18+ mdni | as soon as the words left your lips—that you wanted to start a family—choso was all in.
for choso, his existence had always been defined by his role as the eldest brother, the steadfast pillar for his nine siblings. knowing the true gravity of being an onii-chan, the prospect of raising little ones with you felt like nothing short of a sacred calling. already a patriarch in his own right, he was more than ready to pour that same devotion into the life the two of you were building together.
an undignified squawk escaped you as he swept you off your feet. one arm locked firmly around your upper back, the other hooked behind your knees.
“ohmygod—choso, what are you doing!?”
pausing in front of the bedroom door, choso tilted his head, innocent brown eyes blinking down at you.
“you said you wanted a family,” he pointed out, solemn-faced yet gentle. “isn’t this how we start?”
it was a literal interpretation of your words, though you found it impossible to argue. not that you’d ever refuse a few cream pies from your dear husband.
the hours that followed were more than satisfying. as the night wore on, it became clear that his dedication to the task was absolute. possessing unnatural stamina, choso utilised his ability to manipulate the flow of his own blood, keeping his cock hard inside you for as long as he pleased. he took pleasure in milking himself dry, surge after surge of heat filling your womb until he was effectively shooting blanks, yet he still refused to soften, choosing instead to plug everything inside. dozing off in his arms, you were stretched, stuffed full the entire night.
imagine doing that tiktok trend with yuji where you set your phone up, run as fast as you can like your life depends on it, and see how long it takes for your boyfriend to catch you.
and when you explain it to him he just shrugs with a gentle little smile and says, “sure, babe. sounds fun.” because your sweet boy would do anything you ask him to.
so with your phone propped up, you quickly hit the record button, then break into a sprint while yuji waits with his hands in his pockets, watching you closely and counting to ten like you told him to.
and you keep count in your head, too. to make sure he’s not cheating of course.
but it’s something about seeing you run from him that entices him in a way he doesn’t expect. makes a delicious anticipation bubble inside him, makes his jaw clench. his lips take to a smirk once he realizes that’s what you wanted, and then he takes a breath.
“ten.”
he takes off immediately, a little dirt kicked up in his absence from how powerfully his foot launched him into motion.
and you’re a mess of giggles as you run, heart beating against your ribcage because you know it won’t be long. you don’t bother looking back, you know you can’t outrun him.
you haven’t even blinked twice when a pair of strong arms snake themselves around your middle and he’s got you caged in the air with a low grunt, your backside pressed against his chest, feet kicking and flailing as you squeal between laughter for him to let you go. his hold only tightens further, biceps flexing with a little more effort when you squirm. his hands are locked on his forearms that bind you to him, ensuring you won’t be going anywhere.
you can feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat, the heat of his body and it makes you pull your bottom lip under your teeth. there’s no need to wonder if this excited him as much as it did you, because you can feel it.
it’s exhilarating, to say the least. you’re completely out of breath, and just as you expected, he’d barely even made an effort.
the sharp of yuji’s canines gently nip at the shell of your ear to make your breath catch in that way he likes, his voice low and smoldering, yet sending a shiver down your spine when he whispers,
🏐 "𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw "hatefucking with gojo!" ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡
You shouldn't have joked about not wanting your children to have blue eyes.
Your limbs felt like jelly, ass red with marks that resembled a certain man with white hair’s hands, and thighs trembling with squirt and cum dribbling down them. Initially you had tried to complain, on your hands and knees while snarkily replying back to him. Now… now you just took his cock, arms limp under you, your face and tits squished against the sofa, lewd loud moans being muffled into the pillow beneath your face that Satoru had so graciously placed.
“... ‘t-toru..” you mewled with a soft whine.
Satoru’s cock was driving in and out fast of your sloppy pussy with a pace that had you feeling numb from waist down. The wet ‘plap! plap! plap!’ filling the room, as Satoru leaned down, his sweaty muscular chest pressed against your arched back. “Yeah? Not complaining now, are you?” He punctuated his words with a hard slap to your ass, making you whimper out into the pillow.
“M’ssoryyyyy.. I–it was j–just a joke..!” you drawled on your words, before letting out a louder moan into the pillow, when the thick tip of Satoru’s cock hit your cervix.
Satoru leaned back up, his hands braced on either side of your hips, pressed against the soft material of the couch. His gaze darkened a little while he smirked down at you, lips twitching before he patted your ass so sweetly, as if he wasn't currently rearranging your insides. He let out a husky chuckle, “yeah? You say you’re joking now?”. He bit his lip at the sight of you, limp and breathless under him, just taking his cock like it was the only thing you could do. He hesitated, before leaning down over you again.
"You’re so fucking pathetic…" he huffed against your ear, his hot breath fanning against your earlobe. You could feel his soft lips brushing against his hips continuing their relentless thrusts on your dripping cunt. Your pussy clenched and quivered around his thick cock.
“..I–.. I hate you…” you moaned shamelessly into the pillow, letting out a small cry of pleasure when he hit your cervix again.
“I know you don’t, baby,” he mumbled softly, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your hair. You almost mumbled out an ‘I love you’ until satoru sped up his hips again, fucking into your pussy with increased speed and lust. His eyes darkening at the sight of your plump ass jiggling, and your moans spilling out, muffled against the pillow as if you couldn’t fight it.
“I’ll f-fuck a baby into you.. show you just how pretty our children would look with my eyes and your–fuck... hair..”
not realizing you’re talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didn’t really mind.
that’s when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldn’t connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
“hi,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “you have the prettiest eyes. like… scary pretty.”
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didn’t move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
“mhm. my ex had eyes like yours,” you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldn’t stop tilting. “he was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.”
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldn’t fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
“we broke up because i thought he didn’t care enough but… he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.” you sighed softly. “i think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.”
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
“you’re drunk,” he murmured.
“super drunk,” you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. “but i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, it’s weird.”
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didn’t even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
“you’re really nice,” you whispered, eyes half closed. “my ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.”
he didn’t answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
“stay?” you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
“yeah,” he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. “i’m not going anywhere.”
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 you think that katsuki bakugou cares too much. he obsesses over the little things. whether or not you've eaten, whether or not you're seeing someone else, whether or not you even like him. you can't understand why he cares so much about someone like you. after all, he isn't even your boyfriend. (6.2K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ suggestive & angst ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, characters are depicted as adults. friends with benefits, brief smut scenes, daddy kink mention, situationships, insecurity, simp katsuki, avoidant attachment styles, reader and katsuki are bad at feelings, unhappy ending, open ending. pro hero katsuki bakugou, toxic avoidant & fem reader.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ happy birthday to me!! sharing another fic for my bday bc it is my gift to you!! for all the memories n the love n awl!! this year its blasty boy, based on this post i made ages ago. been workin on this for a while and it felt so good to explore katsuki in this way!! there may be a part two lol. thank you so much as always! hope you all enjoy and click for more.
bakugou has always been good at sensing oncoming danger. no, he didn’t have a quirk for it and no, he didn’t have to train at it. he’s always just had a penchant for knowing when peril was prowling along the horizon, he thought quick on his feet and under pressure, his instincts were killer. there’s a reason why he’s the best at what he does. saving people, stopping threats.
but then, there’s you.
they’d call you a hero level threat if they knew you, a little more then personally. an enigma that sucks the good-hearted nature out of someone and turns them into something hollow. a villain by matters of the heart rather than that of society — although a string of failed relationships and an obvious lack of commitment would argue otherwise. katsuki never sees it coming, the fatal blow you land on him, the one that shatters his very vision of how love works.
he doesn’t expect to meet you through a friend of a friend and hit it off straight away, his walls crumbling down as if they were made from nothing but sand. a somber stooge to thrashing imperial shaded waves and saltine sea water. he doesn’t anticipate falling fast, hard enough to scrape his knees on shingly tarmac. abrasive on the palms of his hands. all this, even though dynamight has never tripped or lost his cool before.
you’re disarmingly funny, smart-mouthed when it counts but you’re dedicated to your craft and fiercely loyal to the people you care about. by all means, you’re the girl of his dreams, there’s not a day that goes by where you’re not the first thing on his mind after a gruelling patrol and meetings with the hero commission.
katsuki seeks you out like a blossom winding up to find the sun, desperate to spend free time with you — dates that aren’t really dates in places hidden away from prying public eyes. late nights that lead to your legs tangled at the short end of his couch, your cheek smooshed into his chest and a hand low the small of your back. heaviness there that doesn’t seem burdensome, natural.
the two of you are too far into the comfort zone after such a short time, he doesn’t even pick up on the blaring warning signs. the dating app notifications that still pop up on your phone, the way your head dips when he leans in a little too close to kiss you.
he doesn’t see it clearly enough, the dangerous thorns that wrap around you like the stems of a blood red rose. his friends know better, you’re the type of girl who drank the blood of her enemies and ate the bones of her past lovers, stripping them bare like a carcass lost in the wastelands. they know the map of bakugou’s being well, the subtle craving for attachment and endearment that lies behind walls of flesh, muscle and a hardened exterior made up of a bit of trauma with a dash of near death. for all his gruffness and grandeur, there is a human within katsuki bakugou. one who carnally craves the simple promise of forever with someone else.
those friends who pledge a lifetime by katsuki’s side aren’t enough to satisfy his appetite and yearning inner-ego, they know that, but still — they look out for him.
“oh, relationships? i don’t do those.” you’d laughed, then, waving a hand dismissively when mina corners you on the way into the dynamight agency. a favour. a good friend willing to ask what the other can’t.
her shoulders had risen in anxiety, treading carefully as the pink haired pro prodded and pried. “then what about katsuki?”
“what about him?” you quipped, tone clipped, unwilling to fall open to her investigation. katsuki’s friends weren’t yours by any means — you were new, fresh meat in their eyes that had somehow withstood of concerned childhood classmates. “we’re not dating. just messing around?”
mina’s expression soured then. “does he know that?”
“he should. he’s a grown man, i’m sure he knows what kind of relationship he can handle.”
“a situationship.”
“a friendship that comes with added benefits.” he recalls you supplying. quick to the punch and cold like ice.
katsuki stays long enough to hear mina give you the low down. katsuki bakugou doesn’t do casual, he doesn’t mess around — his heart only goes out to some and when it’s yours, you’re supposed to take care of it. mina gives you the chance to walk away, leave him be and you fail to take it. with that minacious sense of esurience you possess.
the first time you sleep together happens after your first fight. he wants something you can’t give him, permanence, the sturdiness that reminds one of an oak tree that’s grown proud and tall over time. katsuki wants something that lasts and his heart is set on you — someone who disappears into the rolling smoke and only exists for a split second, a momentary fraction of time like when the sun and moon meet for an eclipse. you’re evanescent, almost imaginary, fleeting like a nomad who never stays for too long.
he can’t have you. not in the way that he needs to feel stabilised.
everything blows up, when you tell him that. sitting on the other side of the bed, wearing his clothes, comfortable in his penthouse where your shoes ( an impressive collection of sneakers to high heels ) are lined up by the door and you’ve got a favourite mug on the top shelf of his kitchen cabinets where only he can reach. there’s a piece of you everywhere in bakugou’s home but not a single piece you can part with long enough for him to call you his own. the fight is full of rage and pent up frustration and a hurt that’s nearly incurable — katsuki should have made you leave right then and there, emotions rising like hot air above cool. with tears building behind his red eyes that burn brightly with fury, but he can’t because you’re so intertwined with his life, it’d be like having a lung missing if you’d gone.
it’s not love, it shouldn’t be — but his heart feels anchored to you even if it’s holding you back. you let him say it, that he loves you so much it could kill him in his youthful age. he loves you while pushing into you deep, chest rising and falling in tune with yours, much like a habit you’ve picked up from one another. he loves you with your legs hiked high on his shoulders, at the weight of his shaft pressed up against your sensitive walls with his teeth and tongue marking you like you belong to him. the sex that night had felt like a confession, a love letter written in hickies and scratch marks — penned and signed into your body by rough-padded fingertips that find your clit between rolling waves of trusts, hips that hit yours like the turning tide hits the shore.
in the moment, you reciprocated. sung his praises kike they were the lyrics to your favourite song, coated in wistfulness. howled his name, katsuki, at the moon whilst the stars bore witness to the union of your souls and your bodies. struck claw marks between the muscles in his back, leaving him with a scar. a heavily ironic reminder of your presence in his life — even if you left him physically, you’d still be there in the root of his heart and in every breath he’d take from then on. he couldn’t get rid of you, not that he wanted to, not even if he tried. in every sense of the word — mind, body and soul, katsuki had decided he belonged to you. willed you to understand through every stroke of his cock into you, every gentle kiss that deepened to share hungry moans, every caress over your battle wounds and fatal flaws… that he was yours, however you wanted. whatever that looked like. he would take it.
in the morning, you were different — colder, sharper, as if the sinful hells from which your desire had risen from, had now frozen over. like the heat and passion you’d shared were nothing but a mutually beneficial exchange. pleasure for pleasure, not to be mistaken for beating hearts coming together as one. in the morning, you’d tossed katsuki aside, smiling sweet, your lips pressed against his cheek, your clothes from the night before wrinkled against your love-bruised frame. “thank you,” he remembers you saying. “same time next week?”
it’s a joke that lands as a sucker punch. worse than any hit he’s ever taken on the field.
despite that, bakugou had never wanted you more. something he couldn’t keep. a hurricane in a glass jar that he couldn’t contain. free as a bird that could fly away at a moment's notice — too dazed with desire and devotion to see the cruel limbo you were leaving him in. even then he’d have called you the girl of his dreams, perfect in every way except for your knack for avoidance. he should have walked away then.
he should walk away now. as his tired, blood red eyes look to you with a rose tinted lens. watching you sleep soundly amongst sheets you’d complain cost more than a month’s rent and won’t let katsuki buy for your own apartment. still thinking that you’re perfect for him, that you fit right into his world where you’ve made him so intrinsically part of your own. thriving in this weird symbiotic relationship where you get your needs taken care of and he gets a taste of what it’s like to be longed for. as more than a hero. as less than dynamight. just katsuki. you’d taken a sledgehammer to the pro hero’s concrete shell and sent his shield packing, now he’s no longer to build up his walls without fear of shutting you out.
friends with benefits, lovers but not quite — bakugou doesn’t care as long as he’s with you. he’d pick fights for you until he turned black and blue, rescue you from the competition because he knows it means having his way with you afterwards, let you call him your boyfriend high on life and liquor just to piss another man off. now you’re in his shirt, the warm charm of the sun spilling through his curtains to illuminate the soft slopes of your thighs and highlight every perfect imperfection on your skin. the scars you try to hide, the tiger stripes you sometimes let him love.
you look softest when you’re asleep, like you wouldn’t dare destroy someone’s self worth and ability to love. you don’t look dangerous.
he still doesn’t believe that you are.
“suki,” stretching high and wide like a little harmless — maybe even blameless — kitten lounging under the blessing of the afternoon sun. your voice calls to him — wafting through the aerosols that catch light under golden rays. they act as a smog, a performance of smoke and mirrors that hides your true intentions from the blonde. even if he were to wave his hand through the smoggy disguise, katsuki still wouldn’t be able to see your desires clearly. “my head hurts.”
“yeah?” bakugou’s bare chest rises and falls with somewhat of a brusque titter, the sound curling inward like a wisp of smoke caught within his lungs — cemented into their small branches of bronchi. it’s soft, barely noticeable, if you weren’t listening. almost as if he’s been trying to keep it a secret from you. as though his fondness were to scare you away. “want me to kiss it better?”
“mhm…” more of you emerges from cotton hills and stiff peaks of linens — a hand rubbing through the crust corned at your eyes and lips. “god it kills, what even happened last night?”
even then, despite the sleep caked into your skin and the lines carved out by creases in the sheets struck against your cheeks, disregarding the bitterness to your morning breath and the drool staining the fabric of his your sleep shirt — you’re still the most beautiful person in the world to katsuki bakugou. with all your flaws and icks and green flags he can’t help the uptick in his pulse and the pull of gravity that lures him into smiling almost school-girlishly at the sight of you rubbing the ache from your forehead, lost in the waves of his bed spread.
you’re perfect even if you don’t know it — some kind of lawless and flawless being that could do no wrong in the jewelled eyes of the beholder.
“party. didn’t invite me so i don’t know what you had.”
“it was a party, am i not supposed to drink?” a cheshire grin blooms amongst your features and compliments the mirthy spark to your sleepy stare as you reply bluntly. if there was any inclination as to how deeply katsuki feels for you, it would be the way his focus flits away from your eye contact and the manner in which rich red blood pools underneath the surface of his cheeks. a blush that catches sunlight and spreads like a flame over oil slick, creeping down to the back of katsuki’s neck.
he rubs at it — akin to how one would smooth over a scab they’re not trying to pick in fear of making it bleed — as he speaks. intent and careful. “responsibly, sure,” he’s already reaching to pull the covers back and welcome you to the land of the living. you hide, pouting like you’ve been scolded. “you were so shitfaced last night, ‘m surprised you even managed to call me to come pick you up.”
you don’t like that. the tenderness that sits between curse words and stretching through the comfortable atmosphere of the late morning. to you, katsuki is scary in the kind of way that reminds you of the buzz you feel after watching a horror movie — electric and alive, all fried nerve endings and an impending sense of doom tickling your chest. maybe it’s because he’s so handsome. in the way that causes trouble with the old ladies on floor thirty four of the apartment building or gets the girls tripping over their kitten heels at the agency. maybe it’s because he leans into this natural duty to protect or nurse strays like you back to health.
genuine fear easily takes residence in your being when bakugou cares for you in the ways you feel you don’t deserve. it’s small, fleeting — almost like the subtle beat of a butterfly's wings or the tickle of your own hair at the nape of your neck.
katsuki isn’t someone to be afraid of. he’s not some kind of predator lurking in the dark waiting to turn you into a chunk of meat. his affections lap at you in the same way ocean blue does at a sandy shoreline, in soft waves with bubbling white at the owl waiting to be absorbed into porous substrate. he waits, oh, he waits for you to accept all of him as though he were always meant to be yours.
that’s what frightens you, his gentle dedication. his tired eyes that crystallise when you walk into a room. his heart tattooed in fading ink on his sleeve, waiting for you to take a knife and pierce it with all that you’ve got.
the thought of accepting his love and returning it had your stomach turning. not because you resent the idea, but because you find yourself warming to it like a steel kettle on a hot stove or a freshly potted sapling winding towards the light in order to grow. it’s as frightening coming face to face with an animal that sees you as nothing more than prey. like a hare standing against a wolf where the odds are hardly in its favour.
“it’s too early on in the day for you to parent me katsuki and you sound like my dad,” you bite like a snake that has venom poised behind its teeth, regarding the blonde with devious merriment. “bet you like that though, gets you all riled up telling me what to do. acting like my dad. do you want to be? my daddy, katsuki?”
your banter is usually like this, the kind where the dialect crawls underneath his skin through an open wound and spreads uncomfortably in the form of a viral infection. it sticks meagerly to katsuki’s ego in a similar fashion to a postage stamp placed down wrong — where you can’t pick it up by the corner and peel it back, unable to reposition it correctly. in the moment, you’re funny — light on your feet and quick with quips that come easy and aren’t supposed to mean anything aside from serving the purpose of laughter. except, when the coals cool and the time passes you leave a sting that creeps up on the victim, dead before they even know it. straight faced by the time the day is over.
“don’t be like that.” he leans over you, wafting notes of clean pine and smoked applewood, sparking your senses awake, and pushes the side of your head playfully. his touch slides down, careful as it goes, before bakugou cups your cheeks and squishes them twice.“bein’ fuckin’ mean.”
“sorry daddy.” you grin the same as before. with the air of someone who knows exactly who they are and what they’re doing. you’re a woman who’s made a vexatious habit out of reading people — katsuki is one of them — scouring their worn, aging pages for something that makes them tick.
by now he’s caught on the game that you play, toying with the knotted mess of his feelings like a feline with her bawl of carmine coloured yarn. the iniquitous version of the red string of fate. he returns to his seat at the edge of the bed, turning away before you catch the fall in his face. as though the manner in which icarus flew too close to the sun — only to be scorned — could be captured in his expression, like an artist who carves his wages through stone.
“oh shut up,” bakugou pushes again, no weight behind his hand. controlled because he’s not a man with a temper. the kind you run to when he spends a weekend out of town. “‘m not fuckin’ you ‘n i gotta go to work.”
“that’s never stopped you before.” you purr, never quite having learned how to be subtle.
hero galas and award-show after parties run rampant through katsuki’s mind — the memories without picture frames because you never stay long enough to keep. alcohol bleeds into the ink, leaving them splotchy where he’d remember the happenings if he were sober. lipstip smudge kiss that taste of plasticky makeup and the bitter pop of champagne
undeterred by your little mind games and the puzzles you make of the pro hero’s patience — he glances over at you, just for a moment. registers the presence of you helpless in his bed and then suppresses a fond smile, poking his tongue into his cheek. “you’re hungover, that’ll stop me. told you, i care about you.”
there’s a twang to katsuki’s voice that has always warmed you sweetly. much like honey and buttermilk simmering on a stove. years of drawling and pulling along the vowels braided between their intimidating consonant peers. unhurried and rough around the edges. the way he softly answers you despite the wrath and envy that hides behind the snakelike bite of your words when you speak — he tries not to be loud, in fear his speech may be taken as a curse. the last thing katsuki wants is to scare you away, especially when you make a habit of escaping from his hold like a bird from a net or a gazelle from a hunter.
you turn silent – in a manner similar to the creep of the quiet night that sneaks up on her friend, the day – shifting upright and bringing the duvet with you. “don’t need you to,” your fingers curl in the blankets until crescent moons form in your palms through the thinness. you don’t snap, that is what terrifies katsuki more. “and that doesn’t mean you have to baby me.” it’s a childish retort that you add on, one that lands in the pocket of silence beginning to brew at the center of the room. sour like the punch of a lemon when you sip on something citrus. “i’m an adult, we can fuck if i wanna.”
“but i don’t,” he feels far away when he responds, carefully unveiling his truth to you at a safe distance, to avoid the splinters of your shattering morning. “even if you’re nicer to me when you’re fucked up.”
a rare joke from him turns you into the cheshire cat.
“you think i’m mean sober. so you prefer me subdued.” you ask, a taunting tone intertwined with the cadence of a person who seeks only to get a rise out of their victim. you pass his
the blonde whips round to face you, not to yell or to “listen. you were drinkin’, i wasn’t there to look out for you and there could have been anythin’ in your system. i was worried about you.” something churns in his stomach and ties his intensities together in some kind of fatal knot guided by a sick sense of anxiety. it’s the same kind of feeling you. katsuki sighs, shoulders falling as though the strings that master them have been released. “i don’t wanna argue.”
“me either,” you quip, sensing the defeat. “my head really hurts, kats.”
he softens as you drop the topic. a change in tactics to keep him on his toes, interested in playing the game of chess you’ve laid out for the two of you. his pieces have been stolen, barely anything left on the board since you so eagerly take and take from him. “i know baby,” katsuki supplies in that sugary simple syrup manner that would have any girl twist her ankle in order to get a chance with him. “just, lemme get you some orange juice for your hangover, kay?”
“with bits in it? bleck. you know i don’t like orange juice.” he does. of course katsuki bakugou knows that you hate orange juice with the little floating pieces of fruit flesh and that you prefer the kind of squash you dilate with running water over anything else. he knows that you hate to eat breakfast in the morning because you’re never too hungry, but if he were to cook something up you’d eat it with the same appetite as a grown man. katsuki knows you like the sun burning up high, would know the familiar company of a summer’s day and a clear blue sky — in a way that’s complimentary, two souls tangled by a fine rouge thread, knotted with no loose ends.
except he finds you tugging at them as though you’re a bird caught in a net — fighting ferociously until you’re too fatigued to taste it. freedom. as though you’re frightened of the calm katsuki could offer you. he dwells on the thought, standing too still amongst a hurricane — biting fear cool against his skin because he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do when he loses your presence beside him simply because you’re not ready for something greater.
his eyes drag away from you, polarised to the wall like a magnet that attracts. “well it’s either that or tomato juice, pick your poison,” katsuki supplies, listening for your tantrum amongst cotton sheets. you settle on the bright, more-fruity counterpart ( because you’ve argued about this before at 3AM whilst he’s been in indonesia for a mission and you've been stuck here — using your spare key to get into his apartment when you’d missed him. tomato, despite its many seeds, isn’t a fruit in your eyes ) and the blonde hauls himself up from the edge of the bed to find his juicer in the kitchen. “that’s what i thought, brat.”
katsuki never leaves you without saying goodbye. a text after patrol to let you know that he’s safe, a kiss on the forehead when he moves from one room to the next, a perfectly wrapped morsel of his soul packed up into a brief, flickering moment all for you. something to keep when the regular rhythm of your body starts to fall out of tune without him, no matter how long or short the time spent apart is — katsuki always gives you something.
but this morning he leaves the bedroom with his lips pressed into a thin line and the hard set expression of a man who’s worked so much for too little in return — breaking a sweat to undo crossed wires as though there’s a time bomb ticking relentlessly between you that requires a special agent’s touch to figure you out. katsuki isn’t a spy, he isn’t a mind reader and yes, he’s super-human… but in his line of work there are just some people you can never seem to save. maybe you’re one of them and maybe that’s why he feels as though he might need to give up.
you draw your knees to your chest underneath the sheets in order to add pressure to the panic building within — he doesn’t shut you out in the manner that you do with him. katsuki always comes back to pull you out of your own mess as though you’re a wounded animal in need of tending. he’s good like that. he cares about you like that.
you’re a blender, an emotional one at that, you come with razor sharp, silvering blades that constantly whir like a looming threat. get too close and you’ll lose a piece of yourself, bleed out on cold concrete like a saviour who tried entirely too hard to save someone who didn’t want it. what seems right to him, when it comes to you, is a means to his own demise and death – in this tale, katsuki is a wolf licking crimson blood from a blade poised to kill him, worsening his own wounds inflicted by his own desire for you.
a mere twenty paces away, you listen to him clatter about in the kitchen – juicing fresh fruit for you. from scratch. just to help you feel better. It's a luxury you know that you don’t deserve, a tragedy that you know he’ll play line by line if it means being with you. for a while, you thought yourself invincible, taking advantage of the weakness of men who have hurt you before. yet, katsuki is kind, he warms you, treats you as though you’re flawless to the point where you feel as though you are a physical lie. an apple dealt to adam instead of eve, rotted on the inside and ripe on the out.
bakugou waltzes back into the bedroom not even ten minutes later, freshly squeezed orange juice and two pills in hand to ease away the pain you know doesn’t compare to what lives between each intercostal space protecting his heart and lungs. he says nothing. you say nothing. the room feels like a trap, latent hostility building between the four walls as if it had cemented them together itself.
you inhale, like you’re taking a drag of a cigarette. you don’t want the smoke to clear – you’ll see the heartache in his eyes clearer then.
“are we okay?” you ask with the uneasy focus of someone who feels like her world is out to get her – drown her in the emotional turmoil she’s built. a swig of orange juice and bitter paracetamol clings to the insides of your teeth, causing a similar discomfort to that in the atmosphere. “i feel like… things have been really weird. with you. with me.”
“no ‘m not. you’re being weird.” he delivers the line with a sharp intensity you’re completely unfamiliar with – like he’s taken on the same skillset, the same precise aim of an adroit sniper, and gone straight for your heart – forcing himself to speak over the blockage in his throat that keeps him from spilling emotions like an oil slick on clean water.
a wound to the body can easily heal, but one to the heart that keeps pumping, can last a lifetime. you don’t scream out in agony, a wounded soldier on a battlefield – no – you quickly build a defensive shield and strike a strategic attack, because your ego broils brightly underneath the surface of your skin and never settles enough to let your temper just be.
this time round, you scoff in braggart disbelief. as if you hadn’t expected this, the rain on your make believe parade. “woah okay, childish.”
observant as ever, katsuki does not miss the way you roll your eyes over the glass – the spread of your lips seeping into your cheeks as they take the form of a grim lour. something akin to kindling, a match-stick ready to set light to a bomb. this morning you’d promised not to argue, and yet, one catches in the wind that changes course. imminent and ready to detonate this faux relationship you’ve built.
