, exaggerated moan. “mmmm, she tastes so good–”
you try to hide a small smile by scoffing. “just shut up.”
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