“oh, like you’re not.” the blonde snaps back, sarcasm snaked between syllables.
“alright then, what’s that supposed to mean, katsuki?”
“you just — ‘m just…” bakugou grapples for a sensible sentence, something to explain away the clouds in his mind that came with you. he hates to admit it, how you unhappiness came into his world soon after you did, bringing with you bouquets of bewilderment and nights where too many things were left unsaid. “it’s okay for you to tease me and not the other way around?”
it’s unclear why that sets you off, perhaps its how accusatory bakugou sounds. when he says it like that – calls you out on how hypocritical you can be, your temper flares like a streak of red in the dead of night. a cry for help to anyone watching, to katsuki not to give up on you before you’ve properly started.
“you’re not kidding around though, it’s not funny,” spitting venomously, you let your response rain down on him like acid rain, searing through the thick and guarded armor he thought he had built strong all these years. “you keep calling me mean when that’s how i’ve always been, firey just how you like it. you treat me like i’m made of glass, like you’ve gone soft and keep looking at me like i’m gonna burst into flames!” it keeps going, this gruesome splurge of awful words used to cut at him, and you can’t stop it because you see it working. the manner in which this big, mountainous and explosive man, shrinks away from you as though it burns to be near. “like me, being here is setting you off. almost as though you don’t want me here. and if you don’t, that’s fine, i’ll go. but in the future don’t bring me over if you’re gonna act all avoidant and shit.”
katsuki sits up now, alert, as if his burns have been doused with cold water. his carmine eyes, devoid of the same cruelty you treat him with, are electrified with everything he doesn’t say. loaded with all the ways you’ve hurt him. tears that refuse to fall. “what? was i supposed to leave you there drunk with that fuckin’ asshole? the one you keep fucking when ‘m not around to give you the attention you crave.” the blonde throws a thumb your way, inculpatory. “you don’t get to do that, call me like ‘m some shitty lapdog. then c-call me that fuckin’ name and then act like it’s weird that i want to take care of you.”
“call you, what, katsuki?”
“course you don’t remember,” bakugou grumbles incredulously, standing from the bed in the same manner someone would flee from the scene of a crime. like he needs to get away from it all. from you. from the jail cell that is your fucked up relationship. “‘m not saying shit. got patrol so ‘m headin’ out.”
the blonde excuses himself weakly and reaches for his hero costume as a shield.
because maybe, right now, he needs to be dynamight instead of katsuki. he needs to be a hero to save himself.
“katsuki,” you growl to make him stay. “call you, what? say it. it’s on the tip of your tongue.”
the look he gives you is wounded and pleading. the kind only a dying animal could give whilst begging to be put out of its misery — whatever katsuki says now will be blood on your hands, his organs violently spilling into your grip since you’re the only person in his life with enough strength to rip his heart out from behind the doors to his psyche. “your boyfriend. you called me your boyfriend last night and i picked you up and i liked it.” katsuki admits from across the room, at a safe distance from you because confessing feelings to you is akin to stepping on a land mine.
he’s been fighting an internal war since figuring out that he feels for you outside of fucking, wishing like a wistful child on every lucky star that perhaps, you would be able to wave your white flag and admit the same. beyond your own facade, you could maybe trade your heart for his like you would for a trading card. if you’d wanted him the way he wanted you, you’d push your pride away just enough to let yourself believe you could love someone outside of yourself.
“i liked that you sat in my backseat, on the verge of throwing up and called me your boyfriend…” he supplies in the same way a child would when they make an attempt to be part of adult conversation — rushed in the sense that syllables land awkwardly and vowels tack themselves to the underneath of his tongue it moves around in his mouth, like there’s too much to say to you and not enough time for telling you. “i feel sick just sayin’ i liked that you let me hold your hair back when you did eventually puke your fuckin’ guts out, ‘nd let me shower you ‘nd change your clothes. let me hold you without making it weird, like we’re not supposed to do that shit just because all we do is have sex!”
with every inch he gives, you take, and the consequences nearly choke katsuki bakugou slowly to an unfair death. “i know you won’t ever let me do it again, now that you’re sober, ‘cause that’s not what you want and it’s not what we agreed to. you don’t like lookin’ like you need someone.”
“but i liked it,” bakugou rasps, vocal chords strained like an out of tune guitar — the notes wail into the tense, thickened air. “even if it was only for one fuckin’ night. when you were mine, for just one night. i liked being your boyfriend.”
he liked being wrapped around your finger, even if it were a noose.
“but you’re not,” the words of your retort are entirely too harsh and brittle, and they slip out like fine sand through fingertips before you have a chance to stop them. “you’re not my boyfriend.”
“exactly.”
“so what do we do?”
for the first time that morning. you sound scared — reality dawning on you as though you’ve woken up to nothing after dreaming about everything you could have ever wanted.
“dunno, do whatever you want,” he’s so tired of going back and forth. if he knew from the very day your eyes first met – in a similar fashion to two worlds colliding, colours mixing, flowers blooming – that this is what you’d wanted, he would have stayed far away. “you can stay. you know where your things are ‘nd i left you breakfast. in the fridge. bottom shelf where you can reach it.”
“katsuki, i–”
he shakes his head, the weight of him in your mind and head and in this very room lifting – as though he were never there. you seal your lips. your true feelings are a sullen, oppressive secret behind your teeth.
katsuki bakugou is stubborn. he always has been. to a fault. “i really gotta go, kay?”
you sink into the sheets, “okay… i’ll call you?”
the pit in the stomach tells you he’ll wait for your call, you know he will. he’s always been self destructive like that. you’re like a ticking time bomb in the centre of his bed, where he’s supposed to feel safest — just waiting to explode and send shards of shrapnel shaped like daggers directly into his scarred heart and he’s got no sense of danger. no telling of when you’re going to go off and decimate him.
“be safe.” you add.
“i will be. i–” katsuki looks back, his tongue pushed to form the shape of love that he quickly abandons as if the weight isn’t crushing his heart in his chest. “… just don’t go anywhere? we’ll talk about this later.”
you nod silently as he leaves. afraid.
you never do talk.
you never do stay.
because he’s certainly not your boyfriend and you’re not his girlfriend either.
there’s no obligation in that anyway.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
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, DlLFS (and MlLFS too!), age gaps (reader and JJK men are ALWAYS aduIts), arranged marriages (Toji), cIan Ieader!Toji, sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bóndage (Nanami), mentions of kids, bréeding, manhandIing, matíng presses, HEADLOCKS, p sIapping, p talking, spítting, fíngering, rings and píercings, rockstar!Geto, headIines, use of ‘mómmy’ (Ino), miIking, overstím, súgar dáddies, running from it, oIder men, síxty-níne, talking you through it, pressing down, making it fit, he’s BIG, counting inches, overworked Higuruma, creampíes, cúmpIay, sIight cúmfIation, pIot, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. MWAHAHAH.
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - The Arrangement.
“O-oh, sh—”
“Shhhhh.” Toji’s voice is dangerous. Low. His chin was hooked into the crook of your neck - and you’re getting pushed back down, down, dooooown his-
“Oh my…” Your mouth waters, weak arm reaching out to grasp the edge of the futon.
But Toji’s guiding it to his shaggy salt-and-pepper hair. Making you tug. Making you wrench.
His other palm - calloused after what you assume to be countless years of training his Heavenly Restriction - comes up to plaster over your mouth. “Unless ya want them to hear.” He mutters, referring to the council of elders seated behind the sliding doors.
You knew it was part of the ceremony: to make sure that you and the older clan leader…affirmed your new union.
An arranged marriage, of course. The marriage of the century in jujutsu society’s highest circles.
But even after a lavish wedding, and an even more lavish title suited to you, you still couldn’t believe that you were married to Zenin Toji.
Perhaps expected considering that the two of you had met just a few weeks ago; you’d announced to your council that you were ready for marriage. And they’d then presented you with a list of all the potential candidates for husband—every eligible bachelor from the Kamo clan to the rather obscure Fujiwara clan. The list had gone on and on with their names and ages.
And at the very end you’d spotted—
Zenin Toji—Age: 38 (once divorced).
As soon as the elders had noticed you focusing on that one name, they’d dismissed you with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, that’s just Toji. Ignore him, he’s just there out of obligation-”
“But why would I ignore him?”And that had effectively shut them up.
Although what you really wanted were more answers.
Toji.
Toji.
Most of the other candidates ranged across their twenties, and they were names you’d heard of in mere passing during those stuffy clan functions. Toji, however, was beyond that age range and once divorced—and you’d heard of him almost too well. You knew him without ever knowing him.
You’d heard of the newly-appointed Zenin clan leader as he fought against every single elder to claim his rightful title as head - the first one since…ever without a speck of cursed energy.
You’d heard of the terror of the Zenin clan - or so they whispered - who could bring down battalions with a single swipe of his cursed weapons. He didn’t need cursed energy—and what they feared above all was the power of raw humanity underneath it.
But…you’d also heard of the merciful man. The first Zenin clan leader to grant his wife a divorce when she wished for it, thus leaving him printed once more upon a paper listing jujutsu society’s bachelors.
Leaving him impressioned in your mind.
Zenin Toji was an enigma you wanted to understand.
And you laughed at the expressions upon your elders’ faces as you announced that the sole candidate you were interested in was none other than the notorious Toji. You could count on one hand how many had readily agreed to your union with the older man—and that would be exactly zero fingers.
However, the meeting had proceeded as tradition dictated. Your council of elders reached out to the uptight council of the Zenins - and they’d reached out to re-confirm thrice that the man you were really looking for was Toji. Wasn’t he much older? Wasn’t he fearsome? Wasn’t he difficult to understand?
You waved off their worries and met him over a fragrant tea ceremony.
To be quite honest; there wasn’t much talking between the two of you - although the Zenin elders kept up a constant stream of chatter with the elders of your own family. Meanwhile you simply looked at Toji over the rim of your ceramic cup—and—watched—
And he met your gaze just as intensely.
By the end of the tea ceremony, you nudged your elders to proclaim your approval for a union.
And Toji nodded his own approval.
The wedding preparations were accomplished in a week. It was a wedding for the history books - you heard that your council of elders were pushing to get it written in already - and it ended off with a lavish banquet that lasted into the long, long hours of the night.
As sunlight started seeping into the horizon, you and Toji got up from your seats at the head of the table. And you made your way to the master bedroom—where rows upon rows of elders sat outside in preparation for the consummation.
They were here to hear you-
“Fuck.” You can’t stop the sudden whimper that escapes you at the feeling of Toji hiking up one of his muscular thighs. He still had his wedding robes on - dishevelled upon his frame, the graze of expensive Zenin cotton n’ silk makes you shiver—
And as soon as you do, you feel one of his large palms settle at the base of your spine.
Toji keeps you pinned down - deliciously helpless - once he reaches that upright leg forwards and rests his heel atop your scalp. Stepping on your sweaty crown. Keeping you pinned in one place as he fucks you- with a sheer audacity that makes your jaw drop.
“Careful.” Toji’s low tone trundles out. You’re bent into such a shape that it makes his cock thicker- stretchin’ out your snug channel with a sultry squeeeelch! “Keep your mouth open like that and you’ll catch flies.”
Leaning down as far as he could, he then spits.
“Or you’ll catch me.”
A few more vicious strokes that leave you gaping.
A few more changing angles- Toji was the type to not just straightly thrust. He was stirring his cock ‘round in somewhat circular motions of his hips as he pummeled inside, managing to hit eeeeevery single nerve-ended spot inside you. “And- hah, and we wouldn’t wanna explain that to those old toads, heh?” Asking you. And then…not you. “Isn’t that right, fuckers?”
There’s restless murmuring from outside.
“W-well, maybe if you—fuuuuuck.” Just as soon as you’re mid-sentence - as though Toji had been waiting for this exact moment - he reaches forwards and slams! his ruddied tip into you hard enough that you can feel him in your damn throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”
“Loud.” Scoffing. “Though I bet they already know what’s happening- hah.”
You were in utter shambles.
Toji’s cock was sensually curved towards the right - the perfect angle to spot those areas where you were most sensitive and stimulate them until you were crying. “Y-you’re so shameless—!”
With a roll of his forest-green eyes, the clan leader crouches his body further forwards and accelerates his pace. His heel pressing down even harder.
With this position he had you in, Toji couldn’t keep his palm glued to your drivelling maw anymore. And he was letting it aaaaaall out—the more n’ more pretty moans that were leaving you, the more he’s speeding up his hips. Purposefully thumping his blushin’ red tip down your most precious spots.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he’s using his free hand to sift apart your stuffy pussy. Pressin’ aside your folds and getting a good eyeful of your entrance - getting flooded with his rock-hard inches, and then emptied out for him to do it all over again. And again. And again and again and—“And who was it that decided to marry me?”
You don’t know what’s hitting you harder: the shock of being called out, or the sudden wad of saliva that he’s spitting between your legs. “Well…me…”
Toji nods. “Pretty young thing like you…for what reason could you want to marry- me-” Every space between his words was punctured with a targeted strike to your g-spot. “Money? Name? Power?”
Your head’s getting foggy - you don’t even realize that you’re drooling before Toji looks down and tuts. He watches as a slick puddle formulates underneath you—“Did you wanna marry this ol’ clan leader for power, doll? S’that what you wanted?”
As much as you could, you’re shaking your head- difficult, given the way he still had the heel of his foot on you.
“No? Then what?” Toji pretends to think. “Hmmm, could it be that your clan elders pressured you into this, doll?” And just at that moment, he stops- even though it seems as if he wanted to say more. “I’ll kill you all if—”
It wasn’t targeted towards you.
But you’re vehemently denying—“No. No. Not at all…” Sobs and sultry moans strangle in your throat, and your poor, poor hips are driving back into his as much as you could. “Please- oh, I j-just wanted—”
“Let me think.” Now that he’d started his vigorous pace up again, your eardrums were crackling with the constant pap-pap-pap! of Toji’s toned hips hitting yours. He was just so large - in every possible way, it was as though he was engulfing you with his massive body, with his shaft stretchin’ out your insides in ways you’ve never experienced before. “Is it because- haaaaah…” Toji breathes, the cloud of his heated breath wafting down your arched spine. “Is it because you knew that those other- boys couldn’t fuck you as well as I could?”
Your jaw drops- “Fuck.”
But it seems that Toji had found his footing. He drags you even harder against him - the ramming of your two bodies almost violently shaking the flooring beneath. “Is it because you knew that- mmm, this pussy would always be satisfied with me?” Whatever little jostling you’re experiencing at his movements, he’s considering it a nod. “Is it because you’d been greedy? Because you’ve been yearning-”
Somehow, he’s tipping his head backwards and managing to perfect a stream of spit down onto your stuffed cunt.
“-for someone more mature. Someone that knows how to handle a pussy, doll?” Voice dipped in lust. “Have you been yearning for Zenin Toji to fuck you properly?”
“Y-yes—” You pitch out softly. Sniffling. Seeing stars behind your eyelids. “Toji, m’so close…”
“So cum, then?” He snickers, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “What’re you waiting for? Permission?” Leaning back and projecting his voice - though, not for you. “Just so y’know, I’m gonna make my wife cum.”
“Oh-oh my god—” The words crackle in your throat as a final bash to your syrupy-sweet spot leaving you careening into your high. Stars of pleasure burst behind your shuttered lids - and you’re dragged through wave upon wave of white-hot bliss.
It overtakes you like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
And Toji was only more than happy to prolong them using his length. Hitting you right when your peaks were at their highest - and if you were in the right state, then you’d wonder how he even managed to time them - and making your veins feel molten within. Making you whimper and thrash into him. Thrashing and thrashing—fucked like you’ve never been before through your orgasm.
You’re so hazy afterwards that you barely even register the shuffling outside the bedroom - as the elders started making their way back to the banquet. Mission accomplished, you suppose.
And Toji takes his foot off your head.
“Haaaaah, fuck.” He hisses. “Want to give them an encore, my wife?”
You couldn’t nod faster.
Before you know it, he’s tipping his head back and calling out - at the elders—
“Get ready for an encore, fuckers.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Parent-teacher DATING?!
“Ms. Teacher…”
Itadori’s sweet, sweet voice breaks through your conversation with one of the parents; and you’re looking down to see him clasping one end of your flower-patterned apron. Pink brows furrowed. Chubby cheeks puffed. And how could anyone resist that face?
So throwing an apologetic smile at the parent, you’re leaning down slightly so that you could hear the little boy better. “Yes, Yuji?”
He cups a hand over his mouth then leans in towards your ear as if to whisper. “I have a secret to tell you.” And he does not whisper.
Still, you bite back a giggle and ask. “Oh, really? How exciting. Do I get to know that secret, Yuji?”
He nods.
Then leans in once more-
“My papa has a big, big crush on y-”
“Yuji—!”
You didn’t have to look up to see that it was none other than Nanami Kento, Itadori’s father, pushing past a few gossiping parents and kids playing jumprope- heading in your direction. He quickly clasps Itadori’s arm and gently tugs the boy away, “I am so, so sorry—I have no idea what’s gotten into him-” Nanami pinches the top of his nosebridge with a sigh. “He seems to have gotten it into his head that I have f-feelings for you, and…”
You watch, almost astounded, as the ever-stoic Nanami’s ears burn bright red.
“A-and I sincerely apologize if he made you uncomfortable in any way-”
“Oh, no.” You’re raising your hands up and fervently shaking your head. “He didn’t make me uncomfortable at all. Did you, Yuji?”
“Yup!” Those tufts of pink hair atop his head bounce as he nods as well, beaming - happy to see that you were on his side, at the very least. He then turns back to Nanami. “I didn’t make Ms. Teacher uncomfortable, papa. I just told her what you told me-”
“Sunshine…” Nanami grumbles, though with less panic in his voice this time.
And you’re biting back a smile as you look between the handsome father and his son; it’d been two years since Nanami had adopted Itadori, according to what the man had told you when he’d first enrolled the boy in Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary. Since then, you’ve had the privilege of watching over the father-son duo as they become closer, as they found family in one another, as they opened themselves up to both the school and you.
And although you knew you shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher - you can’t deny that one of the best parts of your day was seeing the two.
Yes, the two.
It didn’t quite help that Nanami Kento was the talk amongst the single ladies and men at pick-up. Tall. Tender. With his broad shoulders and his blond hair—always slicked back, not even a single strand out of line.
Nanami was the type of man to hold doors open for students, other parents, and teachers alike - he’d happily stand there for half an hour as an entire grade passed by, if he had to.
Nanami was the type of man to not worry about what anyone thought of him as he let his energetic son paste stickers all over him, or use the play make-up he’d snagged from Kugisaki.
Nanami was the type of man to buy you a large bouquet of roses for Teacher’s Day- roses. And he’d apologized for at least fifteen minutes about not meaning any sort of innuendo, and he’d completely understand if you didn’t want to take them—you’d cut him off then n’ there by taking them with a gracious thank you. Even if others at pick-up shot you knowing smiles.
So could you blame yourself if you happened to form a crush on the man?
And hearing what Itadori had to say about it now…
“I wouldn’t mind, y’know.” You speak once you’d ushered Itadori to play with some of his friends—Fushiguro and Kugisaki had just been dropped off. And Nanami was still standing next to you, watching as his son scampered off after causing perhaps the most chaos he’s ever experienced in his life.
But ah…your voice was low enough that it couldn’t be heard by anyone around you two. Perhaps not even Nanami himself- but of course, he heard.
Of course, he heard.
He turns to you with widened eyes, “I uh…I- excuse me?”
You turn back to him with a grin, “How about coffee sometime this week?”
“I have a better plan.” As soon as the first bout of shyness wears off, he’s clearing his crackling throat and answering you. “How about dinner?”
.
.
.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuh-fuck.” Nanami wrenches between clenched teeth. His hot breath sticks against the side of your throat; and every single puff makes your skin erupt with perspiration.
Which worked for him—it just let the movements between your two ravenous bodies proceed even faster, slipperier, sloppier. Nanami has you pressed flat against his neat mattress, in a bedroom that was humble and meticulously organized - and with Itadori at Fushiguro’s for a sleepover, the two of you could let those ancient bedsprings creak as much as they liked.
Nanami could fuck you as hard as you liked.
He’s grinding that golden happy trail into your front; both palms pressed flatly atop your inner thighs to keep them open. To keep you stretched as faaaaar apart as you could go—because fuck- Nanami’s cock was thick enough that he had to pin you down n’ squeeeeeeze his inches inside as far as they could go.
Rubbin’ his prominent veins along your walls. Entire body tensing up whenever you clench-
“Fuuuuuuck.” With a heavy sigh, he’s letting his head tip backwards. And honestly—you don’t think you’d ever seen a more attractive sight.
You’ve always known that Nanami was ripped underneath those office button-ups of his - but this was damn-near Herculean. The way his shoulders were defined and pulled taut as they closed in on you, the way his chest was absolutely luscious—you almost wanted to take a bite. And you’d guessed that with energetic Itadori as a son, he hadn’t had the time to hit the gym lately.
Because there was a layer of thickness over his muscles that left Nanami softer and stronger- the soft curve of his belly pushes down on your core.
Jostling your body back n’ forth with every honed thrust.
Banging at the back of your cervix and your throat- “Fuck. It feels so good, Kento.”
“S-soooooo fucking good.” And you wonder which one of you two was more gone on your syrupy cunt: you or him. Nanami struggles to keep his damn head up- collapsing into the crook of your neck and letting out botched groans- every single time his sensitive tip slid uuuuuup your channel into its deepest depths. He almost sounded as though he was in pain as he wept—“F-forgive me, darling.”
Perking your head off the plush pillows, “What for, Kento?”
“Well it’s just…” And his foggy glasses were still on his face - which Nanami pushes up his nose bridge. “I haven’t felt this good in—forever. So forgive me if I’m a little…”
And then he’s surging his hips forwards and giving you a good thwack! with the rounded end of his shaft. Enough to make stars appear in your vision-
“-rough.”
And then it’s like the floodgates have opened.
Because Nanami’s grip on you grows hard enough to leave fucking nail marks, his sweat splashes with the urgency of his movements. “And I wanted to f-fuck you all niiiiiice and slow like this pretty pussy deserves.” Those strong arms keep manhandling you open as he shovels straight into you. “W-wanted to show you that a mature man like me could- hngh, make you feel the best you’ve ever felt.”
“But I already do…” You huff out, arms thrown needily around his neck.
Yet Nanami doesn’t seem to hear—he doesn’t even seem to register. At least, the only acknowledgement that you get of your response is the way his body flinches ever-so-slightly at the mere sound of your voice. “And yet…” Those hazel-brown eyes of his widen as they run down your body, ultimately resting where your pussy was bloated all ‘round him. “And yet, one kiss of these pretty lips and I’m done for.”
“D-done for…” You repeat - mostly because you don’t know what else to do.
Don’t know what else you’re capable of doing other than wrapping your weak legs around his waist. Your hamstrings stretch and scream; and you’re sobbing yourself as his pace seems to accelerate.
“I can feel myself…” Nanami speaks through a watery mouth. “-getting fucking addicted—shit, like some hormonal punk. I should know better. A man my age…”
“Oh- oh, Kento.”
“I should know better- I should fucking know better.” He admonishes himself - though that doesn’t stop or even slow down the feral pap-pap-paps! of his pelvis hitting yours. Through scrunched-up eyes, he’s gazing upon you. “C-can’t believe you got some old man like me-” Despite your instant protests. “-to finally break.”
After a few more sudden strikes - almost animalistic - you’re managing to string together enough syllables. “But…I don’t mind, Kento.”
And that—that might just be the one thing that makes him falter. “Pardon?” He blinks up at you with glazed-over eyes.
Nodding, “I promise I don’t mind.” In fact, you’re tugging him in with a fistful of his blond strands between your fingers. “I- ngh! want you to go even harder…if you can-”
“Of course I can, my love.” The both of you are startled by his instant answer. “I-I mean, if you know that it means I might leave a few marks and—even more marks.” Perhaps most notably on your spongy cervix, welcoming his bashing thrusts.
But you don’t mind. Like you said.
You’re nodding even harder, “Yes, please.”
So polite. How could he ever refuse?
And in the blink of an eye, the blond-haired man leans over to clasp that patterned tie draped over his bedpost. It’d gotten thrown there sometime after the frenzy of getting home - quite convenient for when Nanami wanted to throw it loosely over his clammy neck and give you the other end to hold onto—
“Don’t be afraid to pull if it gets too much.” He puffs out at you in a breezy breath.
“Too much?” You ogle up at his handsome face. You half-jokingly wondered whether the bed - and perhaps you - would be in one piece by the time that Itadori gets home tomorrow. It was going to be a never-ending night…
“Mhm, because this is going to be rough, darling.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Controversy.
WHO IS ROCKSTAR HEARTTHROB GETO SUGURU’S GIRLFRIEND? HOW CAN WE BE HER?!
GOLD DIGGER?! BASSIST OF 6EYES SHUTS DOWN MALICIOUS RUMORS SURROUNDING BEAU: SAYS THEY ARE ‘BULLSHIT’.
DILF OFF THE MARKET: GETO SUGURU CONFIRMS RELATIONSHIP OF ‘YEARS’ HE SAYS.
Everyone knew of Geto Suguru. Or so it seemed when they were screaming his name and cursing yours—everyone wanted to be with him.
Or be him.
Who wouldn’t? Thick rings. Grey-black hair. Feline smile.
A 6’2, long-haired dreamboat that just-so-happened to be the bassist of the hottest rock band on the charts right now: 6Eyes. They’d been discovered quite early on - when they’d just been out of high school, actually - and had maintained a steady presence in the music scene ever since. Shattering record after record and filling stadium after stadium. By the time you’d gone with some of your college friends to one of their concerts, they were already titans in the industry—and you’d been an instant fan.
So imagine your surprise when your friend announced that one of the security had invited your group backstage.
That was the night you’d met Geto Suguru - you’d locked eyes and the both of you had just known.
You signed that NDA. You met for dates under disguises. And you’d even met his young adopted daughters- oh, you adored them.
Several months later, when TMZ or some other site had broken the story of Geto secretly dating a fan over ten years younger than him - and that was when scandal ensued. The fandom was rabid—and you understood.
Though Geto, who was rather used to biting headlines and speculation, told you that the whole thing would blow over soon enough- you holed up in your shared penthouse. You turned off your social media notification. You tried not to turn on any celebrity news channel.
And you decided: the very least you could do is make a good first impression…
“Easy now…easy there…” Geto holds the recorder in one hand n’ the side of your hips in his other. You’re maddeningly aware of both the rolling tape and the way his puckered, pretty tip is getting guided to your entrance—“Don’t strain yourself now. Trust Suguru.”
Just the very first inch of it slipping lusciously between your pussylips and easing inside.
Geto was always so thick, donning numerous veins that creep up the sides of his shaft in zig-zagging patterns. And the sheer girth of him intruding is enough to make you gasp-
“Mmm, that’s good.” The older man murmurs with a smile- long, greying hair forming a curtain around the two of you. “Let’s try again. A little louder this time.” Before he reels his hips back the mere inches he’s squeezed inside, and then rammin’ right back in again - it sounds the loudest squelch! as you’re taking even more of him. “Ohhhh, that’s good. Maybe I can use that as the outro, heh?”
“Maybe just use it for the entire ch-chorus.” You hiss.
“Trying to take my spotlight?” Geto leans down to kiss your swollen lips- or so you think. He’s pressing his pierced mouth against yours and gnawin’ down on your lower lip.
“Scared of- mmpf. Scared of being ousted by the young new talents?”
The edges of his lips curling upwards. “A rock veteran like me? Oh, I don’t think I have anything to be scared of…”
And you can only moan straight into his greedy, greedy maw as you’re jostled back and forth. Geto’s thrusts were oh-so-merciless and puncturing deeeeep into your womb—using the smooth Prince Albert’s piercing atop his flared tip, he’s torching every hidden spot and nerve-end inside. Mazin’ around your walls and pushing into those little ridges that just made your back arch into him-
His eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles.
“Hey hey-” The only thing snapping you out of your frenzy is Geto’s sharp tuts. He stalls your restless hips by hooking his fingers into your thighs and throwing them over his broad shoulders- dragging you back into him. “Don’t run away, gorgeous—the studio session’s not over yet.”
“I wasn’t running away.” You huff.
“Sure seemed like it to me.” He grins - that silver piercing of his glinting in the dim lighting. It was the type of Cheshire-cat grin that you knew wouldn’t bode well for you…and as soon as you’re thinking about it, Geto opens his sensual mouth and spits—straight between your lips.
The wad lands softly on your tongue.
And Geto himself reaches a second ringed hand up to close your jaw- to urge you to swallow. “Remember to keep those vocals hydrated, gorgeous. We’re getting to the good part now.”
You think you could gasp at the audacity—but what’s leaving you instead are a series of long, lewd moans. Mewls. Pleas.
He’s drawing them out over and over again by hiking your thighs up his shoulders and pressing you into a mean mating press- lunging his body down into yours. Crushing your pliable self underneath him. Slashing your cervix with loooooong thrusts and his ropey precum puddling sweetly at the back of your pussy.
“Yeah- yeah, louder now.” Pushing the recorder even closer. “Louder, girl.”
“I am—oh.” With the way he was fucking you like he almost hated you - though it was rather the opposite - your sentences warble with hiccups and gasps. The lines of his veins were somehow massaging the exact hidden spots that drove you wild.
“You got this.”
“Fuck-”
“Louder. S’just you and me.” This was exactly what he wanted to hear - his favorite melody was you. “Just a bit of chopping up n’ remixing- this is perfect. Gonna sound so fuckin’ pretty to my bass.”
“Fuh-feels so good-”
“Mhmmm, I know, gorgeous. Now let the listeners know.”
Making your noise pitch upwards in volume.
After a few more strokes, he bores down at you with a thoughtful expression. “Now…why don’tcha try calling me ‘Sugu’ for the recording?”
“You want me to be sappy? Okay, rockstar.” You’re unable to bite your tongue fast enough- though your snapping only makes him even more excited.
Amethyst eyes glistening. “Oh, don’t be a diva just yet, newbie.” The older musician brings the audio recorder closer to catch your every breath, “Trust me. I’ve been in this industry for a loooooong time- c’mon now. Listen to your- heh, vocal coach—say ‘Sugu’.”
How you loved riling him up just as much as he did to you. “Then give me something good to moan for, baby.”
“Don’t test my patience, superstar.”
Though he does as you say.
You should have expected it all the same; the rockstar had mapped out every single good spot inside you. And it was with a near-photographic memory that he’s inching his length backwards- until it was just his lavish red tip lickin’ up your entrance.
Just for a second…just for two…
Before slamming into your g-spot so hard n’ suddenly that you almost sob.
Making your cunt mold to the exact texture of his circular piercing- hitting your sensitive area first, before then pushing his smooth tip into it as well. You’re feeling every bit of him—and you’re making sure that your future audiences can hear it, too.
“S-Sugu—!” You’re thrashing in his arms- and he’s crashing and crashing his hips into you. Gluing the heated, stinging pink skin of his pelvis against yours so ferally that you can’t keep up with his pace no matter how fast you’re attempting to buck and bounce.
“Oh, that one’s going in the intro for sure.” He titters.
“S’fucking mean.” You whimper as he pushes down on your lower half - purposefully, so that his scruffy happy trail scratches your clit.
“Sugu knows best.” So sweetly, he kisses your forehead—and you wonder whether the loud smacking sound that he leaves behind is more for the recorder or to make you squirm. Shy, much? “Now how about I fuck you pregnant n’ we just announce the baby on the album?”
You pause for a second - before a smile twitches at your lips. “A rockstar baby? You read my mind.”
He reciprocates. “Always knew you were made f’me.”
The headlines were sure to love this.
♡ CHOSO KAMO - MY UNCLE’S GF?!
Someone had suggested playing two truths and a lie:
You weren’t a lot older than Choso- at least in his eyes. That didn’t matter to him.
Choso has always wanted you.
He’s over that now, though.
Choso’s palms are sweaty ‘round his lightweight beer as he utters the words; words just a little louder than he intended them to be. Maybe that was the pre-game finally kicking in—but he couldn’t blame it on that, either. Had it been called three truths and a lie, then Choso would have also confessed that he was stone-cold sober as he murmurs two of his deepest secrets to the little circle of drunk college kids.
And you.
You…you’re looking at him like you’d already guessed he’d say that.
Had he really been that obvious? Choso first met you three years ago, during his sophomore year in college, when he’d gone home for the holidays—and discovered that, this year, Sukuna had been dragged home, too. Except…his uncle hadn’t come alone this time.
He’d brought along- you.
You were the one to greet him at the door—and Choso remembers his breath catching in his chest. He remembers feeling his heart bang against his ribcage. He remembers his eyes widening- and his mouth gaping stupidly as you introduced yourself.
So caught up in you, he’d been forced to ask Sukuna for your name again-
“Back off.” His uncle had scoffed, crimson eyes narrowing. Honestly - Ryomen Sukuna was the only person alive that could make cotton candy-pink hair look intimidating. “Don’t think I don’t see the way yer looking at her.”
He’d probably stammered something intelligible-
“Look all ya want- if she feels uncomfortable, she’ll thump ya herself. But you can’t touch.” Sukuna set his beer bottle down. “M’actually serious about this one.”
And Choso could see why - you were the first person that Sukuna had ever brought into the Itadori family home. You were smart. You were funny. You weren’t afraid to put the pink-haired man in his place. You were fucking gorgeous—
And…you were Sukuna’s girlfriend. Ten years older than Choso.
Which is why - no matter how badly you made his heart flutter - Choso had vowed to never, never so much as even think to act upon his feelings for you.
He just had to grit his teeth and avoid prolonged conversation with you during every family function and gathering you attended with Sukuna- of which the man was making an appearance at every single one now. Almost as though to provoke him even more.
And Choso was forced to make peace with the fact that he’d never make peace with his feelings.
That is…until the two of you broke up.
He’d heard news about it just a few weeks ago, actually- his father had said something about Sukuna being down in the dumps after you’d broken up with him. Something about not making enough time and drifting apart—Choso hadn’t heard the details, he’d been too overwhelmed with the guilty glee that’d shot through his body and made his heart pound. And then just tonight - oh, how he wished he could kiss whoever was looking down at him (but no, that was saved for you…) - Choso just-so-happened to run into you at the bar he was attending with his friends.
So of course he had to invite you over to their table.
Of course, he had to ignore your protests about being older than them all. None of that shit mattered.
Of course, he had to sit right opposite you on the table and divulge his greatest secret - one he’d been keeping to himself for three years now.
You’re just opening your mouth to respond-
When Choso’s feeling a harsh smack! on his back and one of his friends crowing in his ear. “Atta boy! You never struck me as the type to like MILFs, man.”
“Technically I’m not a MILF yet.” You giggle, fixating your gaze upon him. He almost flinches. “But you’re right…I never thought you’d be the type to like older women. I’m ten years older than you, Choso, you know that right?”
Choso mumbles almost too quietly to hear. “Th-that doesn’t matter to me…”
“Yeah- and you’d probably like that ‘ma’am’ shit, eh?” His friend guffaws, making the now-bashful Choso - whatever courage he had liquified - duck his head. “Oh- sorry I didn’t mean—”
“No, no.” You dismiss the babbling college boy. “I’m not offended at all. In fact, you might be right.”
The table bursts into wolf whistles-
And it’s a blur until you’re ragging with the banter a little more - before discreetly excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. Choso’s staring up at you - totally not admiring your back like some pathetic lovesick fool - before catching your gaze and your pointed wink.
And then he’s scrambling right after you. As discreetly as a sledgehammer.
.
.
.
Nose buried into the crook of your neck. Mouth gaped wide open- letting out the sweetest crackling moans into your skin.
Choso had you pushed against the bathroom stall - clean, don’t you worry - with his arms wrapped around your body n’ his cock shoved between your legs. Dragging in and out in a way that was so messy—he’s roverin’ around his globules of cum with that fat tip of his, and then reeling his hips rapidly backwards to spray it down your walls over and over.
He’d cum as soon as he’d put it inside.
And it wasn’t his fault.
Honest!
“Oh- oh.” And now he was panting desperate breath after breath between thrusts—“I’m sorry…the condom broke, baby.” Choso’s lower lip cutely trembles as he speaks. “Can’t help it. And then your pussy’s just so warm and welcoming a-and…”
His breath hitches as he hits that one gluttonous spot that makes you clench.
“-and I just- can’t- when you’re squeezing me like that.”
Basically hypnotized, Choso’s slender fingers dip down between your legs. And so swiftly - that you’re almost surprised at his nimbleness - he pulls out of your wet hole n’ clasps his hand around his barely-wrapped length. The rubber condom had been too tight around him, and it’d shattered into a million pieces—Choso looks up at you through his doe-like lashes, and waits until you’re nodding.
That’s when he’s wringing off his broken condom and squeezing out whatever wetness it held. Pushing out the cum back onto your pussy.
Making such a mess.
Those pure-white droplets that end up splattered back down on your pussy- warm and utterly unwholesome. A sinful cover. He wasn’t leaving a single ounce wasted. “Sh-shit.” Choso’s mouth gapes wide open. “It’s all your fault…”
Just the cutest trickle of saliva makes its way down his lips - and you’re reaching upwards to wipe it away. “Awwww. Ever done it raw before, Cho?”
After a brief bout of hesitation, he shakes his head.
“I’ve never done it before.” He confesses. Your eyes widen, so he was a virgin…
“Then are you sure you can handle it, baby? No need to push yourself if-”
“No.” He gasps. Sharp. Shot-through. It leaves his lips before he even knows what’s happening- and then you’re clenching again in a way that makes his brows twist together, and his fingers dig into your waist. “No, no, no, no-” Eyes frenzied. “We don’t have to stop f’me, baby. We don’t even have to slow down—”
Cum-coated; his thickened cock gets sandwiched between your lips then jerked back and forth a few times. By now he was so wet with slick n’ sap that it was making him slip a few times before he’s actually managing to get it in again—and that, too, with your help.
You reach down to help grip Choso’s raging-hot erection, and guide it inside your cunt: an action that leaves the other man blushing down to the roots of his hair. Even his tip throbs just a little harder—“Th-thank you, ma’am.”
Your brows raise in amusement- and it only hits him then. So he was into the ‘ma’am’ thing.
“I mean- baby.” He sounds so utterly ruined. “Thank you, baby. Promise I can handle it now, m’kay?”
And oh…you can’t deny that it was just so fun to tease him. “Hmmm…I dunno, Choso-”
Chocolate-brown bangs sticking to your skin, he’s lurching his face away to bore straight into your eyes. “I-is it because I’m younger?” He asks with a hint of desperation, and your lips part as your ex’s hot nephew keeps steamrolling away with his pussydrunken mouth. Poor, poor Choso. “Because I promise I can handle it. I can fuck you- ngh, the best. Promise m’gonna make you feel sooooo—”
Choso’s hips were hammerin’ away at a pace you’d never have suspected- and his hips end up crushed against yours. So close that the scruff of his happy trail scratches your clit raw.
“-g-good.” A single tear track runs down his face - you’re unsure whether he’s talking about you or himself.
“Easy there, tiger.” You’re pushing back on a stray lock of his hair- darker now with perspiration. The sweet gesture makes Choso huffs.
It wasn’t doing him any favors, however, as that only made him look even cuter. You’re craning your neck and planting a chaste peck on his bubblegum-pink lips—only for Choso to take control of the kiss and softly bite down on your bottom lip. “Baby-” He rasps. And with just how sweet Choso had always been to you, you could’ve almost forgotten how strong he was- how easily he could bounce you down on his cock- how needy he was for you. Feral. Even though you had him wrapped ‘round your finger, he was jostling your pussy’s inside like craaaazy. “Don’t do that. Don’t baby me- I need to be taken- ngh, s-seriously by you, m’kay?”
“Oh…” You’re letting out a heated breath as his tip empties out at your cervix.
And to prolong that sensation; Choso claws his hand up and pushes on the lower part of your stomach. Right beneath where your cunt was expanding and contracting with his cock. “Feel how big I am?” He doesn’t stop putting pressure on that spot until you’re nodding - “How hard? How much I’m leaking?” Just on cue, a splatter! of precum leaks between your pussylips.
And with something like a broken whimper- Choso snakes his fingers down to push the leakage back up your channel.
“O-oh—this pussy’s so fuckin’ wet. And I can handle it- I can handle it.” He utters more to himself. The more he’s speaking, the harder and longer he’s fucking you, the more ruined he sounds. “M’not as innocent as you think, baby.”
“Oh? Do tell.” You smile.
Such a gorgeous, gorgeous smile that he almost hesitates wiping away with a roll of his thumb - stimulating the nerves of your clit. But it makes you break out into the prettiest lewd expression that leaves him rutting his hips even harder, “Do you have any idea how fuh-fucking long I’ve waited for this? How badly I’ve wanted to- ngh, stuff my cock and fuck you like an animal?” As he trails off, he feels his stinging tip start to twitch even more wildly. Dangerously. “Fuck—”
“H-how long?” You’re asking with a smug smirk.
Choso’s blinking a few times just to let the question register- and finally muttering. “Even when you were dating- him. Ever since I first saw you…” And then he rubs his thumb at an even more steadied pace, matching it to the pushes of his spearing cock. “You were wearing that red dress of yours- hah, and I could see the strap of your pretty pink bra peaking out…the one with the bows on-”
That makes you gasp.
Which Choso takes advantage of to plaster his lips against yours n’ suckle on your tongue.
“And then-” Barely managing out through kisses- through stabs of his length- through the pleasure. “And then you called me ‘baby’ as you were getting ready to leave, and I- ngh, knew you were teasing me for being younger—fuck, I h-had to run to the bathroom just to jerk off.”
Rovering his mushroomy trip straight into your nerve-ended g-spot; you’re arching into his chest as you feel Choso lose his grip on his sanity.
Already having been so loose.
He’s babbling as he cums long and hard, and oh-so-deeeeeply into your cunt. Mouth ajar. Body collapsing against yours - caging you even further against the bathroom wall. “Baby- fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-”
“Shit, so much…” Just feeling the ribbons upon ribbons of creamy-white sap he was emptying out. Hot. hypnotizing. Every stroke managed to hit your best spots, and every push meant your pussy was getting overloaded with his cum. The inches of his shaft were curved just perfectly enough that he’s managing to slip aside your walls and use his tip to circle and circle those webs of cum at the very base of your pussy. All over.
Soon enough, you’re feeling a layer of it make its way down your inner-thighs—and Choso still didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon. You moan, “H-how can you cum this much- mmpf.”
He captures your lips in another sloppy kiss. “Must be the stamina of a younger guy.”
“Choso you’re pussydrunk.” You’ve never heard him sound so drawling and dreamy.
“Hmmmm…” He’s nuzzling the crook of your neck, leaving bite marks that will be entirely too difficult to explain when you’re going back outside. “Did you cum? Promise I can- ngh, make you cum, too…” Grazing your skin with his lips.
“Prove it, then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 6…9?
“It’s a fuckin’ pandemic, isn’t it?”
You’re looking at your boyfriend over the rim of your book, “Excuse me?”
Sukuna was seated on the armchair in the corner of your bedroom; just having finished a video call with his brother and his nephew. The bright chatter (at least from their end) had died down some minutes ago, and they’d bid your boyfriend goodnight—which was rather the same routine for these biweekly calls. Despite how much the two of you visited, Itadori Yuji always found it too hilarious to put strange filters on his grumpy uncle.
Except, tonight…Sukuna had sat in the armchair for a few minutes longer.
Usually; he would join you in bed.
Usually; he would grumble - though with a fond smile on his face - about whatever Yuji had been chattering about before.
He was practically an honorary father to the boy, and it always made you smile to see.
Usually; he wouldn’t look up at you as expressionless as if he’d seen a ghost- as if his soul had wafted away. And ask you about some…pandemic? Did Yuji put something in his head again?
At the confused expression on your face, Sukuna was heaving out a sigh—pushing up those glasses that were totally, most definitely not glasses and merely a tool he uses to…see…better up his handsome nosebridge. Sukuna was in his late thirties, and silver was beginning to tinge the edges of his pink hair, climbing up his temples. His crows’ feet creased as he frowned at you, “The…67 thing. It’s a pandemic.”
“67 thing?” You gape, your book plopping down on the bed.
“You heard me.” He scoffs. “I’ve been thinking it’s mass hysteria- every brat at his kindergarten keeps repeating it. But there seems to be no pattern or cohesion. I thought it was just those damn kindergarteners, but the other day I even caught Jin saying it-”
“S-six…seven…thing.” You’re repeating - for no reason other than to confirm to yourself that what you’re hearing was real.
Sukuna straightens in his chair, “See? Now it’s got you—”
“Kuna, like the meme?” You’re shaking your head, “The one from the song? Oh my god, it’s not mass hysteria-”
He crinkles his nose. “The hell is a…meme?”
“You don’t know what a—” How has he been Yuji - of all people’s - uncle but still had no idea? You continue, “It’s basically an Internet inside joke- it’s been over for a while now but the kids are still obsessed with it.” Finally gripping your book once more, you level him a look. “You didn’t seriously think it was mass hysteria, did you, Kuna?”
Sukuna crosses his bulky arms and looks away. “Tch—”
And when he catches you giggling, he barks-
“What?!”
“Oh- nothing.” And from the smile upon your lips - Sukuna knew that whatever was coming out of your mouth next wasn’t about to be anything sincere.
Which is why he’s raising himself off the sofa and climbing up the foot of your bed.
You continue, “It’s just you’re getting old, Kuna.”
Joking; nothing ever riled Ryomen Sukuna up more than teasing him for not understanding some new slang or lyric.
And with how much he riled you up sometimes—you had to get back at him somehow, alright?
Soon enough, he’s pinning you down to the bed - with his toned pelvis pressing down on your waist, and his arms creeping upwards to keep your wrists pushed against the mattress. “Say that shit again. I dare you.”
You’re leaning up as though to kiss him. “Old man.”
.
.
.
Sukuna’s tongue was zig-zagging wiiiiildly between your legs- striking the soft circle of your entrance and then swervin’ as deeply inside as it could go. Deeper. Deeper.
No matter how fervently his mouth was glued to your pussy.
No matter how ravenously.
His hips rut off the bed with every single lick—and that fat, throbbing tip of his kept shovelling n’ shovelling at a synchronized pace with his tongue.
He had you twisted in sixty-nine with your pussy latched onto his lips.
Sukuna’s own cock squeezing out heavy volumes of his salty precum near your lips, then promptly pushin’ them inside with his thrusts- Sukuna was so loooong and rock-hard that he was managing to swab across every spot and directly target the back of your throat. Playing with that dangly in the back.
You’re moaning as he squeezes two ringed-decorated fingers into your tight cunt. And he grins as he feels the vibrations—“Ah ah- s’rude to talk with your mouth full.”
Just then, Sukuna’s planting a smack! on your pussy that makes you pull off of his shaft with a loud pop! “H-hey…”
“What?” He trundles. Reaching his hips up and guiding his needy tip back into your mouth, “Speak.”
All because he knew that you’d attempt to nonetheless- and it would end up with the most lewd noises being muffled into this cock. It would end up with his eyes scrunching shut, his head throwing backwards at the shocks of pleasure. “Th-thought I told you to speak? Hah- not babble. Cock got your tongue or something?”
And…it would end up with you being all huffy n’ puffy. “That’s not even f-fair…”
“Heh- fair?” From where he’d been nipping at your clit, Sukuna pulls off - just to confirm he wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t. And though you couldn’t see his expression from this angle, you could practically hear the amusement in his tone. “What happened to me being old, huh? You surely don’t need me to go easy on you.”
“I d-didn’t say that…” You’re stubbornly answering him - though the constant drives of his fingers were driving you absolutely mad. Sure.
“Good.” And then you’re feeling two more consecutive smack-smacks! atop your bloated folds. “Because, babydoll…m’barely even started.”
In no time, Sukuna has you manhandled so that your stomach’s against the soft bed. Your back’s against his thoroughly toned front - so incredibly strong; he was bulky—with a layer of thickness to him that made your skin tingle with want - and his erect cock placed between your legs. He takes a few moments to wetten your core up- because no matter how many times you’ve taken him, you think you’ll never get used to Sukuna’s sheer size.
And before long you’re clawing onto the headboard for dear life—as he damn-near molds your tender cunt to his size. Startin’ at the tip-top of his bloated shaft, and then bouncing you down- down- down so many inches greedily.
Utterly greedily.
“Oh- oh, fuuuuuck.” Hands shooting forwards to grab onto more of the mahogany frame.
But Sukuna stops you right then n’ there by wrapping his right arm around your neck; like a wreath, your pants are immediately cut off. And his muscles bulge as they tighten—the defined ridges of his biceps pushing against your throat - it’s sensual enough to make your mouth water…“And where’d you think you’re going, huh?”
“Nowher- mmpf.” Cut off immediately by the tightening of his muscled restraint.
“Lying’s not a good look, brat.” Then his second set of fingers snakes down to spank! your stuffed pussy- right atop your bloated folds. The shockwaves that run up your spine are enough to make you buck and whine—and enough to make him drag you back into him. Again and again. “Wasn’t stuffing this mouth earlier ‘nough to teach you a little lesson?”
So stubborn. “Not at all-”
He’s spitting straight between your lips.
And when Sukuna’s fucking you; it’s with harsh, pointed jabs - scouring deeeeep into the bottom of your pussy and leaving the mark of his cockhead. That rounded bruise you feel throb-throb-throbbin’ away every time he repeats the action—he fucks you like he hates you.
And he’s only growing faster, harder by the second.
Only tightening his headlock and wrenching your body back into his. Again and again.
Over and over.
Until the globes of your ass were stinging with impact, and you’ve memorized the pattern of his happy trail. It’s practically a part of you.
Sukuna’s rugged cock knew aaaaall the right spots. Making your pupils roll around in the whites of your eyes, and leaving you wondering just how he had this much stamina still…“Awww, c’mon now.” His low voice trundles in your ears. “Get your act together, girl. You don’t wanna be this cockdrunk for someone so old, huh?”
“I-I—”
“What was it you called me?” He growls, sharp canines nipping at the shells of your ears. “Huh? What was it you called me? See, this fossil ‘ere has some trouble…remembering-”
Every syllable of his was punctured by a thorough glide across the velvety channel of your pussy- “Ummm, then in that case, I didn’t say anything?” You try your luck.
“Nice try.” Sukuna grins. “But m’not that geriatric yet.”
Another spank. “Please-”
“What did you call me?”
“I-I just meant-”
And another. “What did you call me?”
“An…old man.” You feel embarrassed just letting the words slip between your lips.
You didn’t think he could get even rougher with his movements - his shaft was throbbing, and his pelvis was smack-smack-smacking into you. So hard that you’re propelled forwards by the sheer force; and Sukuna roughly lurches you back with his headlock. “I might be an old man- cheh. I might not know all these…damn Internet memes- but I do know how to fuck this pussy right.” To prove his point, he scours in-between your pussylips to squeeze your pretty clit. “Look at her- she’s in love with me.”
“O-oh—” Eyes fluttering shut.
“I know how to make her cry with pleasure. I know how to make her- mmmngh, squeeze like she doesn’t want me leavin’…heh.” He continues muttering into your ear as his hips grow more fervent. “I know how to make her feel so good—”
Your teeth grit. “Shit.” And you recognize the twisting sensation at the pit of your stomach. “K-Kuna, I’m gonna cum-”
“And even better.” He chuckles. Gnawing at the top of your ear shell, before moving down to bite the tender crook of your neck - like a wolf catching his prey. “I might not know those fuckin’- memes like the youngsters do. But I do know how to make this pussy- cum.”
“S-sooo close—don’t stop.” You’re bouncing n’ bouncing back into his pistoning hips.
Feeling the pleasure well up. Feeling your head start to spin a little as you near your high-
You’re crashing past your tipping point. And Sukuna gives you one, two, three good strokes to fuck you through the bursts of white-hot pleasure running through your veins - before he’s suddenly setting you free of his headlock and letting you drop straight into the plush pillows.
Reeling his damn cock out.
You don’t know what’s louder: your disappointed groan or his rough cackle.
“What? Wanted this old man to be nice in bed or something?” As soon as you’re looking over your shoulder, you’re met with Sukuna’s priggish grin—his sharp canines peaking out at the edges of his lower lip.
Grumpily, you nod. “Yes? What- can’t last or—oh.”
Another smack. “That’s not gonna work on me again- sorry, babydoll.” And before you know it, you’re being flipped right over - getting your legs thrown over his shoulders and pushed into the meanest mating press you’ve ever experienced. “Because m’not letting my bratty girl properly cum until I’ve had a good few rounds to blow off some steam. And m’sure you can keep up- heh, if not…”
“And um- how many rounds might that be exactly?”
Sukuna smirks. “67.”
“I hate you.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - “M-mommy!”
AITA for seducing the HOT rich MILF (40’sF) that I (23M) pool-clean for while her ex-husband and kids were away?! In my defense, she’s reeeeeally hot.
You freeze.
Ino freezes.
The world itself seems to freeze; all except for the ruby-red tip of Ino Takuma’s cock. Shoved deeeep inside your cunt - deep enough to leave a permanent bruise there - and throbbing away wildly—he’s cumming with that particular title escaping his lips.
And then his lower lip wobbles once- twice- before he ducks down and attempts to hide his face in his arms.
“Hey hey-” Swiftly, you reach down to push his hands away - you’d be disappointed not to see his pretty expressions as you fucked him even further. All pouty lips and doe-like eyes—Ino Takuma was so pretty, and perhaps that’s what drew you to the younger pool cleaner in the first place. “What’s the matter, Taku?”
“I-I didn’t mean to call you that- honest!” He stammers out.
To which you’re cocking your head with a sly smile- time to try something. “Call me what, Taku?”
“Y’know what it is…” Ino grumbles, huffing. And when you simply continue to stare at him in slight confusion, he’s rockin’ up into your wet cunt as he speaks- “The way I c-called you—mommy- oh.” Just as you’d predicted, his velvety length jolts at the mere utterance of that title. Excitedly spurting out a few creamy-white wads of cum that glue to your cervix.
So messy. He was so fucking messy.
How ironic, considering that his entire job was to clean your pool.
You’d been introduced to Ino through one of your friends - those networks of older rich women with far too much time and money on their hands. Juggling kids and businesses. And you’d just been complaining to them over a gold-flaked brunch that your last pool cleaner had moved towns, and with your kids now entering middle school, the pool was left without use and starting to gather leaves.
That’s when they’d shared Ino’s number with you—a reliable pool cleaner. Just graduated college, and so easy on the eyes if they did say so themselves…
You’d huffed that you’d tell their husbands- meanwhile you on the other hand had just recently gotten divorced. One too many nights of your husband coming home with a cloud of mysterious perfume around him, or a lipstick stain on his collar - at least you’d gotten a good chunk of everything in the divorce!
But that was all in the past- maybe love just wasn’t for you.
You had your kids. You had your gorgeous hillside mansion. You had your hobbies and friends- men just weren’t…for…
Fuck, that’s when he’d showed up at your door.
Bright and early. Beaming with all his gorgeous pearly whites; the sweetest smile on such a killer body. Ino showed up in nothing but an unbuttoned flowery shirt and swim trunks—their lightning-yellow color perfectly complemented his slightly-tanned skin and messy brown hair. Slightly tawny from the Sun.
“Er, I hope you don’t mind.” Ino had said, a sheepish smile on his face. “I thought I’d get changed for the job before I got here.”
Mind? Mind?!
In simply what world would you mind—it took every speck of reason and rationality in you to dart your eyes away from the plane of his chest, his washboard abs. Sultry shoulders. Slender waist. There was a scattered happy trail that ran between his six-pack and- beneath his swimming trunks.
Fuck.
Instead, you focused on the tight necklace of shells around Ino’s throat. “C-come in.”
On the first day, you stayed inside - only peeking out occasionally from your bedroom window - as Ino cleaned your pool. You tipped him heavily.
On the second day, he’d told you that it was completely okay with him even if you used the pool whilst he was cleaning—and you took that as your sign. You donned a bikini you hadn’t gotten the chance to use in years, and sprawled yourself out on the nearest sun bed - making occasional conversation with him almost as an excuse to ogle him.
And if you weren’t mistaken, you’d say that he ogled you too.
But you really did discover that Ino was a sweetheart- and made you giggle like a schoolgirl, too. How embarrassing you felt admitting this!
And a part of you was almost relieved when your kids arrived home from school - escorted by their driver - so you could resume your mundane lavishness. But a bigger part of you was already yearning for when you’d see him again…
And so continued the third day.
And the fourth day.
And so on to the fifth and the sixth.
Before you knew it, Ino had been employed as your pool-cleaner for at least a month—and he’d quickly grown to become someone you and your kids were quite fond of. Even your driver had caught on, and shot you a knowing smile every time you asked him to escort Ino back to his downtown apartment. Perhaps feeling jealous of such an occurrence, your ex-husband had showed up with tickets to an amusement park - already having planned a day trip for your kids.
They’d, of course, begged to go. And so you’d agreed.
Leaving nobody inside this vast mansion: but you, Ino, and the growing tension between you two.
The only thing was, right before he left, your ex-husband had the audacity to stop Ino and snipe at him. Low and threatening. “Touch her and I’ll make you very, very sorry.”
So, of course you’d fucked Ino as soon as they were out of the house.
Squeezing your robe-covered thighs ‘round his waist—just so perfectly curved to meet your embrace. “W-we really shouldn’t be…I mean- I’m old enough to be your-”
“Works just fine for me, pretty.” He’d cut you off. Pulling on the gauzy material of your robe to let your tits spill out- fuck, he was in heaven.
Enough so that it’d taken just putting it in for Ino to cover your luscious inside in his sap. To watch the satiny liquid seep between your pussylips and leave his pelvis gleaming with a sheen. To wrench out the most pathetic calls of your name—and one particular title that made him want to get swallowed up by the Earth.
Again and again.
Ino’s cock was longer than you’d expected - and all this time, you’d been wondering where the hell he’d been hiding all that in his swimming trunks. Just reaching over six pretty inches. Just smooooth and leaned ever-so-slightly towards the left. It’s making his bulbous tip drag across every sweet spot inside you, and your thighs quiver as you take him.
Every single inch. You’re arching your back and mustering up your strength to grind your hips forwards and back, forwards and back.
Milking him—
“C’mon, baby.” You’re cooing down at the handsome man. He blinks his teary eyes open- and you just can’t help but lean down n’ kiss them away from his cheeks. “Call me ‘mommy’ again?”
“C-can’t…” Ino blushes down to the roots of his chocolate-brown hair. “It’s embarrassing-”
“But it gets me so wet, Taku.” You pout—and his eyes widen at your admission. You watch as his pupils shift down- as if making sure. “Pleeeeeeeease? Just once?”
And in response, you smush your thighs harder around him. You’re sure you leave red, red welts on his skin - but that wasn’t registering in his mind right now. Nothing was. Nothing but the smooch of your soft velvety insides embracing his cock, and the sensation of cum sploshin’ around inside you. “Fine…but only because I wanna impress you…” His breath hitches. “-mommy.”
You shiver. “Oh, I liked that—”
And he does, too, because your cunt’s just suctioning on his length as if you were trying to take his soul. His fucking soul.
The thing is- Ino would have gladly given it to you at this moment.
“It feels good- it f-feels s-sooooo good.” Tears begin to crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and Ino’s fingers dig into the sides of your hips as he bucks upwards. “Fuck, it should be illegal for it to feel this good- mommy.” And he can’t fucking help it—it echoes before he can stop himself.
“Taku, I think you like saying that more than me.” With a soft chuckle, your dominant hand ends up wrapped around his throat. “C’mon now- a little faster for mommy.”
“Sh-shut—ngh.” No matter how hard he attempts to regain control- it doesn’t work. He pushes upwards into your soft, syrupy cervix as though marking it.
After a few desperate thrusts, he asks you- “Is this okay?”
“Hmmmm…” You pretend to think - and the ruined expression on his face is oh-so-completely worth it. “How about a biiiiit faster?”
His jaw drops- but he doesn’t complain. He’s grabbing onto either side of your thighs now, and plunging straight into your deepest depths—multiple thwacks! every second, it feels like. “H-how about-”
“Just a little faster.”
Doubting himself. “Is that even possible-”
“But you’d do it for- heh, me won’t you? You’d do it to make me feel good?”
Nodding and nodding. “Yes, mommy. A-anything for you mommy—” Broken moans and pleas cycle at the back of Ino’s throat, and he’s planted his feet flat on the mattress to push himself up ravenously. “M’just here for you to use me.”
Your eyes widen - your smile grows.
“Just use me-” He gasps, face reddening as he follows your instructions. “Fucking use me like a toy. Use me- fuh-fuuuck—”
“A liiiiiittle bit—” Your head tips backwards as he’s entering the perfect pace - rapid enough to leave your thoughts stupidly muddled, but still steady enough that you’re feeling every single ridge, vein, and curve. Giving your walls such a good massage—“Th-that’s perfect, Taku.” You squeeze his pretty neck tighter, and you’re hearing him let out a little hiccup of a sob. “Mommy’s so proud of you.”
Oh, and you thought that he was ruined enough already?
You thought that he was reaching his limits?
Because after that particular sentence - oh, you’re evil for that - Ino digs his digits into the flesh of your thighs and rams deep into your womb. His pistoning cock resting there for a brief few split-seconds as he sputters—“L-let me make you a mommy all over again.”
Your breath catches. “Do you even know what you’re asking for, Taku-”
“Fucking yes.” His glazed tip twitches dangerously in a way that told you he was oh-so-close to cumming again. Again. “Yes, please- fuuuuck, let me get you pregnant. Let me make you a mommy for the third time. I-I promise I’ll be the best- ngh, dad and nothing like that asshole. I’ll take care of you and cherish you and-”
You kiss him to shut him up.
“But of course, baby.” You hum. “But you have to be quick before my ex-husband finds out.”
He’s never cum harder in his life.
Verdict: NTA (drop the fucking tutorial, OP).
♡ GOJO SATORU - Sugar, sugar…
Gojo Satoru wasn’t technically a DILF - but he was a sugar daddy.
And they called you a gold digger.
Gojo called you business-savvy.
It was a rather unique situation: the relationship between the two of you had started out as a regular sugar daddy-sugar baby relation. You met Gojo Satoru at some stuffy ol’ business function when you were the arm candy of some other businessman—one who’d been ignoring you in favor of one of his business associates the entire night, of course.
Whatever.
You’d gotten used to this routine by now - and so you’d drifted by the grazing table with microscopic clean cuts and cheeses you couldn’t even pronounce.
And that was exactly how your knight-in-shining-suit had sidled up next to you.
With two champagne glasses in-hand and a flirtatious smile upon his face, he handed you one of the drinks. Then you gestured at the businessmen you’d arrived with- and Gojo had the audacity to roll his eyes and pretend to retch. That was when you knew you’d get along.
Tall. Toned. With twinkling blue eyes—and just the slightest bit of silver creeping into his already-white hair. Gojo Satoru was as handsome as he was rich—and considering that both aspects occupied a fair share of the conversations tonight, you were rather flattered to be in his presence. Though the CEO of Gojo Corporations didn’t waste time: “Y’know, if I was lucky enough to arrive with an angel- I’d never leave her sight. Why waste time with some geezers over such a gorgeous gal?”
You smiled.
And you left that night with Gojo instead.
From the boxes of jewelries and flights around the world - to the tabloids and online speculation that couldn’t get enough of you.
CEO of Gojo Corporations finally finds love?!
Gold digger or gold-hearted: All we know about Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend!
Is it sugar baby season? The newest IT Girl’s best red-carpet looks so far—
But of course, there was always some truth to those headlines. Perhaps.
You were Gojo Satoru’s sugar baby. You were in a transactional relationship- though he never laid a hand on you. Not unless you initiated it.
So…what was it really?
You got your answer a few months into this limbo of lust—the two of you finally started dating.
And to be quite honest; it wasn’t that big of a change at first. The two of you went out for romantic dinners either way. The two of you dodged paparazzi and rumors every step. The two of you bantered and teased as much as you did anyways- the only change would be that Gojo Satoru finally let loose when he fucked you.
Though, at times, he still did like to let his sugar daddy side peek through…
“A-awwww- just look at you.” Gojo’s hands were rubbin’ furiously down his length - from those curls of white cozily decorating his base, up to that poor, pretty tip that just wouldn’t stop cumming. Up and down. Up and down.
Salty-sweet heaps of cum were pouring out of his cockhead and splashing down your front- your stomach, your inner thighs, your cunt. He watches as it creates a little waterfall effect—and Gojo reaches down to pat your stuffed pussy with his long fingers. “No matter what pretty trinkets n’ expensive lingerie you wear- you always look the prettiest covered in my cum, sweetheart.”
“S-Satoru—” You’re squirming underneath him. Hands clasping the silken sheets.
Your fingers were decked-out in diamond rings. Your lacy lingerie was tugged n’ pulled aside for access.
Around you were bracelets upon necklaces upon every piece of jewelry that your heart could desire - Gojo had taken it upon himself to empty out Tokyo’s luxury stores earlier. All for you, of course.
All to drown you in—whilst he attempted to do the same with his fucking cum-
“I fuckin’ loooooove it when it covers you like this.” He hisses- nose scrunches in a feral way as he glides his fingers across those splatters. Those smears. That ruinous mess. His favorite was to see you like this: pull out game, who? You often scoffed whenever Gojo claimed that his was unmatched. “Love the way it looks like your pretty pussy can’t keep it in-” Just another light tap on your cunt. “Love the way it looks so pretty on your skin like this—mmm, you’ve got me obsessed, girl.”
Your thighs were shaky- but not shaky enough to stop you from attempting to pull him even closer. They’re wrapping around his waist, and careening him close ‘nough to kiss your puffy pussylips with his throbbing tip. His length doesn’t stop sensitively twitching for a single second—“O-oh…greedy for more, my girl?”
“More.” Just barely managing to wrangle out. “W-want some more—”
“Fuuuuck.” He whispers underneath his breath - something so ragged in his tone. That blushin’ tip of his was twitching in excitement already, and Gojo probably doesn’t even realize before he’s slotted his still-erect length between your legs and his rockin’ away at a slow pace. “You seriously want more?”
Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation of him intruding your hole- seemingly only growing bigger every time he feels you clenchin’ around nothing. So needy.
“Yes-” You’re nodding furiously. Perhaps had this been any other time, then you’d have been almost embarrassed at your unabashed eagerness. “B-but this time, I want it inside, Toru.”
“Inside?” Gojo’s pale brows fly to his hairline. “But you’re already stuffed so full, my sweetheart.”
And then he’s smearing his fingertips between your bloated folds- teasin’ them apart and taking a good look at your entrance. He can’t help himself - he’s spitting straight into that puckered hole—and watching at the glossy wad slips down your crevice and only adds to the mess he’s made previously. You’re shivering as he runs his nimble digits up n’ down your slit and presses on your clit.
“Yes, but—” You keen, arching into his firm core. “But you never really came inside, Toru.”
“Oh…” Those glossed lips of his part.
And you’re taking the opportunity to throw your arms weakly around him- “And I want it inside this time.” Though Gojo loved teasing you with his creamy-white sap—making you beg for it at times, he’s never properly cum inside.
He always thought it’d be too soon: you were younger, after all. And a pregnancy at this point might derail your plans-
“But I want it.” Had he been babbling this entire time? The sheer determination in your eyes sends a jolt of dark-black need through him - far more primal than he ever thought possible. Far more. Gojo’s blue peripherals glaze over as he clasps his cock even tighter, as though afraid he’s so hard now that it’d fucking fall off.
“Shouldn’t fall off now.” He whispers breathily.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Gojo quickly amends. Before he uses the pointed tip of his shaft to web up those dollops of cum he’d spurted ‘round your thighs and folds—it creates a gloss of white that he thinks would suit the insides of your pussy so well (did he mention that he was the one to pick out your lingerie colors?) ‘Round and ‘round.
It devises the most sinful sounds between your legs. And your breath catches in your throat: “A-are you gonna cum inside or not, Toru? Hurry-”
“So impatient.” He’s tutting. Voice low and husky. “I hope you know that if I fuck my cum inside—then m’gonna fuck you pregnant, sweetheart.”
Goosebumps scatter across your skin.
But Gojo doesn’t let you squirm, he doesn’t let you move about restlessly- he’s pinning you down with his hips and rumbling lowly in your ear. “M’gonna make sure it takes.” A rough sliiiiiide of his length sandwiched between your cushy pussylips - drooling for him by now. “M’gonna stuff you so full that you won’t even be able to walk—” Another rough slide. A thrust. “M’gonna give you the most precious gift of all - in my eyes.”
“P-please—!”
As you’re letting your head tip backwards, Gojo reaches his hand up to and clasps your gorgeous, gorgeous face. Smushing your cheeks together in a way that was so pathetic - “Are you okay with that, pretty baby?”
You’ve never heard him sound so serious.
And you’ve never yowled an affirmation faster in your entire life—
In the next few seconds, Gojo’s stuffed rawly all the way to the hilt and is messin’ up your insides with determined strokes. Once. Twice. Thrice- he punctures through your clingy walls and hits all the best spots - memorizing your g-spot and running his flared tip along it.
And honestly, it doesn’t take much - the two of you were already so overstimulated already - before you’re feeling the wave of euphoria start to build up in your stomach already. Almost as lewd of a sensation as the clear twitchin’ mess that Gojo and his length had turned into—babbling, gasping, sobbing as he runs his fat cock raw on your velvety walls. Fucking raw.
You were going to make him an actual DILF.
“Y-you’re gonna get it now…” It’s the last thing he’s getting out before a flood of white sap enters your tight cunt. Getting absolutely drenched from the inside. “When have I ever forgone you of a gift, my girl?”
“Never—” You’re keening out. Rushes of pleasure start up between your legs- before crackling through your veins and ultimately ending up at your brain.
Hazy and startling at the feeling of him fucking you through both your highs. Thrust after thrust. Gush after gush of both pleasure n’ his milky-white cum.
Underneath the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm; you can feel his spurts of cum start to trickle between your legs. It was just as warm as your skin was getting, and creating a little puddle beneath you that Gojo takes one looks at and gasps-
“Now now, are you wasting your gift, sweetheart—?” He cocks his head, genuinely ruined.
“N-no?”
“Or do I just have to- heh, regift it to you again?”
“Shut up.”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Ms. Babysitter.
“We have to be quiet, angel- fuck. Fuck.” Higuruma’s voice sounded ragged—
Ruined. Nothing but carnal desire creeping up into the edges of his tone; giving you a jolt, considering that you’ve known the older man to be nothing but utterly calm and collected.
He was one of the best parents that you babysat for.
One of your college friends had recommended you for the job - the hot lawyer in your neighborhood needed someone to look after his young daughter whilst he worked long nights? You were agreeing before you’d even heard the hours, you can’t deny—and despite how hasty of a decision it had been, you thoroughly enjoyed working under Higuruma Hiromi.
And being under Higuruma Hiromi…though that didn’t come until a few weeks after you’d been employed.
The first night, you’d barely seen him. Dark hair. Dark circles.
The main thing you remember was that he looked exhausted—and some strange part of you was actually enticed by the hard-working man. Especially when he was such a gentleman…
Fuck, that suit fit him so well.
He addressed you oh-so-respectfully; unlike some parents who were tempted to treat you like a live-in server. Hands behind his back. Jet-black eyes to himself as he gave you a two-minute tour around the house- you’d been thoroughly enjoying yourself admiring his broad shoulders in that suit, when a sudden call from the office meant your tour had to be paused.
Higuruma had pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. He’d sighed.
And he was out that door before you could even confirm bedtime- which hadn’t been too much of a problem, to be honest. His daughter was extremely well-behaved and didn’t hesitate to let you know.
She also didn’t hesitate to let you know that her dad was very, very single.
You let her stay up just a liiittle past her bedtime.
And then the second night, he’d apologized for his hastiness - telling you that a recent case had them fighting to prepare before the court deadline, and there’d just been so many fucking tax audits to go through.
You nodded like you understood. But what really intrigued you was when he’d told you that his daughter had just loved having you over. Though a part of you was simply satisfied that you did your job well (buttered popcorn and K-pop Demon Hunters wins again!), you can’t deny that it made your heart…flutter hearing it from the older man like this.
It made you realize that you had a little crush.
So of course, you made him a regular.
And the pay was so good that you were able to weed out your other clients to focus predominantly on Higuruma and his bizarre babysitting schedule (some nights he worked until 3AM…)—you guessed the overtime was paying off.
Though your interactions were limited mostly to the brief conversations before and after- though you never did cross your boundaries. That all came to a head when one night - about a month or two into your babysitting gig - Higuruma suddenly perked up after a late night at the office. It was 3:31AM when he quietly let himself inside the house, sighing as he finally tugged off his tie.
It was 3:32AM by the time you got up off the couch and offered him some cookies you’d made with his daughter in the morning.
3:40AM when he suddenly remembered- and suggested resuming that house tour you didn’t get to finish. And though you’d been a bit hesitant—for nothing other than the fact that you might wake his sleeping daughter up, he promised that the two of you would be quiet.
Then, finally, 3:47AM when he was telling you to be quiet in bed-
“Wouldn’t wanna wake her up, hm?” The prominent outline of his nose runs down the side of your throat - and it makes you shiver. Fuck, you always have thought that that was one of the most handsome parts of him.
A soft moan strangles in your throat as he slots his thickened tip between your folds—feeling it like this, your mind’s reeling with the question of how the fuck he’s going to fit like this.
Higuruma always did strike you as the type of man to be big; but this was enough to make your mouth water and your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull. From here, you were feeling at least seven or eight inches of his erection, furiously hot, wrapped in throbbing red veins and having the most luscious precum dripping out from top. He seemed hard enough to fucking ruin you - just how you wanted it.
And as if reading your mind, Higuruma runs his slippery wet tip down your pussylips, and trundles in his low tone. “Are you sure you want to do it? We don’t have to rush into anything if you don’t want-”
“I do.” Cutting him off mid-sentence.
Although by the way that Higuruma’s stern lips were quirking up ever-so-slightly—you’re taking it to mean that he didn’t exactly mind. He keeps one hand underneath your ass, so that you can be pushed up into his roverin’ hips, and his other one caresses your cheek softly. “Hm, is that so…? Then I guess what I meant to say is…can you take every single inch, sugar?”
You gulp. Your eyes dart down nervously to his twitchin’, throbbing length. “Yes.”
And you’ve never been more sure of anything.
Higuruma merely horses out - “Then buckle up, angel.”
Before you know it, his round, ruddied tip is probin’ inside. Sifting your gluey walls from side-to-side before spreading you up so maddeningly open.
He spots your sweet areas with a few dollops of pre- as soon as Higuruma found himself inside you, he was fighting back whimpers of pleasure. The older man’s achin’ cock doing all the talking for him as he shovels his way in—
“Sh-shit.” Your eyes sprint to the back of your head as you take him. “Shit, you’re so big-”
The way you’re moving your hips around as though confused whether to buck right down or make him ease up- it’s just so cute. And he plants a reassuring hand on the side of your waist, “Easy now.” Higuruma hushes out, “Eeeeeeasy, angel. You can take it for me.”
“Right there—” You keen out as his flared tip rubs along your g-spot.
And although he knows what you meant, that doesn’t stop Higuruma from throwing you a ravishing smirk. Letting his second hand run down your core- “No, sugar. Right here.” He pushes down right where he knew your womb would be - that soft pressure making your walls clench around him wildly, until you could feel every throb of his engorged tip even in your brain. “And you’re gonna take it f’me, right?”
Jostling you hard with every thrust—so that you’re nodding away. Almost pathetically.
“Mhm…exactly what I thought.” He coos - so lovingly thrusting away between your quiverin’ legs. Higuruma’s skin slap-slap-slaps against yours at a steady pace, “Just a few more inches now—keep quiet, please.”
“I’m t-trying.” Gnawing down on your lower lip. “How many more?”
“Ah, just one inch…two…” And after a prolonged thrust- so deep that you swear you’re feeling it in your throat, Higuruma cracks a grin. “Maybe more.”
Five more?
Five more?
And you were already on the verge of being fucked absolutely stupid? You’re letting a groan escape you—lewd and louder than you intended- and before the realization hits you, Higuruma himself swiftly reaches over to where his work tie had been dangling off the side of the bed. Bunching it up, shoving it between those pretty lips - he couldn’t have anyone waking up now, could he?
And that’s exactly what he’s telling you: “C’mon, angel…” Shoves getting deeper and longer. Rougher- as he rams his thickened inches past where you don’t think anyone’s ever gone before. And throughout it all, the older man was so steady with you—“C’mon- c’mon. You can do this—fuuuuuck, you can do this. This pussy’s gonna take all of me, right?”
Nodding and nodding.
“Yeah? Because you’re my goooood girl, right? Taking me so well.” He continues rasping - tone pitching higher and higher as he goes on. “My good- fucking- girl—”
“O-oh, fuck, fuck, fuck-”
“You’re my goooooood fucking girl, huh?” The stubs of his five o’ clock shadow rub up against your skin. The deeper he thrusts, the hotter his body seems to become on top of yours. More and more. “Can you count how many inches m’putting in you?”
Tears flow down your eyes, “Y-yes- mmpf.” Somehow managing past the tie. “Ah- four? Five. Six.”
Higuruma’s eyes widen.
“Seven—” Your voice seems like it’s on the verge of cracking. “Eight.”
It’s just too adorable how you’re sweetly attempting to respond to him even with the gag in. And Higuruma can’t help himself as he leans in and kisses you through the tie.
It’s hot and it’s messy.
And it ends up with him smiling against your stuffed lips, “Finally bottomed-out.”
Hazily, you’re blinking a few times. It clears your vision enough for you to jerk your head down and see that it was indeed true, Higuruma had stuffed himself inside your pussy until his thick base was kissin’ your pussylips. Just the most innocent peck.
“And now…” Except…fuck, except he was reeling right back again. “-for the fun part.”
Right back until that rounded tip stretched your hole out.
Right back inside-
“Makes me wanna put a baby in you- I swear. Taking me like this.”
18+ mdni | as soon as the words left your lips—that you wanted to start a family—choso was all in.
for choso, his existence had always been defined by his role as the eldest brother, the steadfast pillar for his nine siblings. knowing the true gravity of being an onii-chan, the prospect of raising little ones with you felt like nothing short of a sacred calling. already a patriarch in his own right, he was more than ready to pour that same devotion into the life the two of you were building together.
an undignified squawk escaped you as he swept you off your feet. one arm locked firmly around your upper back, the other hooked behind your knees.
“ohmygod—choso, what are you doing!?”
pausing in front of the bedroom door, choso tilted his head, innocent brown eyes blinking down at you.
“you said you wanted a family,” he pointed out, solemn-faced yet gentle. “isn’t this how we start?”
it was a literal interpretation of your words, though you found it impossible to argue. not that you’d ever refuse a few cream pies from your dear husband.
the hours that followed were more than satisfying. as the night wore on, it became clear that his dedication to the task was absolute. possessing unnatural stamina, choso utilised his ability to manipulate the flow of his own blood, keeping his cock hard inside you for as long as he pleased. he took pleasure in milking himself dry, surge after surge of heat filling your womb until he was effectively shooting blanks, yet he still refused to soften, choosing instead to plug everything inside. dozing off in his arms, you were stretched, stuffed full the entire night.
synopsis . In which you foolishly moan the wrong name during sex. content . afab!reader, rough sex, lots of degrading, established relationship, possessiveness, choking, making him mad on purpose, dirty talk, jealousy, manhandling, etc.
"Nngh! Right there, Dabura!" You mistakenly moan out.
"You’ve lost your fuckin’ mind, huuh?" Sukuna drawls out in that raspy baritone that makes your cunt throb addictively around the thick shaft of his angered cock.
The veins decorating his dick bulk in a rush of aggravation at the way your lips fixed themself to utter the name of someone that isn’t the man fucking you to tears right now. He’s already got a hand clasped around your throat and he’s been fucking you from behind for a while now but after you got this audacity to moan some shit that wasn’t his name, Sukuna’s manhandling you down against the sheets roughly and repositioning.
His legs maneuver to straddle yours and he’s got you laying flat on the bed now as he drags his heavy cock out of you for a second, hissing at the slick string of filth hanging between your pussy and his leaking blushed tip.
“Dumb whore,” Sukuna heaves, big hands gripping at the fats of your ass and spreading you nice and open for him just to make sure he’s not going insane because he’s pretty sure he’s the one who just came inside you… not whoever the fuck you’d been moaning for a few seconds ago.
So as he watches this mess of cum dribble out of you in filthy globs, he smirks. For a small moment, his irritation is replaced with this genuine satisfaction.
But when you let out a whine, he’s reminded why he changed positions in the first place. “Cock always has you acting so fucking stupid. Hmph…” He chuffs, eyeing his cum gather in between the skin of your thighs.
Then he moves one of his hands to the base of his dick, aligning himself against your twitching hole again. “And now look at her,” He scoffs and tips his head to the side—watching in awe at that rhythmic quiver of your pussy, simply aching for him to fill you once again. “Missing me already and I only just pulled out…” Your husband only teases you further as he leans his large body forward to whisper against the shell of your ear hotly, “What a needy lil’ slut,” He whispers searingly, “S’selfish too, moaning someone else’s name while I’m fucking you.”
You angle your head just right so that you can meet his gaze and he’s so clearly annoyed, maroon eyes all dark and low on you, his lips stretched downwards into this grumpy frown, and his brows knit together slightly. “I-I didn’t mean to, ‘Kuna,” You try to plead with him with that usual glassy-eyed look and pout combo you give him but you know damn well you’d said someone else’s name on purpose just to get a reaction out of your easily aggravated husband.
He huffs. “Oh? Say that again.” And just as those words leave his hot mouth, his fat cock is nudging in between your sopping folds again with a slow push of his toned hips.
“I didn’t m-mean to,” Your voice practically dies in your throat as he slips into you in this new position—prone bone. You swear you can feel his cock stretching your walls further apart than before, his girth suddenly feeling ten times thicker and causing your lashes to flutter.
Sukuna grouses, “Word for word, slut.”
And he’s still pushing into you, his cock hot against your droopy cunt as you spaz around him. “I didn’t mean to, ‘Kuna,” With a heightened pitched that makes his heart flip in his chest, Sukuna smirks at the change in your tone.
“Mh.” He hums, easing his hips back slower than he’d been pushing them forward, “One more time.” This man is gonna be the death of you…
“I-I didn’t—hnngh..” Your sentence comes out short as he gives you one mean thrust, sharp pelvis sandwiching against the plump fat of your ass and his cock sloppily kissing the very hilt of your pussy. For a moment, you lay there with your jaw slack, fingers curling into the sheets, and another breathy excuse of a moan leaving your lips. “M-Mean to S’kuna,“ You choke out with a drop of your head into the sheets.
Your husband cracks a full smile at that and your overstimulated display. With a tip of his head, he snakes a hand under your limp body and his touch finds purchase right against his cock bulging against your skin. Then he leans down to your ear again, which applies this overwhelming pressure onto both your body and where his cock is nuzzled inside you. “What was that last part?” He whispers.
Drool leaks from the corner of your parted lips and you reply with a moan, “Sukuna…”
Still right against your ear, “Again, louder this time, woman.” He instructs, dragging his hips back again before fucking you nice and tortuously slow—making you feel every single throbbing inch of his cock as he stuffs you over and over.
“Oh fuck—Sukuna-, hahh…” You babble in between his movements. You can hardly think with how full of him you feel. Even with the slightest squeeze your cunt makes around him, it only gets worse for you. He’s everywhere with a hand on your lower stomach, making sure you feel how deep he’s getting, his lips against your ear, and his hips pressed right against your ass.
He’s hardly allowing you a moment to breathe or process.
“Mhmm, what’s my name? Say it again, lemme see.” He huffs, snaking his other hand to your chin just to tip your head back.
As your eyes land on his expression, you notice how pissed he looks, despite the slight softness in his recent words. Drooling still, eyes all wide ‘n glossy, you let out a heavy puff of air in a pathetic attempt to catch your breath. “Sukunaa,” You whine, the syllables flowing from your mouth just as smoothly as your orgasm begins to gush out around his dick.
Your husband smiles, almost as if he were proud. “Uhuh, that’s it.” Then, his head tilts to the side a bit more and he leans down further just to lap up the slick mess trickling down your chin. Lips moving over your wet skin as he whispers deeply, “Who’s cock are you cumming all over right now?”
Sukuna takes things a step further and begins to flick two thick fingers over your clit to coax you through that abrupt orgasm of yours—adoring the desperate spasm and twitch of your body that follows his touch.
Your jaw falls further open and your fingers claw at the bedsheet below, “Ohmygod… Y-Yours, Sukuna, yours.” You gasp, suppressing a filthy choke in your throat just before his hand shifts.
“That’s what the hell I thought. Now open that pretty mouth f’me,” Sukuna instructs, his fingertips prodding at your pouty lips. It’s slow but you part your lips open for him and even push your head forward just to take his digits into your mouth. “Uhuh, suck on ‘em juuust like that. Now you can’t say anymore stupid shit, just sit there and take this dick the way you’re supposed to.”
˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚
summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by lorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
chapter seven: graduation \ epilogue
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
content warning : suggestive content, sexual innuendos,possessive/filthy dialogue, mild degradation, brat-taming themes. minors dni.
Gojo Satoru
Starts whining immediately. “Whaaat? Why, baby? Tell me—what did I do?”
You ignore him, and he trails behind you like a kicked puppy. Then comes the switch. Suddenly he’s throwing himself onto the bed, arm over his eyes like he’s in a tragic romance. “Y’mean it? You really gon’ make me sleep cold and lonely… without even suckin’ on your tits first?”
He props himself up, messy hair, smirking now. “You know I can’t sleep without your thighs around my head, baby. Don’t do me like this.”
Starts listing all the filthy things he’d do if you let him stay—“I’ll eat it till you can’t remember why you were mad. I’ll be a good boy, promise. Wanna fall asleep with my face right here—” pats your inner thigh.
By the end of it, he’s wrapped around you like an octopus under the blanket, cocky grin against your neck. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist me.”
Toji Fushiguro
“…Huh?” He deadpans. “The couch? For what?”
You mention him being late, and he scoffs. “Tch. That’s what you’re mad about?”
When you say it again, firmer this time, he runs a hand through his hair and stalks toward you. “You wanna punish me, that it? Make me sleep alone after a long fuckin’ day?”
You cross your arms. He grabs your waist, yanks you close. “Nah. Not happening, doll.”
He leans down, voice rough. “I’ll fuck the attitude outta you, then you’ll beg me to stay. That sound better?”
You shove at his chest but he just chuckles. “I’ll be better. Sorry, ma. But I’m sleepin’ right here—with my hand between your thighs, like always.”
Kento Nanami
“…Did I do something wrong?” His brow furrows immediately. “If I hurt you, even unintentionally, I’d like to understand it so I can make it right.”
He stands still, serious and calm, hands tucked in his pockets. “If it would help you feel better, I’ll take the couch. But I’d prefer to sleep next to you. I like holding you. It helps me rest.”
You feel bad now, obviously. He sees it in your face and adds softly, “But I understand if you need space.”
You melt. “I was just messing with you, Kento. You can sleep in the bed. I love you.”
He kisses your forehead like he knew it all along. “I love you too. Now come here.”
Suguru Geto
He raises an eyebrow, lounging in the doorway with a lazy smirk. “You sure about that, princess?”
You cross your arms. “Yup. Couch.”
He tsks, steps forward, brushes your hair back with annoyingly gentle fingers. “That’s cruel. You really want me tossing and turning all night without my pretty girl in my arms?”
You try to keep a straight face. He leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. “Besides… you talk in your sleep, y’know? Say the filthiest things. Who’ll keep you warm if I’m not there to help?”
You stammer. He laughs softly, wraps an arm around your waist. “Thought so. Now be good and scoot over.”
Ryomen Sukuna
Scoffs. “The fuck do you mean, sleep on the couch?”
You tell him you’re mad. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. “You get mad at stupid shit. Tch.”
You glare at him. He glares back harder. “I’m not sleeping on any goddamn couch. If you’ve got a problem, woman, say it to my face.”
But then—he’s in front of you. “You want space? Fine. But don’t come crawling back at 2 a.m. whining that you can’t sleep without me.”
Starts walking away… then turns, smug as hell. “Bet your pussy misses me more than you'd admit.”
You gasp. He grins. “Thought so.”
Sleeps in bed anyway. Doesn’t ask again.
Choso kamo
“…Sleep on the couch?” he repeats, frowning slightly.
You nod, unimpressed. He goes still for a second, clearly hurt.
“I didn’t realize I upset you,” he says quietly. A pause. “…I’ll fix it.”
You point toward the couch again. Choso steps closer instead, gently taking your hand.
“I can’t rest if you’re angry with me,” he murmurs. “Let me stay. I’ll hold you… until you forgive me.”
His grip tightens just a little. “…Please don’t send me away.”
You last exactly three seconds before letting him climb back into bed.
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୧ ‧₊˚ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 and his poor... exhausted manager ⋅ ✰
the worst part about being satoru gojo’s PR manager isn’t the scandals. it’s the fact he knows how to use his tongue
MDNI ✰ oral (fem receiving) ✰ a lot of pussy eating in here... ✰
art creds to @/narutoss.ramen. all dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/pixopix
2.1k words
You sighed deeply as you scrolled through the latest disaster on your phone, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face in the back of the sleek black SUV. Another night, another scandal. As his personal PR manager for the past two years, you’d become an expert at spinning chaos into manageable headlines. But tonight’s mess was particularly sticky.
The tabloids were exploding with photos of Gojo at an exclusive club in Tokyo, shirt half-unbuttoned, surrounded by three models and what looked suspiciously like cocaine on a glass table. The headlines screamed: Gojo Satoru’s Wild Night: Actor or Party Demon?
Your fingers flew across the keyboard, drafting the official statement you’d already sent to the press an hour ago: “Mr. Gojo was attending a private charity event and the images have been taken out of context. He remains committed to his fans and upcoming film projects.”
You rubbed your temples. Gojo had more scandals than some celebrities had followers. Drunken karaoke brawls, leaked videos of him making out with co-stars, rumors of underground fight clubs where he used his “sorcerer” persona from his most recent series for show, and the endless parade of women. Yet the public loved him. The blue-eyed menace was box office gold, and his supernatural charm made him untouchable.
The car door opened. Gojo slid in beside you, all long limbs and effortless arrogance. His white hair was messy, those striking blue eyes hidden behind his usual black sunglasses. He flashed that infuriating grin.
“Missed me, princess?” he drawled, leaning back against the leather seat.
“You’re late,” you said flatly, not looking up from your tablet. “And you smell like vodka and that strong ass cologne.”
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s my signature scent. Want a closer whiff?”
You ignored the flutter in your stomach. This was the game you two played. He caused fires. You put them out. And somehow, over time, the tension between you had grown thicker than the NDA you made every woman he slept with sign.
“Three models, Satoru? Really? The video is trending. I had to call in every favor with the tabloids to kill the worst angles.”
He shrugged, stretching his long legs until his thigh pressed against yours. “They were just fans. Harmless fun.”
“Harmless doesn’t get you trending for all the wrong reasons.” You finally met his gaze—or what you could see of it. “This is the fourth scandal this month. I’m running out of ways to make you look like a misunderstood genius instead of a chaotic himbo.”
Gojo’s grin widened. He reached over and plucked the tablet from your hands, setting it aside. “You’re so good at your job, though. That’s why I keep you around.”
His voice dropped, playful but edged with something darker. Heat. “And because I like rewarding my best girl.”
Your breath caught. This wasn’t new. After particularly brutal clean-ups, Gojo had a habit of “thanking” you in ways that blurred every professional line. You told yourself it was just stress relief. A transaction. But the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in his chaotic world that actually mattered—made it dangerous.
The driver raised the partition without being asked.
Gojo’s hand slid onto your knee, long fingers tracing slow circles. “C’mere. Let me show my appreciation.”
“Backseat of a car, Satoru?” you muttered, but your body was already betraying you, thighs pressing together. "Really?"
“Private enough.” He tugged you onto his lap with that effortless strength, your pencil skirt riding up as you straddled him. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the fabric. “You’ve been working so hard for me. Cleaning up my messes. Dealing with my shit. Don’t you deserve a treat?”
You shivered as he pushed his sunglasses up, revealing those glowing blue eyes.
His mouth found your neck first, hot and teasing, sucking lightly just below your ear while he loosened your blouse. “Let me eat that pretty pussy, baby. Been thinking about it since the club. Nothing tastes better after a long night of damage control.”
You gasped as he lifted you, maneuvering you until your back was against the opposite seat and he was on his knees between your legs. The man who commanded screens and sold out arenas was kneeling for you. Gojo pushed your skirt higher, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down your thighs with deliberate slowness.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice husky. “Already wet for me. My perfect little manager.”
He spread your thighs wider, exposing you completely in the dim light of the car. His breath ghosted over your core, making you twitch. Then his tongue—hot, wet, and devastating—dragged a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.
You moaned, hand flying to his white hair. Gojo hummed in satisfaction, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. He licked you like he had all the time in the world, like cleaning up his scandals was worth every second of this reward. His tongue circled your clit with precision, then dipped lower, pushing inside you teasingly before returning to suck gently on that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Satoru—” you whimpered, hips rolling against his face.
He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you open as he devoured you. The obscene sounds filled the car: wet slurps, your desperate gasps, his low groans of approval.”
“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your folds, lips shiny with your arousal. “Better than any model. Sweeter than revenge. This is what I want after every fuck-up. Your legs around my head while I make you cum.”
Two long fingers slid inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. His mouth latched onto your clit, sucking harder while his fingers pumped in a steady rhythm. The coil in your belly tightened fast.
You came with a cry, thighs trembling around his ears as pleasure crashed through you. Gojo didn’t stop, licking you through it, drawing out every aftershock until you were panting and oversensitive.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was soaked and smug. “That’s one. Think you can handle more before we get to the hotel?”
The pattern repeated over the next few weeks, each scandal bigger than the last.
First came the leaked audio of Gojo trash-talking a rival actor during a press junket. You spent three days negotiating with studios and issuing apologies. That night, in his penthouse overlooking Tokyo, he laid you out on his massive bed and spent nearly an hour between your thighs. He edged you mercilessly—long, slow licks followed by fast flicks of his tongue—until you were begging. When you finally came, he kept going, making you squirt for the first time while laughing softly against your pussy.
“You’re so good at making me look innocent,” he praised, chin glistening. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”
Then there was the nightclub fight video. Gojo had “accidentally” flipped a table on some guy who’d gotten handsy with one of his female co-stars. The internet called it assault. You called it a PR nightmare. After three all-nighters and a carefully crafted statement about “self-defense,” Gojo rewarded you in his private jet on the way to a premiere.
He had you bent over the leather couch, skirt flipped up, face buried between your cheeks from behind. His tongue fucked into you while his thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles. The altitude and the thrill of being so high up made everything more intense. You came twice before landing, legs shaking so badly he had to carry you off the plane.
Each time, the rewards grew more intense. Gojo was insatiable when it came to you. He loved how composed you were in public—cool, professional, the one who tamed his chaos—and how completely you fell apart for him in private.
One particularly bad week culminated in a leaked sex tape rumor (thankfully fake, but the damage was done). You worked miracles to kill the story. That evening, Gojo didn’t even wait for the car to leave the underground garage of his building.
He dropped to his knees right there, pushed you against the hood of his expensive car, and ate you out like a man starved. Cars drove past on the street level above, but down here it was just the two of you. His tongue was merciless, fingers deep inside you, curling and scissoring while he sucked your clit until you saw white. You came so hard you nearly slid off the hood. He caught you, laughing that rich, cocky laugh.
“My perfect girl,” he whispered, kissing your inner thighs. “I make the messes. You clean them. And I make you scream.”
Months passed. The dynamic deepened.
You stopped pretending it was just rewards. Gojo started showing up at your apartment unannounced, glasses off, eyes soft in a way the public never saw. He’d pull you into his lap on the couch, not always for sex. Sometimes just to talk—about the pressure of being watched all of the time, the loneliness of fame, how your steady presence was the only thing keeping him grounded.
But the sex... the sex was still his favorite way to say thank you.
One night after he’d been caught leaving a love hotel with a famous idol (another fabricated story you’d dismantled), he took you to his bedroom and spent the entire night worshipping you. No rushing. He stripped you slowly, kissing every inch of skin until he reached your core. Then he settled in for a long session.
Gojo’s tongue traced every fold, savoring you. He alternated between gentle licks and harsh sucks, fingers pumping deep while he whispered filthy praise.
“Love how you get so wet for me. Love knowing all those scandals are worth it because I get to bury my face in this sweet pussy afterward. You own me, you know that? The world thinks I’m theirs, but this—” he licked a broad stripe up your center, “—this is mine.”
You came three times that night. Once on his tongue, once on his fingers while he sucked your clit, and once riding his face as he lay back and let you use him. By the end, you were a trembling, blissed-out mess, and Gojo looked happier than he did after any movie premiere.
The latest scandal was the worst yet.
A video surfaced of Gojo in a very compromising position at an afterparty—him, two women, and enough evidence to suggest an orgy. The internet was in meltdown. Sponsors were threatening to pull out. Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing.
You worked for 48 hours straight, barely sleeping. When you finally dragged yourself to his penthouse to deliver the good news (crisis mostly averted), Gojo was waiting.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled you inside, locked the door, and dropped to his knees in the foyer.
“No more work tonight,” he said, voice rough. He pushed your legs apart right there against the wall, yanked your panties aside, and dove in.
His mouth was urgent, almost desperate. Tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit, hands gripping your ass to pull you harder against his face. He moaned like he was the one receiving pleasure, the vibrations making your knees buckle.
You clutched his hair, moaning his name as he devoured you. This wasn’t just a reward anymore. This was need. Hunger. Possession.
He made you cum twice standing up, then carried you to the bedroom and did it again with you on his face. By the time he finally let you rest, your voice was hoarse and your thighs were sticky with his saliva and your releases.
Gojo pulled you against his chest afterward, fingers gently stroking your back.
“I know I’m a handful,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But I’d burn every scandal into existence if it meant you’d keep letting me do this.”
You laughed weakly, exhausted but content. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah. But I’m yours, baby.”
In the quiet afterglow, with the city lights twinkling outside, you realized something. You didn’t just clean up his messes anymore.
You were part of them. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Synopsis: You finally get to meet your prisoner penpal the sorcerer killer, and he has the hots for you bad…
Pairings: Tojixreader
Content MDNI: prisoner!toji, submissive fem!reader, doggystyle, mating press, rough, MANHANDLING, spreading you, praising you, fingering, oral (rec toji), making it fit, making you take it, dirty talking, multiple orgasms, YEARNING toji, masterbation, spanking, ass squeezing, hair pulling, choking, HEADLOCK toji, PUSSYDRUNK toji, cervix smooching, public sex (risky), creampie, squirting, talking you through it, MOUTH FUCKING, OVERSTIMULATION, BREEDING, making you his baby momma, happy endings, getting together, getting out of jail
Word count: 5.5k
Disclaimers: (this is a slowburn! VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED) I know dada bruh#needthat
You two had written eachother back and forth before meeting for the first time, he had told you about what he was in for. Serving life in prison for killing people for bounties and he had already severed ten years. Your letters seemed rather platonic as you helped him feel less lonely during his incarceration though he wouldn’t admit that to you himself. You hadn’t truly disclosed much information about yourself your age or height or anything personal to any degree, he was your designated pen pal from his group therapist, the motive was to keep the men in the group connected with their humanity as well as to the outside world so everyone in that group had recieved a pen pal. In your last letter with some curiosity you asked to see him, and you agreed to meet.
Your heels clank down the marble tile and the white painted brick hallway of the prison until you reach a rusty green metal door, heavy with two guards standing on either side.
“I’m visiting Toji Fushiguro”
The guards nod and let you push open the heavy metal door as it rattles and scrapes the floor echoing a sharp scraping sound as you slide it open slowly and you step across the threshold. The visitation room is empty, just the glimmer of dim September afternoon light leaking in through the high windows. The walls were white and there were metal chairs and tables all white and grey. It was dank, slightly depressing. You walk toward the table with the man who had dark spikey hair, a massive stocky frame, and his orange jumper suit halfway off around his waist with a white beater on. his eyes are already locked on you. It was the only reason you had known it was him.
His sharp dark intense eyes soaked you in like he had reached the holy grail, as your heels clank down on the marble visiting floors until your sitting next to him. He watched you HARD even as you sat next to him and you adjusted the skirt you were wearing.
“Mr. Fushiguro?”
You clear your throat.
“It’s (y/n), how are you?”
Despite his intense stare he cocks his head back non-chalantly sinking into his chair and hanging his massive arm over the top of the chair, the deep scar on his lip twitching into a flirty and sinister grin.
“Call me Toji. No need for formalities”
He pauses in the quiet visitation room.
“I’ve been good, but I’m definitely better now that I can finally meet you in person”
You fidget in your chair. He’s goddamn hot, way hotter than you expected for sure.
“G-good”
You stammer nervously and it only makes his grin deepen in a predatory way when he notices the small flush at your cheeks.
He nods.
“So what made you wanna come all the way across town to see a damn brute like me?”
You shift in your seat to collect your thoughts and he watches you closely.
“Well…I guess I was just curious, you don’t seem very much like a ‘brute’ if you ask me…”
He lets out a sinister low chuckle and rubs his face.
“Oh doll baby I don’t think you’d really know the difference. You don’t have the experience.”
He looks away his arm still leaning on the top of the chair.
“Someone as sweet looking as you shouldn’t be around someone like me.”
His tone is bitter, annoyed actually with a hint of flirtation. He turns to face you directly, his expression is blank. The scar on his lip twitching. Despite his remark you ignore it as your hands grip the rim of your skirt the fabric slightly soiling with nervous sweat.
“I don’t think you’re as dangerous as you want me to believe”
Toji scoffs mocking you as he readjusts himself placing his elbows and arms on the white cold and granite table, his muscles flex in his back under his white beater as he stretches slightly his broad shoulders practically hunching as he leans ever so slightly over the table.
You gulp staring without realizing until you snap out of it when he speaks.
“You’re staring doll baby. See something you like?”
You immediately gulp and fluster shaking your head no with your hot beaming face.
He pulls your chair close enough that both of your metal chairs clank together rough as it crapes across the floor loud enough to echo in the empty and quiet visitation room in one swift motion as if you weighed nothing. A strong calloused hand grips your thigh pressing his fingers hard into your soft flesh as he leans in to whisper against your neck.
“Don’t be scared doll face, I won’t bite. Not unless you tell me to”
His voice is smooth, calm and dripping with a predatory hunger.
He ghosts his lips so close to your neck the hairs on your neck stand as his colossal hand on your thigh grips tighter. He grins as his soft lips press to your neck gentle and unhurried as a sweet moan escapes your tense body.
He grunts huskily against your neck at the sound you release, sending a jolt or electricity straight to his core and a warm twisted feeling in his gut. Your face flushed as you melted into his touch, he slowly guides his hands up your thigh, lifting your skirt until his thumb caresses your inner thigh and teases your already damp cunt under your panties, rubbing your sensitive nub while his free hand slowly snakes up behind your chair to wrap his strong, firm hand around the back of your neck to steady you in a possessive grip that makes you whimper.
He plants a slow kiss against your bare shoulder as if to savor you.
He inhales you, his breath pulling against your skin. while his fingers gently work under your panties.
“Damn baby doll, you smell just as sweet as you taste…I’m getting curious”
He pause and kisses your shoulder again.
“You want me to stop doll?”
Your breath catches at his question breaking the pattern of heavy breathing and soft moaning as you shake your head no.
“Mmm…good girl.”
He growls gently against your shoulder as he plants another kisses still teasing his thumb through your panties. His free hand gripping tighter to the back of your neck when you whimper again.
“Mmm…you want more doll?”
He whispers only for you to hear.
“Y-yes..”
You stammer breathlessly.
And without hesitation and rougher than he thinks he’s being, he moves your panties to side and slides his massive index and middle finger into your slick folds drawing a moan so needy that his dick instantly bulges hard. he groans roughly against your shoulder and plants restrained kisses up your shoulder and neck.
“Fuck doll…I didn’t think you were so wet for me already”
He growls in your ear as his thick fingers work and push into your walls and curl into your g spot. pushing into it your flush hard and needily.
Your soft moans and wet slick making his massive bulge beneath his orange jumpsuit tighten uncomfortably for him as he groans.
“I told you doll baby…you shouldn’t be alone in here with me…your just so—, sweet”
He draws out the word ‘sweet’ like he has a sweet tooth for his sweet little penpal.
Bang! bang!
The sound of security knocking his fist against bullet proof glass on the window of the visitation room with a warning.
You perk up snapping out of the trans he had you under.
“Shit!”
Toji lets out an agitated sigh as he looses his grip on the back of your neck, yanking from you and making your head jerk slightly and moving his hand from beneath your skirt, he grunts softly licking your slick from his fingers.
“Guess I’ll have to get my sweet doll face next time huh”
You gulp nodding and catching your breath while adjusting your skirt in embarrassment.
Toji adjust his hard buldge with a frustrated groan.
“Damn look what you do to me doll”
He stretches in his chair flexing his massive form, not even trying to hide his twitching buldging print beneath his orange jumpsuit as he rubs his face in frustration.
“I-I should go”
You stammer clearing your throat and standing to grab your things with your face burning hot as a furnace at the sight of him hard; It’s burned into your brain like a mental scar.
He scoffs when you get up pretending as if he doesn’t give shit despite his urge to pull you back down into his lap, he lets you go and doesn’t speak as he leans on the table again.
“Wear that skirt again next time”
“I will, and…I’ll w-write to y-you”
You say nervously scurrying out of the visitation room.
he silently stares, watching you hurry out of the visitation room.
“Damn.”
.
.
.
For weeks you hadn’t visited him again. And day in and day out suddenly felt different in his cell, his day to day suddenly felt slightly emptier, 10 years without the smell and touch of a sweet lady he almost forgotten what that felt like, and it didn’t take much for him to realize he had noticed that your sweet presence made a difference. After his first two weeks without hearing from you he had felt needier, your moans, soft skin, and slick folds haunting his mind in ways he wish wasn’t clouding and consuming his every thought.
Before dinner in the prison he had been delivered a letter to his cell, he snatched the letter from the guard as they exchanged dirty looks.
“Don’t fucking try me. Not today”
He warns taking the letter as the guard walks away. Not having you is getting under his skin. He grinds his teeth in agitation until he reads the envelope. And it says your name. A deep reassured exhale escapes him, and he wastes no time reading it.
Fuck he almost regrets reading that. The way you shared your intimate thoughts, and a wants and desires, telling him how you wanted him to choke you and make you take it. And trust me he had no plans to do anything less, and it made him so hard it pained him literally and figuratively.
And that dirty you photo you sent?
Oh when he saw that he knew he was going to fuck you absolutely stupid.
He requested shower time early before dinner just because he simply couldn’t handle his swollen, hard and veiny length torturing him with tension.
In the shower hot steamy water runs down his wide and bulky toned back that flexes tense and coiled from the sharp, consistent and rough movements of his rough calloused hand rolling along his slightly curved, swollen and veiny cock that he strokes rough and hurried chasing his orgasm without a second thought.
“Fuck! Fuck!”
He grits through his teeth with intense restraint, the steam in the shower rising from his tenses and flexed muscles as he rolls his hips to each stroke while his free hand presses hard to the white shower tile. He grunts hard and needy as his tip releases precum and it drips down his red tip beaming so hard it was seconds from turning purple with arousal. his veiny shaft pulsating with desire for you.
“God she so damn sweet, tastes so damn sweet, fuck ma—,”
He pants and grunts heavily.
“I bet you’d look so damn pretty filled and leaking with my thick cum”
His voice rasps desperately between wet strokes.
He huffs and groans from his throat with restraint grinding his teeth until he tastes metal as he strokes all the way down from his purple precum soaked tip and down his swollen shaft that’s twitching with need as he keeps his grip tight. His strokes become desperate, urgent, and impatient under his tight grip as he feels the pressure rising in his hips.
“Dammit (y/n)…can’t wait to fill you”
He grunts through his teeth roughly as he releases a guttering groan from the back of throat almost pained as his white sticky sap spills from his tip and drips down into the shower as he keeps his girth gripped tight.
He pants heavily as he lifts his head and lets the shower water rise his spilled mess down the drain. He loosens his grip on his length until he lets go entirely and leans his head down letting the water run down and drip from his dark spike hair, his muscles relax in his release. He washes his hands and his body to disperse himself of the aftermath of his lewd act, still catching his breath low and subtle.
Once he steps out of the shower he wraps a white towel around his defined and sculpted v line.
“Damn (y/n) what are you doing to me?”
.
,
.
Another week passes before he recieves a letter from you telling him that your coming to see him that week and he was damn near clicking his heels but he sucks his teeth and hides a smile from your letter.
The day he gets word from the guards that you’ve come to visit he wastes no time jumping up and following the two guards through the prison until he’s waiting for you in the visitation room.
At the table he can’t help but fidget nervously despite his non-chalant demeanor. He quietly picks at the peeling cubical on his thumb anxiously until he hears your voice faintly on the other end of that brick wall, his ears perking up immediately at the faint sound.
The moment that rusty metal door slides open and you step through his eyes are blatantly locked on you with an intensity that makes you gulp nervously, you’re already hot in the face at the sight of the scarred, dark spikey haired man in a white beater and orange jumpsuit tied around his waste that’s staring at you so hard across the room as you approach him that he could’ve burned a whole straight through you.
He’s already feeling his orange jumpsuit tightening uncomfortably at the sight of you.
“Took you goddamn long enough”
He says with a mixture of irritation and happiness. It’s an odd combination that you pick up on as you sit next to him.
“Nice to see you again too”
You smile cheerfully until you notice the long and defined print that’s pushing its way out of his orange jumpsuit with eagerness and you stammer at just the size of the print.
Your breath catches in your throat as you cover your mouth.
“Toji you’re—,”
“I’m what?”
He says his scar curling into a grin casually spreading across his face positioning himself in a massive manspread in his seat as his raging buldge twitches. Confidently showing you what you do to him.
“That’s all you doll baby”
You blush deeply and clear your throat.
“I didn’t think I’d have that kind of an affect on you”
You say nervously twiddling your fingers.
“You have no idea”
He bites his bottom lip and folds his massive arms to his chest.
“Especially after what you sent me in that letter….what did you expect doll baby?”
“tch—, what are you trying to do? Kill me in here?”
He says his voice thick with frustration as he rubs the bridge of his nose. And looks to notice you’re wearing the skirt he asked you to wear last time.
“Mmm…good girl”
He growls under his breath and you fidget at his words.
“I-I’m sorry…”
Your voice so sweet it annoys him and settles him at the same time.
“Don’t apologize. I’m just frustrated that we can’t do anything”
You nod. It’s true. Especially with the guards lurking. You exhale.
“Yeah…I guess I just didn’t think you wanted me so badly”
He grinds his teeth tight until he tastes metal.
“I’ve never wanted someone so much in my entire life”
He casually admits it but he means it.
“Ten years in a dump like this only surrounded my other pieces of shit? Yeah…you kinda forget the sweet smell, or soft touch of a woman’s presence….”
His words trail off as he leans across his seat to grip a firm calloused hand around your waste and squeezing possessively.
“I mean…fuck (y/n)…you’re doing things to me”
He whispers in your ear his voice husky and thick with tension and need.
“Three weeks alone in here after you left….almost drove me fucking crazy”
He grits through his teeth with restraint as he grips your thigh hard and indulges in an open mouthed kiss to your neck and sucking hard with need continuously fondeling his rough taste buds and soft wet lips along the sensitive lining over your neck and sinks his teeth into you, barely enough to hurt until he’s formulating the perfect purple kiss bitten bruise on your neck as he draws yearning moans from you. your hands gripping the white fabric of his white beater into a wrinkled ball in your nervously soiled hands.
He pulls back to look at your flushed and needy face and it just turns him on more, lighting a fire in his chest, he takes a large hand and runs it through your hair slowly, to clamp his hands down and grips tightly to a lock of your hair; hard, and pulling your head to the side to open your neck exposing more for him. he buries his face in your neck again letting his breathing ghost the gentle hairs there while his teeth and tongue suck and bite into your tender flesh at the crook of your neck again leaving another purple bruise on your flesh that makes him growl with possessiveness.
You whimper under his bites as you try hard not to draw too much attention to you too in the visitation room, but Toji’s husky hands forcefully pushes your legs open in your chair spreading you wide enough for him to rub his hands up your smooth and plush thighs until he’s impatiently moving your panties to the side and crashing a rough and needy kiss to your lips that devours you whole.
“I’m going to show you…just how much of an effect you’ve had on me doll”
He whispers roughly against your lips as you suddenly feel his thick fingers push into your slick folds making him groan gently against your mouth, and you moan against his in sync.
His fingers push flush into your g spot and makes you mule in between his kisses that drown out your eager sounds, making them muffled. His fingers push up on the sensation that makes your legs shake and your eyes well with tears making your lips quiver under his.
“That too much for you doll?”
He whispers roughly against your lips as you pant heavily when he breaks the kiss.
You gulp and catch your breath before responding.
“N-no…”
Toji lets a sinister grin spread across his face.
“Can you handle more doll?”
You nod.
Without thinking Toji puts one of your legs on his lap spreading you wide before pushing his fingers rough inside of you and stretching out tight hole. You whimper miserably with pleasure trying to hold back from his roughness until your body trembles from his overstimulation of your g spot. you bury your face in his shoulder and grip his shirt tightly before releasing a loud muffled moan strained from the back of your throat as you leak your glue-like fluids onto his fingers.
He groans sliding out of you and into his mouth sucking of your cream like it’s a delicacy.
“Fuck you taste so sweet doll”
His voice is rough and greedy as he whisks you onto his lap in one swift motion making you straddle him. You can feel his rock hard length directly under your still wet cunt while you roll your hips to feel him rub against your clit.
A soft moan escapes you. Toji’s eyes lock on yours unwavering as his hands grip your ass hard, drawing another soft moan from your lips. Toji’s fingers dig hard into your plumpness, pushing your flush harder against his erection, desperate for the friction as he grunts softly.
You cup his sharp jaw to bury an open mouthed kiss against his lips and run your hands through his hair. he pushes harder into your kiss groaning and slipping his tongue between your lips with an eagerness that sends a rush up your spine. His large veiny calloused hands roam your back and grip at the fabric of your tank top. your rolling hips on his hard length make him throb and twitch beneath you as both breath heavily.
Toji looks around the visitation room looking for the guards. And your eyes help his.
“God…I need to have you now”
He grits through is teeth planting soft kisses down your neck, collar bone and chest.
You moan softly looking around while he keeps himself busy under you.
“Toji…”
You whisper and his eyes look up at yours perking up in curiosity.
“What?”
“There’s a bathroom. Security isn’t paying attention right now…we could….”
In a second you’re off of his lap and he’s dragging you to the bathroom.
Once the bathroom door closes behind him he immediately locks it and pushes you down onto your knees with a force that almost concerns you. When you look up at him his eyes are dark, sharp and intense. he wouldn’t dare crack a smile when he’s never been more turned on than he is right now looking at you on your knees in front of him.
“Open your mouth”
He demands coldly, and when you obediently do it,his bulge rages twitching beneath his orange jumpsuit. He breathes heavily, the tension in the bathroom thick. He growls in arousal as he pulls down his orange jumpsuit that hang on his waist.
You gulp peering up at his girthy length that pulses and twitches with need, you keep your mouth open and he groans again.
“Stick your tongue out for me doll”
He runs a gentle hand along your chin when you do, dropping your tongue over your lips makes him breath heavier as he takes his rock hard length to slap his cock down onto your wet tongue and he grins down at you.
“Put my dick in your mouth”
There’s nothing in his tone that in-tales that he’s joking at all, you take hold of his girth and slide it into your warm wet mouth letting his girth stretch your mouth until it’s pulling tight around his veiny shaft. A needy groan tears from his throat as he takes a hand and places it in your hair and grips hard, making you catch your breath even with a mouth full of him. He pushes your head down and thrusts into your mouth letting you gargle and drool down his pulsing and needy cock, he groans shakily at the feeling of your soft wet mouth around him.
“God I’ve been dreaming about seeing this pretty mouth around my dick for ngh—weeks”
He grunts pushing his swollen and needy tip to pierce the back of your soft throat and he bites his bottom lip holding back groans feeling you drool down his shaft and down onto his balls. he can’t help but make you swallow his cock despite your tear streamed face and red cheeks and you’re making him absolutely loose it. He thrusts a few more times in your mouth before picking you up and roughly tossing you onto the bathroom sink your breath catches when he pushes your head down rough so rough that your immediately overpowered by his strength as he grunts like damn monster.
“I can’t take it anymore. Don’t fucking move”
He says landing a hard smack into your ass so hard it leaves a sting and he groans at your recoil. He pulls up your skirt and tears off your panties, ripping them to shreds leaving tear marks on your skin making your wince hard through your teeth from the pain. He grabs a fist full of your hair and grips hard tearing a whimper from your throat.
“Such a good fucking girl for me”
He says taking his free hand squeezing his tip into your slick folds that drip for him needily. You whine at his grip in your hair and the rough pushing force stretching your pussy.
An unexpected rough hand thwacks hard down onto your ass again that string forcing a wince from your mouth.
“T-Toji—, i-it—,”
You mutter hopelessly bent over the sink with a lock of your hair under his firm grasp.
“You’re taking all of it. None of that it won’t ngh— fit bullshit”
He husks out grunting and taking his free hand to grip so hard into your hip that it will leave a mark and pushing himself deep into you until he’s stuffed you with as much of his girth as possible and then thrusting into you hard against the sink and tearing a moan from your throat. You’re breathless and filled with him as he pushes up your womb to your cervix and thrusts hard again, his tight grip in your hair pulling your head back.
He thrusts hard again with a a husky grunt until he’s speeding up his pace and force drawing loud and tortured moans from you as you cry out in the bathroom, every thrust filling you completely in every crevice of your womb all the way to your cervix that he smooches repeatedly and your g spot that he curves and teases against. Your dripping cunt only making him huff and drive into you harder, his hand on your hip digging deeper until your marked with his touch.
“Tell me who’s pussy this is (y/n)”
He demanded gruffly over the sound of skin smacking hard. Your tear filled eyes and flushed cheeks can hardly mutter a word with how mercilessly he’s pushing into you and he hasn’t even slowed his pace for one second to let you speak so you have no choice but to scream it.
“It’s ughhh—, yours Toji!”
He puts one of your legs over the corner of the sink and huffs huskily thrusting into you impossibly harder as if his mission is to completely and utterly wreck you.
“Say my name again”
His words are rough and strained with desire while filling you entirely. His grip on your hair only tightening as he drives into you grunting under the sounds of your loud moans that echo off of the walls of the bathroom.
“Toji!”
You cry out his name again as the electric and tense feeling of an orgasm coils through your body stemming from your fingertips and toes and your body trembles all over.
“You gonna cum for me doll?”
He asks panting and grunting to plant another mean rough smack to your ass as he leaves a mark this time and you mule.
“Yes, yes! I’m cuming!”
You exclaim the moment you’re leaking your white cream onto his shaft as you tremble fiercely. He lets out a loud groan but doesn’t stop, his hips smack into your ass non stop, like a machine, his big muscular frame hunched over yours as sweat drips from his dark hair.
“I’m going to make you cum so much more doll”
He pants breathlessly.
“You’re taking it all until I cum”
He mutters out roughly and scooping his bicep under your chin and around your head putting you in a head lock. When he sees your red teary eyes face in a headlock around his biceps in the bathroom mirror he grins and praises you while ramming into you repeatedly until the flesh of his v-line is raw and red from friction and skin on skin.
“You look so beautiful taking me so well doll”
He grunts huskily.
“Such. A. Good. Fucking. Girl”
He groans between hard thrusts until your crying out.
“Toji I can’t take it!”
Your cry out, but Toji slaps your ass harder than he has this entire time, and whispers in your ear in the head lock.
“You gotta take it doll ngh—, it’s not up for discussion”
He says grunting as he pushes you past your limits puts your other leg up over the other end of sink putting you in a split-like position and pushing your back down into a proper arch. You whimper in intimidation.
“You’re taking it”
He demands his voice rough as he grips your ass roughly and spreads your cheeks with his free hand and pushes hard into you, you moan breathlessly as he keeps you in his head lock and slowly picks up the pace again. Pushing his throbbing veiny precum slicked cock into your tender cervix bruising until your shaking and trembling again under him, you whimper loudly gripping the rim of the sink as he mercilessly rams into you, making sure that every corner and crevasse of your walks remembers even the feeling of his veins. You cry out trembling until you’re dripping down his shaft again, and when toji feels your walls clench around him again he snaps in arousal flipping you over on the sink.
“Fuckkkkk…..”
He murmurs low and growling out pushing your knees to your chest and towering over you just to push them further down.
Without warning he’s pushing his girth deep into you and filling you as your slick drips down onto the rim of the sink. Toji grips a rough hand around your throat before making you scream his name over and over again while he teases your sensitive g spot again with his swollen tip.
He grunts raming his thick long girth rough into you like he’s blacked out inside of you, completely and utterly pussydrunk in you, lost in you, it your clenching, wet and tight walls. He keeps your knees pressed hard to you with his free hand and keeping his hand gripped tight around your throat.
He moves his free hand from your bent knees to your raw clit and rubs it hard and smacks a mean and rough hand on your pussy until your pussy is squeezing out a raining clear liquid onto him. He digs hard into your hips and thrusts ruthlessly into you now, ignoring your crying and whimpering and letting it spurr him on until his breathing and hips stutter hard and he’s bucking into you hard before spilling his massive load deep in your womb, layering your walls and cervix with his white sticky sap until your folds are leaking while he’s still inside.
You both catch your breath with him still inside of you, toji whipes sweat from his forehead panting so hard he can barely speak.
“We should….get back out there”
He mumbles over you as you nod weakily over the sink.
.
.
.
For weeks you don’t visit Toji, something with working kept keeping you hostage until almost a month later you find yourself wandering down that same prison hallway long and dark despite the white marble tile and white painted brick due to the limited natural lighting. You had decided to call instead of writting last week. You’d been calling back and forth and you still failed to mention your late period. Despite you guys becoming an official couple in that time frame it still wasn’t any easier to break the news to him. Your stomach drops to the floor as you nod at the security as they let you pass through the large metal visitation room door. The moment you set foot in the visitors room Toji stands to his feet in excitement that he clearly can’t contain despite his agitated expression; which was a normal face expression for him.
He doesnt stop you when you walk over to him throwing your arms around his waist.
“Well…I missed you too doll”
He says patting your head to settle you. You squeeze him tightly before sitting in the seat at the table.
“Toji…we should talk”
He leans in his chair non-chalant.
“Okay…shoot”
“Well…”
you clear your throat.
“Remember our last phone call where I said I’d try to get you out of here?”
He nods.
“Yeah? What about it”
“Well…I remembered that my uncle is an attorney. I talked to him about potentially getting you out of here. He says he could request a retrial for you”
Toji stiffens and exhales. His weird way of showing his excitement.
“Damn. Sounds like I’m actually getting out of here huh”
He folds his bulky arms to his chest and grins.
You nod nervously gripping into the fabric of your shirt nervously. Toji’s eyes roam over your nervous body language.
“What’s the problem? You sick or somethin?”
He’s genuinely concerned and you know that. But his tone is harsh and brazen. you nod anyway.
“S-something like that”
You murmur softly.
Toji’s expression twists into confusion. And he repeats what you said as if it will give him more clarity.
“Something like that? What the fuck does that mean doll?”
You fidget slights before finally making eye contact with him.
“I-I’m a l-little sick b-because I’m p-pregnant”
You stammer nervously and Toji’s eyes widen with surprise.
(I own this work)Might’ve gotten carried away :p part.2 if you’re interested!
The apartment door barely latched before Sukuna shoved you face-down over the back of the couch, yanking your dress up, spreading your slick with his cock, his precum mixing yours as he thrusted into you.
“Shit—Kuna—slow down—” you gasped, but he only laughed and fucked you harder, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing through the quiet living room.
Down the hall, Toji’s eyes snapped open in the darkness of his room. The rhythmic thump thump thump of the couch against the wall is what’d woken him.
Your next moan was shamelessly loud as Toji’s door creaked open. He stood in the doorway, shirtless, massive bulge straining his gray sweats, “Woke me up with this sloppy shit,” he rumbled.
His eyes raking over your bouncing tits and the way Sukuna’s thick cock disappeared inside your dripping cunt.
Sukuna slowed his thrusts but didn’t stop, grinding deep while looking over at his roommate. “Took you long enough, Fushiguro. She’s making too much noise anyway. Come shut her up.”
Toji didn’t hesitate, shoving his sweats down, letting his heavy, veiny cock spring free. You barely had time to whimper before he was gripping your hair and feeding his length past your lips, stretching your mouth wide.
“Fuck… that’s it,” Toji groaned, eyes rolling back as your tongue swirled around him.
They found their rhythm fast, Sukuna pounding your pussy while Toji fucked your throat, their hands roaming your body. You came hard with a muffled scream around Toji’s cock, pussy clenching and gushing around Sukuna. Both men groaned at the feeling.
The gluck-gluck-gluck mixing with the constant schlick-schlick of Sukuna destroying your pussy. You moaned desperately around Toji’s length, tears streaming as you came hard. Your pussy spasmed violently, squirting around Sukuna’s cock.
Sukuna followed instantly, pumping rope after rope of hot seed into your pulsing cunt until it leaked down your thighs. Toji came last, thrusting himself deep down your throat flooding your mouth with thick cum.
Toji pulled out of your mouth as he wiped the mess across your cheek, smirking down at your tear-streaked, fucked-out face. “Swallowed most of it like a good girl.”
You barely caught your breath before Sukuna yanked you up by the hair, spinning you around and shoving you onto your back on the couch.
Toji moved in immediately, grabbing your ankles and folding you in half, knees pressed to your shoulders in a mean mating press. “Fuck—wait—” you whimpered, still twitching from the last orgasm.
He grinned down at you, that scarred lip curling as the fat head of his cock nudged your swollen folds, pushing Sukuna’s seed back inside you.
“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll go slow on this pretty pussy.” Toji growled, he sank in with his thick cock and fuck, he was even bigger than Kuna. You moaned loudly as Sukuna caught the look on your face, he was determined to get an answer, “Who’s bigger, Ji or me?”
a/n: I think Toji’s bigger but that’s j cus he’s sittin right here next to me
summary. “my voice isn't deep but my throat is. . ” ; tutorial on how to be stupid and ruin your man’s slash your throat day
trigger / warnings. Explicit, F/M, Reader-Insert, Female Reader, Second Person POV, Established Relationship, Married Couple, PWP, Smut, Deepthroating, Oral Sex, Face-Fucking, Throat Bulge, Messy Blowjobs, Dominant Male Characters, Submissive Reader, Brat Taming, Risky Sexting, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation, Possessive Behavior, Size Kink, Power Dynamics, Coming Home Horny, Office Sex (implied), Spit Play, Drooling, Light Choking, Multiple Pairings, Bratty Reader, Husband Kink, Cock Worship, Modern AU.
A/N. credit to the person who make this on tiktok (couldn't remember the username)
Gojo Satoru
the vibration of his phone against the polished wood of his desk is what pulls satoru gojo's attention away from the stack of mission reports he was absolutely not reading. he was staring at them, sure, but his mind had been elsewhere—on the way you'd looked this morning, sleep-rumpled and soft in his oversized shirt, pressing a kiss to his jaw before he left. he'd been thinking about coming home early.
then the phone buzzed.
he reaches for it lazily, one long finger swiping across the screen without much thought because who else would be texting him at nine in the morning but you? probably another picture of the cat doing something stupid or a complaint about the coffee machine. he's already smiling, a small private curve of his lips that nanami, sitting across the conference table, pointedly ignores.
but then he reads it.
my voice isn't deep but my throat is
the words sit there on the screen, innocuous little black pixels against white, and satoru gojo—the strongest sorcerer alive, the man who has faced down special grade curses without breaking a sweat, the honoured one himself—feels his entire body go rigid. his smile freezes and then dies. his eyes, usually hidden behind the dark lenses of his blindfold, narrow behind the black fabric. his cock, traitor that it is, twitches hard against the seam of his slacks.
he reads it again.
and again.
"something wrong, gojo-san?" ijichi's voice is hesitant, nervous, because everyone in this room can feel the sudden shift in his cursed energy. it's not threatening, not exactly, but it's heavy. it's thick and warm and pressing down on the air itself, making nanami shift in his seat and ijichi's pen clatter against his notepad.
"nope," gojo says, and his voice is too light, too airy, the way it gets when he's about to do something unhinged. "everything's fine. just got a very... interesting message from my wife."
nanami makes a sound low in his throat, something between disgust and resignation. "please do not elaborate."
"wasn't planning to," gojo chirps, but his thumb is already moving, typing out a response with a speed that would be impressive if it weren't so ominous.
you have ten minutes to get to my office and prove it.
he hits send and then sets the phone down carefully, face-up, watching the little delivered notification turn to read. the three dots appear. disappear. appear again. he can picture you on the other end, standing in the kitchen probably, still in his shirt, coffee going cold on the counter, reading his text and realizing exactly what you've done.
you text back: or what?
oh, you brat.
satoru doesn't dignify that with a response. he simply leans back in his chair, crosses one long leg over the other in a way that does absolutely nothing to hide the growing situation in his pants, and waits. ijichi is still talking about budget allocations for the kyoto exchange event but the words are just noise, static fuzz in the background of the singular focus that has narrowed his entire existence down to the door of this office.
seven minutes and thirty-two seconds later—he's counting—the door opens.
you're standing there in one of his dress shirts, the white one he wore to the last clan meeting, and it's buttoned wrong. one button off, making the collar sit crooked against your throat, and underneath it he can see the edge of your sleep shorts, the ones with the little strawberries on them. your hair is a mess. your lips are slightly parted from the jog up here. you look like you just rolled out of his bed and came straight here, and the possessiveness that roils through his chest is almost violent.
"sorry to interrupt," you say, and your voice is sweet, so sweet, dripping with fake innocence like honey laced with poison. "i was just looking for my husband. have you seen him? tall, annoying, thinks he's funny?"
ijichi chokes on air. nanami stands up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "i'm taking my lunch break," he announces to no one, and then he's gone, dragging a sputtering ijichi behind him, the door clicking shut with damning finality.
and then it's just you and satoru and the thick, charged silence between you.
"funny," he echoes, and his voice has dropped, the playful lilt gone and replaced by something lower, rougher, a gravel drag that makes your thighs press together involuntarily. "you think you're funny, sweetheart? sending me that filth while i'm in a meeting? while i'm supposed to be working?"
you shrug, one shoulder lifting, the too-big shirt slipping to bare the curve of your neck and collarbone. "i was just stating facts."
satoru uncrosses his legs slowly, deliberately, and leans forward in his chair. his blindfold is still on but you can feel the weight of his stare regardless, six eyes boring into you from behind black fabric, seeing everything—the quickening of your pulse in the hollow of your throat, the way your nipples have pebbled against the thin cotton of his shirt, the subtle shift of your weight from foot to foot. you're nervous. you're aroused. you're exactly where he wants you.
"come here."
not a request. you cross the office floor, bare feet silent against the expensive rug, until you're standing in front of his chair. he's still seated, long legs spread wide, hands resting on the armrests like a king on a throne, and the power differential of it makes your stomach flip. he's so big like this, towering even when he's sitting, and you feel small in the best way.
"on your knees."
the words are soft, almost tender, but there's steel underneath them. you sink down obediently, the plush carpet cushioning your knees, and now you're eye level with the very obvious bulge straining against his black slacks. your mouth waters. you can't help it. months of marriage and he still makes you feel like this, like you're drowning in him, like you'd do anything just to hear him groan your name.
"you know," he says conversationally, reaching down to trail one knuckle along your jaw, feather-light, "i was having a perfectly boring morning. reading reports. pretending to care about nanami's opinions on curse classification. and then my pretty little wife decides to send me that." his thumb presses against your lower lip, dragging it down, and you open for him without being told, letting the tip of it rest against your tongue.
"my voice isn't deep but my throat is," he quotes, and his voice cracks on the last word, just slightly, betraying the iron control he's clinging to. "you've got a dirty fucking mouth, baby. anyone ever tell you that?"
you suck on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks, and watch his jaw clench above you. the blindfold is still on and somehow that makes it worse—better—the anonymity of it, the way he becomes less human and more force, a presence rather than a person. your husband is in there somewhere but right now he's just hunger given form.
"was thinkin' about you," you murmur around his thumb, and his breath hitches. "woke up and you were gone and i was... empty. wanted you to come back. wanted to feel you."
"so you thought you'd text me that you've got a deep throat." his laugh is breathless, incredulous, a little bit wrecked. "my god, you're a menace. a fucking menace. and i married you. what does that say about me?"
"that you've got good taste."
he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a wet pop and uses the same hand to cup your chin, tilting your face up further. "prove it, then. prove what you said. show me how deep that pretty throat goes, sweetheart."
your hands come up to his belt, fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, never from fear with him, but from anticipation, from the sheer overwhelming want that's been building since you sent that text. the leather slides through the buckle with a soft hiss, and then you're popping the button of his slacks, dragging the zipper down tooth by agonizing tooth. he lifts his hips to help you, just a little, and the casual cooperation of it makes something warm bloom in your chest. even like this, even when he's playing at being demanding, he's still taking care of you.
his cock springs free, heavy and flushed, the head already slick with pre-cum that catches the office light. he's big—you knew that, you married that—but it still steals your breath every time, the sheer length and thickness of him, the way he curves slightly to the left, the prominent vein that runs along the underside that you've traced with your tongue a hundred times and will never get tired of.
"there he is," you breathe, and satoru makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh or might be a groan.
"don't talk to my dick like it's a person."
"but he's my favorite person." you wrap one hand around the base, not even close to meeting your fingers around his girth, and squeeze gently. his hips jerk, just once, an involuntary response that he can't control. "aren't you? aren't you my favorite?"
"i'm divorcing you."
"no you're not." you lean in and press a kiss to the tip, soft and chaste, tasting salt and skin and him. "you love me."
"i love you," he agrees, and his voice has gone rough, raw, stripped of all pretense. "i love you so much it makes me stupid. now please—fuck—"
you take him into your mouth before he can finish the sentence.
the first few inches are easy, familiar territory, your tongue flattening against the underside as you sink down. his hand flies to the back of your head, not pushing, just resting there, fingers threading through your messy hair with a gentleness that contradicts everything about this situation. he's always like this—demanding and soft in equal measure, rough words and tender touches, a contradiction wrapped in expensive fabric and supernatural power.
"that's it," he breathes, and you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he's holding himself back. "that's my good girl. look at you. look at what you do to me. can't even—ah—can't even function when you send me shit like that. whole meeting went to hell. nanami's probably filing a complaint with hr right now."
you hum around him, a wordless acknowledgment, and the vibration makes his thighs tense beneath you. his fingers tighten in your hair, just slightly, just enough to make your scalp prickle.
"deeper," he says, and it's not a command, it's a plea. "come on, baby. you said your throat was deep. prove it to me. let me feel it."
you breathe through your nose and relax your jaw and push.
the stretch is intense, the familiar burn of taking him past your comfort zone, past the point where your gag reflex usually protests. but you've been practicing—god, have you been practicing, every chance you get, because making him fall apart like this is your favorite thing in the world—and you take him deeper than you ever have before. your nose brushes against the fine white hairs at his base, and your throat constricts around him, and satoru whines.
the strongest sorcerer in the world whines like a wounded animal, high and desperate, and the sound goes straight to your cunt.
"fuck, sweetheart, fuck, that's—how are you—hah—" his words are fragmenting, falling apart, and you can feel him twitching against your tongue, can taste the steady leak of pre-cum sliding down your throat. "you weren't lying. you really weren't lying. my perfect girl, my perfect fucking wife, taking me all the way down like you were made for it—"
you pull back just enough to breathe, a thin stream of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock, and look up at him through your lashes. his blindfold is still on but his mouth—his mouth is parted, lips wet and red from where he's been biting them, and his cheeks are flushed pink above the black fabric.
"told you," you rasp, and your voice is wrecked already, hoarse and rough. "my throat's deep."
"yeah," he agrees weakly. "yeah, you definitely—you definitely proved that. fuck. come back. come back, i need—"
you swallow him down again before he can finish, and this time you don't stop. you set a rhythm, slow and deep, pulling back until just the tip rests on your tongue and then sinking all the way down until he hits the back of your throat. your jaw aches. your eyes are watering, mascara probably running in dark tracks down your cheeks. you don't care. you can't care, not when he's making those sounds above you, those broken little gasps and moans that he'd deny to his dying day.
"your mouth," he's babbling now, his composure completely shattered, hips rolling up in tiny aborted thrusts that he can't seem to control. "your perfect fucking mouth, baby, it's like—it's like you were custom-made for me, like someone designed you just to ruin me, and it worked, it fucking worked, i'm ruined, i'm absolutely—nngh—"
his thumb finds the corner of your mouth, stretched wide around his girth, and presses against the seam where your lips meet his skin. he groans like he's dying.
"feel that? feel how full you are? look at you. look at my good girl, taking every inch like it's nothing. you love this, don't you? love being on your knees for me, love choking on my cock while i tell you how perfect you are."
you moan around him, a wet garbled sound, and his answering curse is filthier than anything you've ever heard from him.
"yeah, you do. you love it. love being my pretty little cocksleeve, my perfect warm mouth, my—ah, ah, right there, sweetheart, right fucking there—"
you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, and satoru's entire body bows forward, his forehead dropping to rest against the top of your head. his breath is hot and damp against your hair, coming in ragged pants that fog the strands.
"i love you," he says into your hair, muffled and desperate. "i love you i love you i love you, you absolute menace, texting me that while i'm in a meeting, making me hard in front of nanami, making me—making me feel like this, like i'm going to crawl out of my own skin if i'm not inside you, like—"
you pull off him with a slick sound, stroking him with your hand instead, twisting your wrist on the upstroke in the way you know makes his toes curl. "you are inside me," you point out, voice wrecked and smug. "well. part of you."
"brat," he gasps. "mouthy little brat. i should—i should bend you over this desk and—"
"and what?"
his blindfold comes off. you don't see him move, don't see him reach for it, but suddenly it's gone and his eyes are there, those impossible blue eyes, pupils blown so wide they're nearly black, the six eyes swirling with something ancient and hungry and entirely focused on you.
"and keep you here all day," he finishes, voice dropping to something dark and promising. "keep you on your knees under my desk while i take meetings, let you warm my cock with that pretty throat, see how long you can last before you're begging me to let you come. before you're dripping down your thighs and everyone in the room knows, knows what a desperate little thing you are for me."
your cunt clenches around nothing. you whimper.
"yeah," he says softly, reaching down to cup your jaw, thumb wiping through the tear tracks on your cheek with devastating tenderness. "that's what i thought. but not today. today you're going to get back to work, sweetheart, because i'm not done with you."
his cock is still hard, still wet from your mouth, still pressed against your cheek where he's holding your face. he doesn't seem to care. doesn't seem in any hurry to finish what you started.
"what?" you breathe, and it comes out confused, desperate, aching.
satoru smiles, and it's the smile of a man who has all the time in the world and intends to use every second of it.
"you heard me. back to work." he tucks himself back into his slacks—still hard, still blatant, not even trying to hide it—and zips up with infuriating calm. "i have reports to finish. you have... whatever it is you do all day. we'll pick this up tonight."
"you can't be serious."
"deadly." he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, chaste and sweet, a mockery of everything that just happened. "you wanted to play games, baby. texting me filth while i'm working. so now we play. you're going to think about this all day. about my cock down your throat. about what i'm going to do to you when i get home. and by the time i walk through that door, you're going to be so wet i could slide in with one thrust."
you're still on your knees. your jaw aches. your throat is raw. and he's dismissing you like you're an employee who's overstayed their welcome.
"you're evil," you whisper.
"i'm your husband," he corrects, and kisses the tip of your nose. "now get out of my office before i change my mind and keep you here. i have a meeting in twenty minutes and i need to figure out how to sit through it without nanami murdering me."
Geto Suguru
the buzz of your phone against the marble countertop had been your first warning. the second had been the three little dots appearing and disappearing beneath suguru geto's name, a sure sign that whatever he was typing was being rewritten, reconsidered, chewed up and spat out by that razor-sharp mind of his. you'd been lounging on the velvet chaise in the living room, one leg dangling off the edge, the afternoon sun slicing through the blinds and painting stripes of gold across your bare thighs. you knew his schedule.
you knew he walked into that pristine, minimalist office of his at exactly 1:55 pm, set down his leather briefcase, and took exactly three sips of the pour-over coffee his assistant had waiting before he even glanced at his personal cell. you had timed it perfectly.
you'd typed it out with a sort of languid cruelty, your thumb hovering over the send button while you imagined the scene: suguru, long black hair half-tied back, suit jacket draped over the back of his ergonomic chair, the sharp line of his jaw tightening as he read the words. my voice isn't deep but my throat is. such a stupid, juvenile text. something a brat half your age would send to get a reaction.
but that was the point, wasn't it? you weren't half his age, but the gap was there, a decade plus of experience and composure that you loved to pick at like a loose thread on an expensive sweater. you wanted to see the composure fray. you wanted to yank that thread until the whole damn thing unraveled.
you sent it.
the silence that followed wasn't silence at all. it was a vacuum. it sucked the air out of the room, replaced it with a heavy, pressurized static that made the hair on your arms stand up. no ellipsis. no read receipt, even though you knew he had read previews turned on. just the cold, delivered timestamp staring back at you.
you bit your lip, a flicker of genuine fear igniting low in your belly. good fear. the kind that pooled wet and warm between your legs. you had poked a sleeping dragon. no, worse. you had walked up to a meditating monk and flicked him right between the eyes. you stayed on that chaise for the next three hours, not moving, not reading, not watching anything. just existing in the charged atmosphere you'd created, waiting for the storm to roll in.
you heard his key in the lock at 6:47 pm. usually, he texted when he was leaving the office. usually, you'd meet him at the door with a soft kiss and a glass of wine or a witty comment about his day. tonight, the door opened and closed with a soft, deliberate click that was somehow louder than a slam. you didn't move.
your heart was a frantic, hummingbird flutter against your ribs. you heard the soft thud of his briefcase being set down—not in its usual spot by the console table, but on the floor, right by the door, as if he couldn't be bothered to walk the extra three steps. then the slow, measured tread of his oxfords on the hardwood floor. each step was a countdown, a metronome ticking off the seconds until your judgment.
he appeared in the archway of the living room, and the sight of him made your throat click dry. he'd shed the jacket and loosened the tie, the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone to reveal the pale column of his throat and the sharp cut of his collarbone. his hair was fully down now, a sleek black curtain framing a face that was utterly, terrifyingly blank.
but his eyes. god, his eyes. they were dark, hooded, the pupils blown so wide they'd swallowed nearly all of that deep violet iris. he looked at you lying there, draped over the chaise like some pampered pet, and he didn't smile. he just tilted his head, a slow, predatory cant of his chin.
“get up,” he said. his voice wasn't loud. it was soft. it was the soft, silken rasp of a blade being drawn from its sheath. it was worse.
you swallowed, the sound audible in the tense quiet. “suguru, i—”
“i said,” he cut you off, the same quiet tone carrying an edge that could have sliced diamond, “get. up. and come here.”
you moved. you didn't scramble, you weren't that far gone yet, but you didn't dally. you rose on legs that felt a little too much like jelly and crossed the space between you. the late afternoon sun had faded to a bruised twilight blue outside, the room now lit only by the dim glow of a single salt lamp in the corner, casting everything in hues of amber and shadow.
you stopped a foot away from him, close enough to smell the remnants of his expensive cologne—cedar and bergamot—and underneath it, the clean, warm scent of his skin. he didn't reach for you. he didn't touch you. he just looked down at you from his considerable height, and the corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile, but an acknowledgment of the situation you'd put yourself in.
“my voice isn't deep but my throat is,” he repeated your text back to you, letting each word hang in the air, slow and deliberate, tasting them like a sommelier sampling a wine he'd already decided was flawed. his gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, then lower, to the column of your throat, before snapping back up.
“do you have any idea what that sentence did to my afternoon? i was in the middle of a conference call with the kyoto branch when my phone buzzed. i opened it under the table, thinking it was you reminding me to pick up milk or telling me you loved me. and i read… that.”
his hand came up then, not to your face, but to your hair. his long fingers slid into the strands at the nape of your neck, and he didn't pull, not yet. he just gathered a fistful, tightening his grip incrementally until you felt the roots protest, a dull, grounding ache that tilted your chin up to meet his stare.
“i had to sit there for two more hours,” he continued, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just behind your ear in a gesture that was deceptively tender given the steel in his grip.
“hard as a fucking rock behind my desk, nodding along to quarterly projections, while all i could think about was your pretty little mouth and the filthy, disrespectful things that come out of it. you made me a liar today. i had to excuse myself and tell takeda-san that i had a migraine. a migraine.” he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it held no humor. “the only thing throbbing was my cock, and it was all your fault.”
you tried to speak, to offer some clever retort or a whimper of apology, but the words died in your throat as his grip tightened fractionally. he used that hold to guide you downward, a firm, insistent pressure. you went willingly, your knees hitting the plush area rug with a soft thud. this was the proof he'd demanded.
this was you proving your words. and looking up at him from this angle, his tall frame looming over you, the evidence of his "migraine" straining obscenely against the fine wool of his dress pants right at your eye level, you felt a wave of dizzying, submissive heat wash over you.
“there she is,” he murmured, the first hint of real warmth—or was it condescension?—coloring his tone. with his free hand, he reached down and traced the curve of your jaw, his thumb coming to rest on your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to part them.
“my sweet, dumb little thing. you really don't think, do you? you just get a wicked idea in that empty little head of yours and your fingers type it out before your brain can catch up and remind you who you're talking to. you forget that i'm not one of those boys you could bat your lashes at. i'm a man who remembers every single debt. and you, baby, just racked up a very large one.”
he pulled his thumb away from your lip, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a second before it broke. he used both hands now to unbutton his pants, the sound of the zipper being drawn down obscenely loud in the quiet room.
he didn't push them down, just opened the placket enough to free himself. he was thick and heavy, the head flushed an angry, neglected red. he held himself at the base, not stroking, just presenting. a statement. an expectation.
“now,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate murmur.
“you made a promise, albeit a very crudely worded one. you claimed your throat was… what was it? something noteworthy? show me. show me just how noteworthy it is. and i swear to you, if you even think about using those little hands of yours to do the work your mouth should be doing, i will pull you over my lap and turn that pretty ass of yours the same shade of pink as that lipstick you’re not wearing. do you understand?”
“yes, suguru,” you breathed, the words ghosting against the sensitive head of his cock.
“good girl,” he praised, the words a soft, dark caress. he let go of your hair only to slide his fingers back along your scalp, cradling the back of your head now instead of restraining it. “open up for me, baby. let's see if you can take it. i've had a long, frustrating day. i'm not feeling particularly patient. so be a sweetheart and prove that mouth of yours is good for more than just getting you into trouble.”
you opened your mouth, letting your jaw go slack, and leaned forward. you didn't start with your tongue on the tip, like you normally would, teasing and coy. that wasn't what this moment was for. he wanted the proof of your text, the crude, visceral reality of it.
so you took him. you pushed forward, letting the smooth, hot skin of his shaft slide over your flattened tongue, past your teeth, and toward the back of your mouth. you felt the spongy head nudge your soft palate and you gagged, just slightly, a wet, choking sound that was swallowed by the flesh filling your mouth.
“mmm,” he hummed, the sound vibrating through him and into you. his hips didn't buck, he was too controlled for that, but you felt the muscles of his thighs tense under his pants where your hands rested on them for balance. “there's that throat. struggling already and i'm not even halfway in. what happened to all that confidence from your text, hm? lost it along with your ability to form a coherent thought?”
his words were a low, steady stream of filth that made the fire in your belly blaze higher. he kept the hand on the back of your head, not pushing, just… guiding. a silent reminder that he could, at any moment, take over. you breathed through your nose, focusing on relaxing the muscles of your throat, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue.
you pulled back, a long, wet slide, until just the tip rested on your lower lip, and then you dove forward again, taking him deeper this time. the wet sounds were lewd, a slick, obscene squelch that filled the quiet room.
“fuck,” he hissed, the curse drawn out and sharp. “look at you. my pretty little cocksleeve. you were so bored today you had to text me that? you needed attention this badly? needed to feel useful?” his hips gave a tiny, involuntary twitch forward, just enough to make you gag again, your throat constricting around the intrusion. “you're drooling all over your chin, baby. it's a good look for you. much better than the clever brat on my phone. you're so much sweeter when that mouth of yours is full.”
you moaned around him, the sound a muffled, desperate vibration. your own arousal was a damp, insistent throb between your legs, your panties clinging to your folds. you shifted on your knees, trying to alleviate the ache, and the movement made you take him even deeper, until your nose was pressed against the crisp fabric of his open pants, the scent of clean laundry and his musk filling your senses. your throat worked around him, fluttering and gripping, proving the truth of your words with every wet, struggling inch.
“that's it,” he groaned, his composure finally starting to crack. his voice was a rough, wrecked thing now, all that smooth control scoured away by the feeling of your throat. “just like that, baby. take it. take all of it. you wanted to wreck my concentration? you wanted to make me sit in that office and burn for you? well, now you get to feel what you did to me. you get to feel how fucking hard you made me. there's no rush, sweetheart. we have all night. i'm going to use this greedy little throat of yours until you can't talk, until the only sound you remember how to make is that pretty gagging noise. then maybe, just maybe, you'll think twice before you send me a text like that again.”
he pulled your head back gently by your hair, letting him slip from your mouth with a wet pop. a thick strand of saliva connected your swollen lips to the ruddy, glistening head of his cock. your eyes were watering, your mascara smudged just so, and your lips felt bee-stung and used. he looked down at the mess he'd made of you and a slow, genuine smile finally touched his lips—a dark, possessive curl of satisfaction.
“we're just getting started,” he said softly, his thumb wiping the drool from the corner of your mouth before pushing it back inside, making you suck the taste of him off his own skin. “you wanted to prove your words? you're going to be on your knees proving them for a very, very long time tonight, baby. until that smart mouth of yours forgets every word but my name.”
Toji Fushiguro
toji fushiguro doesn't do mornings. he does the cold weight of a blade against his palm, the satisfying click of a suppressor being threaded into place, the mathematical certainty of a contract fulfilled. he does stale coffee from a vending machine and the grimy leather of his beat-up sedan. what he absolutely does not do is walk into the shitty little "office" he rents under a fake name in shinjuku—a place he only uses to clean weapons and avoid the landlord at his actual apartment—and get hit with a text message that makes him stop dead in the doorway with his keys still dangling from his scarred lip.
he'd only glanced at the screen because he'd felt the buzz against his thigh, assuming it was shiu with a new job file. it wasn't. it was you. and the words on the cracked screen made the blood in his veins reroute so violently he had to brace a hand against the doorframe, the wood groaning under his grip.
my voice isn't deep but my throat is.
he stared at it for a solid thirty seconds, the overhead fluorescent light flickering and buzzing like a trapped fly. his jaw tightened until the scar tugged painfully at the corner of his mouth. you'd timed it perfectly.
he'd just sat down in the creaky swivel chair, the one that groaned like it was dying every time he leaned back, and now he was staring at the concrete wall trying to figure out if he wanted to strangle you or fuck you into a coma. both. definitely both.
the worn fabric of his black cargo pants suddenly felt two sizes too small, the heavy zipper pressing uncomfortably against the rapidly swelling length of his cock. he palmed himself through the thick material, a low hiss escaping through his teeth as he read the message again, your name glowing like a taunt at the top of the chat log.
"fucking brat," he muttered to the empty room, the words a gravelly scrape of sound. his thumb hovered over the keyboard, the urge to type something threatening and vile warring with the sheer, blinding lust that was fogging up his peripheral vision. he had a hit scheduled for two o'clock. he needed to strip his glock, re-oil the slide, and do a range check on the scope for the rifle.
instead, he was sitting here with a dick so hard it could probably be used as a blunt force weapon, all because you'd decided to be a smart-mouthed little cocksleeve from the comfort of your shared bed.
he didn't text back. toji fushiguro wasn't a man who wasted words when actions would do. he let the silence stretch, let the anticipation curdle in your gut while he spent the next eight hours in a state of absolute, agonizing torture.
every step he took as he moved through the city to scout the location, the seam of his pants rubbed against the sensitive head of his cock, keeping him in a constant state of half-arousal that made him even more irritable than usual. being an assassin is ninety percent waiting and ten percent violence, and waiting while you're rock hard because your girl sent you a fucking pornographic text is a special kind of hell.
he nearly blew the whole job when his mark, some yakuza underboss with a sweat sheen on his brow, walked out of the pachinko parlor early. toji had been adjusting himself in the stairwell, hissing as the friction sent a jolt of pleasure-pain up his spine, and almost missed the clean headshot window. he had to compensate, the rifle kicking against his shoulder as he took the shot through a dirty windowpane, the suppressor spitting a quiet cough.
by the time he kicked the door of the apartment open at half past ten, he was a live wire of frustration and pent-up need. the apartment was dim, lit only by the blue glow of the tv playing some show you'd fallen asleep watching on the couch.
you weren't asleep. you were sitting up, wrapped in one of his old hoodies, looking up at him with those wide, faux-innocent eyes that knew exactly what you'd done to him. he didn't say hello. he didn't ask about your day. he dropped his duffel bag with a heavy thunk that rattled the floorboards and crossed the room in three long strides. his hand, still smelling faintly of gun oil and cordite, fisted in the collar of the hoodie and hauled you upright off the couch cushions.
"you think that shit is funny?" his voice was a low rumble, devoid of any humor, his green eyes dark and flat as they bore into yours. "do you have any idea what it's like trying to line up a four-hundred-yard shot with a hard-on because my girl wants to act like a cheap whore over text?"
he didn't wait for an answer. he used his grip on the hoodie to drag you down, your knees hitting the cheap tatami mat floor with a soft thud. he stood over you, a wall of muscle and menace, his shadow swallowing you whole. his free hand went to the button of his fatigues, popping it open with a flick of his thumb. the sound of his zipper lowering was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a metallic hiss that made your stomach clench.
"you're gonna prove it," he growled, fishing his cock out of his boxer briefs. it sprang up, thick and heavy, the vein on the underside throbbing visibly in the low light. he wasn't fully hard anymore—the hours of walking had softened him just enough to be frustrating—but he was getting there fast just looking at the way your lips parted. "you said your throat is deep. let's see if you can take it all without choking like the last time, yeah? you're gonna sit there on your knees and earn that text."
he let go of the hoodie only to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair and twisting, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to establish exactly who was in charge here. with his other hand, he slapped the heavy, warm weight of his cock against your cheek. once. twice. the sound was lewd, a soft thwack of skin on skin that left a faint trail of pre-cum glistening on your cheekbone. "open up, baby. daddy had a real long fuckin' day because of you."
the moment your jaw went slack, he pushed in. he didn't ease into it. toji wasn't built for gentle. he fed you the first few inches with a grunt, watching your eyes widen as the blunt, flared head of him pressed past the barrier of your lips and bullied its way onto your tongue. the taste of him was salt and musk, a day's worth of frustration made tangible. "thaaat's it," he groaned, the word drawn out and rough like tires on gravel. his head fell back for just a second, his adam's apple bobbing as he savored the wet heat of your mouth. "fuck, look at you. already droolin' all over my dick like a hungry little puppy. this what you wanted all day? huh? wanted my fat cock stuffin' your throat while i was out there working?"
his hips gave a lazy, testing roll forward, pushing another inch deeper. he could feel the flutter of your palate against the underside of his shaft, the instinctive gag reflex that you were fighting to suppress. his grip in your hair tightened, holding your head steady as he began a slow, devastating rhythm. he wasn't fucking your face—not yet. this was just a preview. this was him savoring the view of his cock disappearing between your swollen lips, the way your tongue flattened against the sensitive ridge of his frenulum every time he pulled back.
"yeah, you like that, don't you?" his voice was a low, affectionate drawl now, the earlier anger bleeding away into pure, lazy dominance. praise dripped from his lips, sticky and sweet like honey mixed with sin. "look so pretty like this, princess. prettiest thing i've seen all day. those idiots at the office don't got a clue what i got waitin' for me at home. a sweet little thing with a throat made for wrecking."
he pulled out completely, his cock bobbing wetly against his stomach, a thick string of saliva and his own slick connecting the tip to your bottom lip. he reached down and used his thumb to smear the mess across your chin, a satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. "stick your tongue out. flat. want to see where i'm gonna put it."
you complied, and he let out a shaky exhale, something akin to awe flashing in those usually dead green eyes. he placed the heavy length of his shaft on your extended tongue, letting it sit there, letting you feel the weight and the heat of him. "this is what you own, baby. this is what you made hard all day. feel that? that's your fault. every fuckin' throb."
then he slid back in, this time deeper. his hand on the back of your head pulled you forward as his hips pushed in, a slow, insistent pressure until your nose was flush with the dark, coarse hair at the base of his groin. your throat constricted around him, a wet, fluttering vise that made his toes curl in his boots. he held you there, his abdomen flexing with the effort of not coming on the spot, listening to the choked, guttural sounds you made as you struggled for air through your nose.
"there it is," he panted, his voice strained and full of filthy reverence. "there's that deep throat. fuckin' knew you could take it. good girl. such a good, dumb girl for me. lettin' me use this pretty hole however i want."
he let you breathe for a second before doing it again. and again. he established a languid, possessive pace, using your mouth like his own personal toy. he'd pull out until just the tip rested on your lips, letting you suckle on it greedily, lapping at the slit with desperate flicks of your tongue, and then he'd push back in, burying himself to the hilt with a wet, obscene squelch. the room filled with the sound of it—your wet gagging, his low, breathy moans, the slick sound of flesh meeting flesh.
"fuck, listen to you," he grunted, his hips rolling in a slow grind against your face. "sound so messy. sound like a fuckin' dream, baby. makes me wanna just... stay here all night. just keep my cock warm in this throat while i watch tv. you'd let me, wouldn't you? you'd sit here on your knees for hours just to keep me happy 'cause you're my sweet little cocksleeve."
he pulled out again, this time using his hand to tap the wet, heavy head against your lips repeatedly. tap. tap. tap. "open wider. jaw's gettin' tired? too fuckin' bad. you started this. you don't get to tap out 'til i say so."
he pushed back in, but instead of the usual rhythm, he just... stayed there. he seated himself fully, his balls resting snugly against your chin, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh. his hand in your hair loosened, his fingers gently massaging your scalp as he just stood there, buried in the wet heat of your throat. the tension from the day, the frustration of the missed shot window, the irritation of the train ride home—it all melted away as he focused solely on the feeling of your throat muscles fluttering helplessly around his invasion.
"yeah," he breathed out, his voice barely a whisper now, soft and almost tender. "that's the spot. right there. just keep me warm for a minute, baby. just let daddy rest his cock in that pretty throat. you feel so fuckin' good. so soft. so hot. my good little girl."
his thumb stroked over your cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear that had leaked from the corner of your eye—a physiological response, nothing more. he looked down at you, his expression unreadable but undeniably soft in the dim light. the big, scary assassin was gone. this was just a tired, horny man who'd been thinking about this exact moment for nine hours straight.
"next time you send a text like that," he murmured, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary flex that pushed him a fraction of an inch deeper, making you gurgle softly around him. "you better be in this position waiting for me when i walk through the door. maybe bent over the arm of the couch with a plug in that other tight hole too. give me a full-course meal to come home to after a hard day. you understand me?"
he slowly, achingly slowly, began to move again. just a few inches, a shallow, lazy glide in and out of the snug ring of your lips. he wasn't chasing anything. he was just enjoying the ride, enjoying the control, enjoying the wet, sloppy sounds of your mouth as he used it to soothe the ache he'd been nursing all day. his head lolled back, eyes falling half-closed, his lips parted around quiet, deep groans of satisfaction.
"fuckin' hell, baby. your mouth is a goddamn national treasure. should be illegal to feel this good. 's like... warm honey and fuckin' silk." his words were slurring now, drunk on the sensation of you. "could do this all fuckin' night. just... lazy like this. not even fuckin' you hard. just... feelin' you."
he pulled out one last time, letting his cock rest on your swollen lips, slick and shiny in the tv light. he rubbed the head back and forth across your bottom lip, smearing your own saliva across the sensitive skin. "keep your mouth open."
he didn't give you a reason. he just stood there, stroking himself slowly, the wet sound of his hand on his shaft filling the space. his eyes were locked on your open mouth, on the dark cavern of your throat waiting for him.
"want to see it one more time," he said, his voice rough with a need that had nothing to do with climax. "want to watch you swallow me down on your own this time. show me how much you missed this cock, baby. show me how sorry you are for making me hard at work."
he waited, his chest heaving, his cock twitching in his grip, ready to slide back into the only place he'd been thinking about for eight goddamn hours. the night was young, and he was in no rush at all.
Shiu Kong
the buzz of your phone against the polished wood of shiu kong's desk was a sound he normally ignored until he'd finished reviewing the morning's case files. but it was 9:47 am, precisely thirteen minutes before you usually texted him a picture of whatever cute bento arrangement you'd packed for his lunch, and he found his thumb swiping across the screen before his brain could tell him to focus on the arbitration clause in front of him.
he read the message once. then twice.
his tie suddenly felt like a noose.
my voice isn't deep but my throat is.
shiu exhaled slowly through his nose, setting the phone down face-up on the stack of manila folders as if it were a live grenade. the leather of his office chair groaned as he leaned back, palming the sudden, insistent ache straining against the fly of his tailored slacks. he was a man who dealt in information, in leverage, in the careful application of pressure over time. he didn't do impulsive. but you—his sweet, much younger wife who still blushed when he called her a good girl in public—had just lobbed a fucking missile into his meticulously ordered morning.
he didn't text back. that was the first rule of shiu kong's personal code of conduct: never negotiate with terrorists via sms. instead, he let the image fester in his mind. the image of you typing that out in the kitchen, still in his oversized shirt from last night, biting your lip with that specific blend of nervousness and bratty defiance you only got when you'd been reading those filthy romance novels you hid under the guest bed. he imagined the way your throat would constrict around the words if he made you say them out loud. that's when his hand moved to adjust himself under the desk, a rough, frustrated squeeze that did nothing but make the throbbing worse.
he waited.
the clock on the wall ticked with the slow, deliberate patience of a man who had spent years cultivating informants. by the time the door to his office clicked open at exactly 12:02 pm, the scent of your perfume and warm rice wafting in ahead of you, shiu was hard enough to drill through the mahogany.
"hi, baby," you chirped, holding up the thermal bag with a smile that was a little too innocent, a little too knowing. "i made those pork katsu rolls you like—"
"lock it."
his voice wasn't loud. it never was. it was the specific timbre of calm that preceded an earthquake, and it made your step falter for just a half-second before you caught yourself. you turned, the soft click of the lock sounding deafeningly loud in the soundproofed room. when you faced him again, he hadn't moved from his chair. he was still leaning back, one elbow on the armrest, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, his dark eyes fixed on your mouth.
"put the food down on the table," he instructed, his gaze dropping deliberately to the front of his slacks where the outline of him was obscene and undeniable. "then come here. you've been running that mouth from across town all morning. i want to see if the rest of it lives up to the marketing."
you set the bag down carefully, your hands trembling just enough for him to notice, which only made the corner of his lip twitch. that was the thing about shiu—he didn't get loud when he was angry or aroused. he got lazy. he got comfortable. he leaned further back in his chair, legs spreading a fraction wider as you approached the edge of his desk, and he pointed lazily at the floor between his oxfords.
"on your knees, sweetheart. we both know why you sent that text. you wanted me distracted all morning, thinking about those pretty lips stretched around me instead of reading contracts. well, congratulations." his hand came down to palm himself openly through the fabric, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest as he watched your pupils blow wide. "you won. now you're going to sit right there on the floor of my office and prove that this smart little mouth is good for more than just giving me migraines."
there was no hesitation in the way you sank down. the carpet was plush, expensive, the kind meant for long meetings with wealthy clients. it felt sinful against your bare knees. shiu watched the descent with hooded eyes, his fingers working the buckle of his belt with a metallic jingle that filled the quiet room. the zipper came next, a slow, deliberate rasp that made your mouth water before you even saw him.
"look at you," he murmured, freeing himself from the confines of his boxer briefs. he didn't rush. he let the weight of his cock slap against the fine wool of his pants, thick and flushed an angry red at the tip, a single bead of precum already catching the overhead light. "you're drooling already and i haven't even touched you. you've been thinking about this since you hit send, haven't you? sitting at home, playing with your little clit while imagining how pissed off i'd be?"
"shiu..." your voice was a whisper, a plea.
"shh. don't use that voice unless you're planning on wrapping it around me." he leaned forward just enough to run his thumb across your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting it snap back wetly. "open up. and keep those eyes on me. i want to see the exact moment that smart mouth of yours realizes it's too much to handle."
he didn't shove. shiu wasn't a teenager in the back of a car. he fed you the tip first, just the blunt, hot head of him pressing past your lips. the taste of him—clean skin and salt and that specific musk that was just him—flooded your senses. his hand didn't fist in your hair; it cupped the back of your skull, fingers threading through the strands gently, a stark contrast to the filthy, heavy weight settling on your tongue.
"there we go," he sighed, the sound drawn out and utterly satisfied as he watched your lips seal around him. "look at that stretch. god, look at you. you talk so much shit for someone who can barely fit the first two inches. you said your throat was deep, baby. i'm waiting."
you took more. it was a concentrated effort, relaxing the reflexive gag, breathing through your nose as you slid forward. his hand remained steady on the back of your head, not pushing, just present. a reminder that he was in control of the pace whether you liked it or not. his hips stayed perfectly still in the chair, letting you do the work, letting you struggle against the thickness of him as you tried to take him down.
"fuck," he breathed out, the curse soft and reverent. "that's my good girl. you're trying so hard to prove you weren't lying, huh? but you're shaking. your little hands are gripping my pant leg like you're on a rollercoaster."
he leaned forward slightly, the movement pressing him just a hair deeper, enough to make your eyes water and your throat constrict reflexively. the sound that came out of him was a low, guttural groan—the kind of noise that vibrated straight through your chest and settled wetly between your thighs.
"that's it. that's the sound i wanted. not that sharp voice you use when you're telling me i forgot to take out the trash. this wet, sloppy, pathetic little gurgle." his thumb stroked the corner of your stretched mouth. "you feel that? that's your throat trying to swallow me. it's trying so hard to be good for me, even when you're choking on it. you're so dumb right now, aren't you? brain empty. just a warm, wet hole for me to fuck because you couldn't keep your phone in your pocket."
he pulled back just enough to let you breathe, a string of saliva connecting his tip to your swollen lip. his eyes were dark, almost black, and he tilted your chin up with his knuckle. "deeper. relax your jaw. stop fighting it and just let me use it."
you nodded, dazed, and opened wider. this time, he didn't let you set the pace. his hand tightened in your hair—not painfully, just firmly, like a tether—and he guided you down. his hips finally rolled upward in a slow, lazy thrust that pushed past the barrier of your soft palate and into the tight, velvet clutch of your throat. the sound you made was a strangled, wet glk that echoed in the quiet office.
shiu's head fell back against the chair with a thump, a ragged groan tearing from his chest. "oh, fuck. there it is. there's that deep throat you promised me. took you long enough to find it. you get so lost when i'm in your mouth, don't you? can't even remember how to breathe unless i tell you."
he held you there for a three-count, feeling the rhythmic clench of your throat muscles trying to swallow around the intrusion. it was heaven and hell wrapped in the soft, warm cavern of your mouth. when he let you up for air, you were a mess—spit shining on your chin, eyes glassy and unfocused, a soft, whining moan escaping your lips the second they were free.
"look at the mess on my floor," he chuckled, the sound dark and affectionate. he used his thumb to wipe the drool from your chin before sucking it clean off his own skin. "you're leaking through your leggings, aren't you? bet if i touched you right now, you'd soak my hand. all this just from having your throat stuffed full. you don't need a deep voice, baby. you need a cock to shut you up."
he didn't give you time to recover. he pulled you back down, this time setting a steady, languid rhythm. his hips rolled up to meet your descent with a practiced, lazy precision. the office filled with the wet, obscene symphony of your mouth working him over—the slick glide of saliva, the soft, breathy grunts he made each time he bottomed out, the choked, gurgling sounds you couldn't hold back.
"that's it, just take it," he cooed, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble. "you're doing so well for an old man like me. such a sweet little throat. i should keep you under my desk all day. just have you warming my cock while i take conference calls. you'd like that, wouldn't you? you'd sit there and drool all over my balls while i talk about liability insurance, just happy to be used."
he leaned forward again, his chest pressing against the back of your head as he buried himself to the hilt and held. your nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base, your throat bulging obscenely around his length. you gagged, hard, your hands flying up to grip his thighs for stability.
"shh, shh, breathe through your nose," he murmured against your hair, his voice softening for just a second before the dark edge returned. "no, don't tap out. you wanted to prove you could take it. so take it. feel me right here?" his hand moved from your head to press gently against the front of your neck, feeling the rigid shape of himself through your skin. "i can feel myself in your throat. that's insane. you're such a filthy little thing, letting your husband do this to you in his office."
he pulled back, letting you gasp and sputter, a mixture of saliva and precum dripping down your chin and onto your shirt. you looked ruined. your mascara was starting to smudge, your lips were puffy and red, and you were moaning softly even without him inside you, your hips shifting unconsciously against the floor.
"you love this," shiu stated, not asked. he was stroking himself slowly now, using your spit as lubricant, watching you watch him. "you love being put in your place. you love it when i get that look in my eye and remind you who owns this throat. say it."
"i love it," you rasped, your voice hoarse and wrecked, barely a whisper.
"louder. and look at me while you say it."
you lifted your chin, meeting his heavy-lidded gaze. "i love it when you fuck my throat, shiu."
the corner of his mouth curled into a satisfied smirk. "good girl. now be quiet and open up again. i'm not done proving my point. and when we're done here, you're going to sit on my lap and feed me those pork katsu rolls with your fingers while i'm still hard and wet inside you. because this is what happens when you text me porn at nine in the morning."
he guided himself back between your swollen lips, sighing at the familiar heat. this time, he was slower, savoring the way your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft, the way your throat fluttered in welcome. his hips rolled like a gentle tide, pushing deep, retreating just enough to let you gasp, then pushing back in before you could fully recover. it was a lazy, possessive fuck, the kind that said he had all the time in the world to ruin you.
"listen to that," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. the room was a chorus of soft, wet sucking sounds and his own low groans. "that's my favorite sound in the world. better than any settlement check. you, gagging on my cock, crying because it feels too good to stop. you're so pretty when you're dumb. your eyes get all glossy and you just... float."
his thumb brushed away a fresh tear that had escaped the corner of your eye. the gesture was so tender, so at odds with the way his hips were now thrusting up into your throat with increasing need, chasing the tight heat of you. "you're okay," he cooed, even as he held your head steady and fucked up into your mouth with a wet, sloppy squelch. "you're doing so good. just a little more. let me feel that throat squeeze me again. yeah, fuck, just like that. choke on it, baby. let me hear it."
the sounds you made were filthy. pure, unadulterated, pornographic bliss. and shiu kong, the most composed man in the building, was falling apart in his office chair because his wife had sent him a text about having a deep throat. he watched the way your lips stretched around him, the way your nose flared for air, and he knew he'd never be able to look at his desk the same way again.
Nanami Kento
“my voice isn't deep but my throat is.”
the message blinked up at him just as he set his leather briefcase down on the polished mahogany of his desk, the morning light still thin and grey through the blinds of his corner office. nanami kento had barely had time to remove his blazer, to let the familiar weight of another tedious workday settle onto his shoulders, before his phone had vibrated with that singular, devastating notification.
he had expected a reminder about his ten o'clock meeting, perhaps a query from a junior associate regarding the quarterly projections. what he received instead was a sentence so crudely, brilliantly obscene that it short-circuited every rational pathway in his brain and rerouted all available blood flow directly south with a force that made him grip the edge of his desk, knuckles going white against the wood grain.
for a long, suspended moment, he simply stood there, his tie suddenly feeling like a noose around his thickening throat, the crisp cotton of his dress shirt an unbearable friction against the sudden, rigid heat straining against the front of his tailored slacks.
he could feel his pulse hammering a frantic, angry rhythm in his temples and, more treacherously, in the heavy, throbbing length now trapped and aching against his thigh. he was a patient man, a man who prided himself on his stoicism, his ability to compartmentalize. he could endure mind-numbing board meetings, inane small talk with clients, the soul-crushing bureaucracy of corporate finance.
but this? this was a specific, targeted assault on his composure, a deliberate act of sabotage perpetrated by the one person he allowed past his carefully constructed defenses. you. his much younger, impossibly bratty, and utterly irresistible wife. you knew his schedule. you knew he had back-to-back meetings all day, starting with the partners' briefing in exactly seventeen minutes. and you had sent that text anyway.
he didn't text back. there was no response adequate to the crime you'd just committed. words felt flimsy, impotent in the face of the relentless, pulsing demand now governing his every thought. he spent the next nine hours in a state of agonizing, hyper-aware purgatory. every step he took was a conscious negotiation with the insistent ache in his groin, a constant, low-level throb of frustration that made his jaw clench and his usually placid demeanor sharpen into something far more dangerous. during the partners' meeting, as old man saito droned on about risk assessment metrics, nanami sat ramrod straight, his gaze fixed on a point just above saito's balding head, his mind a million miles away.
he was picturing you, not as you were when he'd left you this morning, sleep-rumpled and soft in his bed, but as you would be later. on your knees. he shifted almost imperceptibly in his chair, the heavy drag of his cock against the inside of his thigh a secret, maddening torment. he was so hard it bordered on painful, a dull, spreading ache that radiated outward from his core, making his trousers feel obscenely tight and his skin feel too small for his body.
lunch was a tasteless ordeal, a bento box he pushed around with his chopsticks while his cock throbbed a persistent, muffled drumbeat against the confines of his pants. he could feel the damp heat of his own pre-cum soaking into the fabric of his boxer briefs, a constant, sticky reminder of your vulgar, wonderful promise. you had said your voice wasn't deep but your throat was. such a simple, dirty little boast. and now he was going to make you prove it.
not because he was a cruel man, but because he was a man pushed past the brink of his considerable patience, a man whose carefully ordered world had been gleefully upended by a single, salacious text message. by the time the antique clock on his office wall finally, mercifully, clicked over to six-fifteen, signifying the end of his day, he was a tightly coiled spring of pure, undiluted want.
he drove home in a fog of anticipation, the city lights blurring past his window into streaks of meaningless color. he didn't bother with the radio. the only soundtrack in the car was the heavy sound of his own breathing and the relentless, pounding need between his legs. when he finally shouldered open the front door of your shared apartment, the quiet click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silent space.
he found you exactly where he expected you to be, curled on the plush sofa, a book in your lap, the very picture of domestic innocence. you looked up at him with those wide, deceptively guileless eyes, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of your lips. the smile of a woman who had spent her entire day basking in the knowledge of the chaos she had unleashed.
“welcome home, ken,” you said, your voice as sweet and light as honey. that voice. the one you claimed wasn't deep.
he didn't return the greeting. he simply crossed the room in three long, deliberate strides, his movements unhurried but charged with a quiet, implacable force. he stopped directly in front of you, his tall, broad-shouldered frame blocking the light from the standing lamp, casting you entirely in his shadow.
his hand came up, his movements still slow, almost tender, as he undid the perfect knot of his speckled tie with one hand. he pulled the length of silk free from his collar and let it drop to the floor, a soft whisper of sound against the hardwood. then, he reached down and unbuckled his belt, the metallic jangle of the clasp echoing in the quiet room. he didn't unzip his trousers yet. he just loosened them, a subtle but unmistakable signal of intent. his cock was a rigid, insistent shape straining against the dark grey fabric, a sight he made no move to hide.
“you have a very big mouth for such a little thing,” he finally said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that was utterly devoid of the patient, professional tone he used all day. this was the voice of a man who had been thinking about nothing but the hot, wet clasp of your mouth for hours. “i read your text this morning. i had to sit through a three-hour budget review with a hard-on so severe i thought i might crack a tooth from clenching my jaw. all because my sweet, filthy wife decided to be a tease.”
he reached down and gently, but with an undeniable firmness, took the book from your unresisting hands and set it aside. then his fingers found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his heavy-lidded, golden-brown gaze. “you said your throat was deep. i've been thinking about it all day. measuring it in my mind. wondering if you were just being a brat, or if you were actually prepared to back up such a claim. so here's what's going to happen, sweetheart. you're going to get on your knees right here on this rug, and you're going to prove it to me.”
there was no command in his tone, only a quiet, absolute certainty. he guided you down with the barest pressure on your shoulder, and you went willingly, the plush fibers of the rug meeting your knees. he watched you descend with an almost clinical fascination, his gaze tracing the line of your neck as you looked up at him.
“that's my good girl,” he breathed, the praise a warm, intimate caress. “so obedient now. couldn't be this good for me this morning, could you? had to send me a message designed to make my cock ache all day.”
he finally unzipped his trousers, the sound sharp and decisive. he didn't pull himself out. instead, he reached down and brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch infinitely gentle, a stark contrast to the raw, throbbing need pulsing just inches from your face. “i'm going to take my time now, darling. you stole my focus for an entire workday. you made me sit in meetings with a dripping, aching cock that wouldn't soften, no matter how many times i mentally recited the quarterly depreciation figures. you owe me. you owe my cock a very long, very thorough apology.” his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip, pressing down just slightly, feeling the plush give of it.
“open up, sweetheart. let me see that deep, talented throat of yours.”
when your lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping you, he let out a low, rumbling sound of approval from deep in his chest. “ah, there it is. so pretty and pink. it's a shame you use it for such wicked things as texting your husband filth while he's trying to work.” he finally freed himself from the confines of his boxer briefs, his heavy cock springing forth, the thick, flushed head already slick and glistening with the evidence of his day-long torment.
he was long and undeniably thick, the kind of size that required patience and care, a fact he was well aware of. he held himself at the base, not aggressively, but with the casual ownership of a man who knew his own body and yours.
“i'm not going to fuck your face,” he stated plainly, his thumb still resting on your lower lip, keeping your mouth slightly agape. “not yet. you're going to do all the work. you're going to show me just how sorry you are. i want to feel that clever little tongue first. i want you to taste what you did to me all day. taste it.” he guided the broad, weeping head of his cock to your waiting lips, smearing the slick, salty fluid across them in a slow, deliberate glide.
“that's it. get it nice and wet. you made this mess. you clean it up. such a messy, needy little thing you are, sending your husband dirty texts while he's at the office. did you touch yourself thinking about it? did you rub that needy little cunt while you imagined me reading it, getting all hard and frustrated?”
he didn't wait for an answer, because the question was rhetorical. he knew you did. he eased the head of his cock past your lips, just an inch, and let out a hiss of pure, agonized relief. “f-fuck,” he stuttered, the profanity torn from him, his carefully constructed composure finally cracking at the first wet, silken touch of your mouth. “that's… god, that's good. your mouth is so warm. it's been so cold in that office all day. all those numbers. and all i could think about was this. this exact heat.”
he let you set the pace, his hand moving from his base to cradle the back of your head, not pushing, just… resting there, a heavy, warm, reassuring presence. his other hand remained on your chin, his thumb still hooked over your teeth, keeping your mouth open and relaxed for him.
“that's it, baby. take your time. we have all night. i've been hard for nine hours. you can spend at least a few minutes making it feel better. use your tongue more. yeah, just like that. right on that little spot on the underside. you know exactly where, don't you? you know my cock better than i know my own portfolio. smarter than you look, aren't you? or maybe you just look dumb when you're like this, with my cock stretching your pretty lips. a little dumbification looks good on you, sweetheart.”
he watched you with a hooded, intense gaze, his breathing deepening as you worked him over with your tongue, lavishing attention on the sensitive head, tracing the thick vein that pulsed along the underside. “mmhm, that's my good fucking girl,” he praised, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper.
“so eager to make it up to me. you should be. i had to excuse myself from the afternoon meeting. pretended i had an urgent call. went to the restroom and just stood there in the stall for five minutes, palming myself through my pants like a desperate teenager because of you. because you whispered that filthy little promise in my ear from across the city. you're a menace. an absolute, wet-mouthed menace.”
he allowed you to take him deeper, inch by agonizing inch, his jaw going slack as he felt the head of his cock nudge against the soft resistance at the back of your mouth. “oh,” he breathed, the sound barely audible. “there it is. that's the spot you were bragging about, isn't it? feels tight. feels like it wants to swallow me whole. i'm not going to make you do it all at once. i'm not a monster. i'm a patient man, remember? i'm going to let you get comfortable. i'm going to let you drool all over my cock until it's a sloppy, slick mess. i want it messy. i want to hear it. i want to hear how wet your mouth is for me. i want to hear those little gagging, choking sounds when you try to take a little more than you're ready for. because you will try, won't you? because you're so desperate to prove you're my good, deep-throated little wife.”
he pulled back slightly, just enough to let you breathe, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening head of his cock. “breathe, sweetheart. through your nose. nice and slow. there's no rush. i've been aching all day. a few more minutes of this lazy, perfect torture won't kill me. it might, actually. you look so fucking beautiful like this. on your knees, in my shadow, your mouth all messy and wet just for me. my cock is the only thing that exists in your world right now, isn't it? all those silly little thoughts are gone. just the weight of it on your tongue. the taste of me. the need to please me. that's all you need to think about. just being a warm, wet, willing place for me to rest my cock after a very long, very hard day. you did this to me. now you get to fix it.”
his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk, pressing just a fraction deeper, and you gagged softly, a wet, choked sound that made his eyes flutter shut and a low, guttural moan vibrate in his chest. “nghhh, yeah. just like that. that sound. i've been replaying a fantasy of that sound all day. the sound of my cock hitting the back of your throat. you have no idea. you have no idea the power you wield with that mouth.
but you're learning, aren't you? you're learning that for every bratty text, there's a consequence. and your consequence is kneeling on this rug for as long as it takes for me to feel that every last inch of your throat is properly acquainted with my cock. not to come. no, we're not there yet. this is just… an introduction. a long, slow, lazy fuck of your pretty face. just to remind you, and this greedy cock of mine, exactly who it belongs to.”
Higuruma Hiromi
the courtroom of your shared apartment is silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city that never cared about the war crimes about to be committed on your throat. you're on your knees on the cold hardwood because he'd pointed once, just once, finger crooked like he was calling a recess, and your body understood the verdict before your brain could file an appeal.
the wool of his suit trousers scratches against your cheek when you nuzzle forward, inhaling the scent of him—starch, sandalwood, the faint metallic tang of old paper and older justice—and above you, higuruma hiromi exhales a sound that is not quite a sigh and not quite a groan, something caught in the docket between contempt and wanting.
“two hours,” he says, and his voice is the same one he uses when he's dismantling a witness on cross, low and measured and absolutely devastating. “you sent that text two hours before you were supposed to leave. did you think i would forget? did you think i would read those words—'my voice isn't deep but my throat is'—and simply file it away as evidence pending review?” his hand finds your hair, not gentle, not rough, just there, fingers threading through the strands like he's flipping through case notes, like he's searching for the precise paragraph where you admitted guilt.
“you knew exactly what you were doing. premeditation. malice aforethought. you wanted me hard in the middle of a deposition. you wanted me shifting in my chair, recrossing my legs, clearing my throat while opposing counsel droned on about easements and property lines, all because my pretty little wife decided to commit an act of domestic terrorism via text message.”
you try to speak but his grip tightens just slightly, a warning, a judicial order to remain silent while the court is in session. “ah, no. the time for testimony was before you hit send. now we're in the sentencing phase. and i've been thinking about your sentence for one hundred and twenty excruciating minutes. do you know how long that is to sit with an erection in a three-thousand-dollar suit? do you know how many times i had to excuse myself to the restroom just to stand in a stall and breathe through my mouth and recite the civil procedure code backwards until i could walk without limping?” his thumb traces the shell of your ear, deceptively tender, the way he might handle a piece of evidence he's about to tear apart on the stand.
“you're going to make it up to me. you're going to show the court exactly what that clever little throat can do. and i'm going to talk you through every second of it because that's what you wanted, isn't it? you wanted my voice. you wanted the words. you wanted me to lose my composure so completely that i'd have no choice but to take you apart with language alone.”
his belt buckle is cold when your fingers find it, and he lets you fumble because the fumbling is part of the punishment, part of the exquisite torture of watching you struggle with the leather and the clasp while he remains perfectly still, perfectly composed, a marble statue of a man who has sentenced men to death with less emotion than he's showing right now. “there you go,” he murmurs, and the praise drips down your spine like warm honey, sticky and sweet and utterly condescending.
“such a good girl when you're not being a menace to my professional reputation. do you have any idea what i had to endure? nakamura from across the table asked if i was feeling unwell because i kept pressing my palm against my thigh under the table, trying to will away the image of you typing that message with a smirk on your face, knowing, always knowing exactly what you do to me.” the leather slides free with a whisper and then the zipper, that metallic purr that makes your mouth water even before you see him, even before you feel the weight of him against your lips.
“the prosecution would like to enter into evidence exhibit a: the text message in question, sent at precisely 4:23 PM, reading 'my voice isn't deep but my throat is' followed by a winking emoji that i will personally see burned at the stake for its complicity in this crime.” his voice has dropped half an octave, still controlled but fraying at the edges like old rope, and you can hear it, the strain, the way he's holding himself together through sheer force of legal will.
“and exhibit b: the defendant's current position, on her knees, mouth already open, pupils blown wide, looking up at me like i'm the one who committed a felony when we both know who the real criminal is here. the court finds the defendant... guilty. guilty of being an insufferable little tease. guilty of making a grown man, an officer of the court, contemplate faking a family emergency just so he could come home and fuck that smart mouth until it forgot how to form words.”
you take him into your mouth and the sound he makes is not a moan, not yet, it's a punched-out exhale, a hiss of air through clenched teeth, the noise a man makes when he's been holding his breath underwater for too long and finally breaks the surface. “that's it,” he breathes, and his hips twitch once before he locks them down, iron control, the same control he uses to keep his face blank when a witness lies through their teeth.
“that's my girl. that's my sweet, filthy girl who thinks she can say absolutely anything to me and get away with it. but you don't get away with it, do you? you end up right here, every time, on your knees, with your mouth full and your eyes watering, and you love it. you love being put in your place. you love when i talk to you like this, when i use all these big words and long sentences to tell you exactly what a desperate little thing you are.” his fingers flex in your hair, not pushing, just holding, anchoring himself to the reality of your warm wet mouth and the obscene sounds starting to fill the quiet apartment.
“the court would like to note for the record that the defendant has exceptional technique,” he continues, and there's a tremor in his voice now, a crack in the judicial facade, and you work harder for it, take him deeper, let your throat relax around him the way you've learned, the way he taught you with patient hands and increasingly unraveled praise.
“exceptional. truly. i've seen a lot of things in my career, defendants who could lie with a straight face, prosecutors who could twist a narrative until it sang, but i have never, in all my years, encountered anything as devastating as the way you hollow your cheeks and look up at me like you're waiting for a grade, like you need me to tell you you're doing well, like my approval is the only verdict that matters.” a wet sound escapes around him and he groans, actually groans, the noise dragged out of him against his will, and his head tips back for just a moment before he forces it forward again, forces himself to watch.
“see? see what you do? two hours i sat there, professional, composed, the picture of legal decorum, and all the while i was thinking about this. about the way you'd look up at me. about the sounds you'd make. about how wet your cunt gets just from having your mouth used, don't think i don't know, don't think i can't see you pressing your thighs together right now like that's going to help anything.”
he's right, of course he's right, he's always right, and your thighs are pressed together so tight you can feel the tremor in your own muscles, the ache of emptiness between them, the way your body is begging for attention you know you won't get until he decides the sentence has been served. “the court recognizes the defendant's... discomfort,” he says, and there's a smile in his voice now, dark and amused and terribly fond, the smile of a man who has spent twenty years finding loopholes in the law and is now applying that same creativity to making you squirm.
“but the court also recalls that the defendant chose to send a sexually explicit text message during business hours, knowing full well that the plaintiff—that would be me, darling, keep up—would be forced to endure two hours of uninterrupted arousal before he could address the situation. so really, the defendant's current state of... need... is self-inflicted. poetic justice. the scales don't lie.” his thumb traces your stretched lips, feeling himself through the thin barrier of your skin, and his breath catches audibly.
“god, look at you. look at you taking all of me. my perfect girl. my perfect, ridiculous, infuriating girl who texts me filth while i'm trying to work.”
you make a sound around him, something desperate and muffled, and he shushes you with a gentleness that contradicts everything else about this moment, his thumb stroking your cheek now, wiping at the tears that have started to track down from the corners of your eyes. “i know, sweetheart, i know. it's a lot, isn't it? all that cleverness, all that bravado in a text message, and now look at you. can't even speak. can't even form a coherent objection. overruled, by the way, whatever protest you were trying to lodge.
the court has heard enough from the defendant today. the court would much rather hear these sounds instead, these wet desperate little sounds you make when you're trying so hard to be good for me, when you're trying to make up for being so very, very bad.” his hips move now, shallow thrusts, barely there, just enough to feel the flutter of your throat around him, just enough to make you work to keep up.
“and you are being good now, aren't you? you're being so good. my good girl, finally, after two hours of being an absolute menace to my sanity. i should keep you like this always, you know. just on your knees, mouth available, all those sharp words swallowed down where they belong. think of how productive i'd be at work if i knew i was coming home to this. think of how quiet the apartment would be without you running that pretty mouth about anything other than my cock.”
the condescension should make you angry, should make you pull back and snap at him, but it doesn't, it never does, it just makes you wetter, makes you take him deeper, makes your eyes roll back a little as you surrender to the role he's assigned you: dumb little wife, pretty little mouth, nothing but a warm place for him to empty all those hours of frustration.
“there she is,” he breathes, and the approval in his voice is a physical thing, a warmth that spreads through your chest even as your jaw aches and your throat burns. “there's my girl. stop thinking. you don't need to think. you just need to take what i give you and be grateful for it. that's your sentence, by the way. in case you were wondering. the court sentences you to stop thinking, stop scheming, stop sending me messages designed to ruin my entire day, and just... exist here, on your knees, with your mouth full of me, until i decide you've learned your lesson.” his thumb presses against the corner of your lips again, feeling the stretch, and he makes a low sound of pure masculine satisfaction.
“though we both know you never learn. you'll do this again next week. next month. next year. you'll find some new way to crawl inside my head and set up camp there, and i'll let you, because i am weak, because i am utterly, pathetically devoted to you, because even two hours of torture is worth it if it ends with you looking up at me like i'm the only thing in the world that matters.”
the rhythm builds slowly, inevitably, the way his cases build toward closing arguments, every thrust a new piece of evidence, every wet sound an exhibit entered into the permanent record of your marriage. he's talking continuously now, a stream of legal jargon and filth and praise all tangled together, his composure finally crumbling around the edges as his hips lose their perfect control and start to move with real need.
“the defense rests,” he says, and it comes out ragged, “no, the prosecution rests, i don't even know anymore, i can't think when you do that thing with your tongue, yes, that thing, exactly that thing, you know exactly what you're doing, you always know, you're so smart except when you're being so dumb for me, so perfectly dumb, letting me use this clever mouth like it's nothing but a—” he cuts himself off with a groan, deep and resonant, and his hand in your hair tightens to the point of pain, the point of perfect, the point where everything narrows to this moment, this act, this absolute surrender of everything you are into his keeping.
“i'm going to keep you here,” he tells you, voice wrecked, “i'm going to keep you right here for as long as it takes for that message to stop playing on a loop in my head. could be minutes. could be hours. the court has tremendous discretion in sentencing, and i intend to exercise every last bit of it.” his eyes meet yours and they're dark, so dark, all that judicial restraint burned away to reveal the man underneath, the man who loves you, the man you drove crazy with eleven words and an emoji.
“you wanted my voice. you have it. you have all of it. every word i couldn't say in that deposition, every filthy thing i thought while pretending to care about zoning variances, every single syllable of how much i want you, how much i've always wanted you, how you ruin me daily and i let you, i beg you to ruin me, i sentence you to ruin me for the rest of our lives together.”
and on your knees, with your mouth full and your mind empty of everything but him, you accept the verdict.
Ryomen Sukuna
the lock screen of sukuna's phone glowed face-up on the polished mahogany of his desk, a single notification slicing through the silence of his corner office like a scalpel. he had been mid-scowl, staring at a quarterly earnings report that bored him to the point of physical pain, his jaw tight enough to crack granite. the message preview was from you, his pretty little wife, the one who was supposed to be at home resting that delicate, spoiled throat of yours with tea and honey after you'd complained of a tickle this morning. instead, the text read: my voice isn't deep but my throat is.
his thumb hovered over the screen for a solid three seconds. the air conditioning vent hummed overhead, and the distant click of his assistant's heels faded into white noise. sukuna's jaw unclenched, but only so he could bite down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.
a dark, predatory stillness settled over his broad shoulders, the kind of calm that preceded a category five hurricane. the tailored wool of his slacks suddenly felt like sandpaper against his skin, the fabric straining as his cock twitched violently against his thigh, fattening up with a speed that was almost painful.
you were a menace. a fucking brat wrapped in cashmere and his last name, sitting somewhere in his house, bored, and deciding to ruin his concentration with six words that made his vision swim with red. he didn't text back. he never did. words like that deserved an answer in person, delivered with the kind of weight only his presence could provide. he stood up so abruptly his chair rolled back and slammed into the credenza, the echo a gunshot in the empty room. meeting adjourned. afternoon cleared. he grabbed his keys with a violence that said he intended to use them on something other than the ignition.
the drive home was a blur of white-knuckled fury and aching need. every red light was a personal insult. every slow driver was a conspirator in your torture. by the time he shoved the front door open hard enough for the handle to dent the plaster of the foyer wall, he was a live wire, humming with a singular, obscene intent. the house smelled like you—vanilla and something clean, something soft.
it was a stark contrast to the burning, primal energy rolling off him in waves. he found you exactly where he expected, curled on the sectional in the living room, looking up at him with those wide, falsely innocent eyes over the rim of a ceramic mug. you were wearing one of his old band tees, the neck hole stretched and frayed, hanging off one shoulder. you knew. you fucking knew what that shirt did to him, and you wore it while sending a message that filthy.
“sukuna,” you breathed out, and your voice was a little scratchy, a little hoarse, playing up the sick card. “you're home early. did something happen at work?”
he didn't dignify that with a verbal response. he just crossed the room in three long, silent strides, the heavy thud of his dress shoes on the hardwood the only warning you got before he was standing over you, blocking out the light from the bay windows. his hand came down, not to strike, but to cradle—his large palm fitting around the column of your throat with a terrifying, familiar gentleness. his thumb stroked over your pulse point, feeling it jump and flutter under his touch like a trapped bird. his skin was hot, calloused from the gym, a stark contrast to the soft, vulnerable skin of your neck. he could feel the faint vibration of your nervous swallow against his fingers.
“read me the text you sent,” he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly scrape that had absolutely nothing to do with your fabricated sore throat. it was the voice of a man pushed past the edge of his patience, a man who had spent twenty minutes in traffic with a dick so hard it threatened to punch a hole through his zipper. “i want to hear it out loud. since you seem so proud of your writing skills, little wife.”
you swallowed again, and this time he felt the full, tight contraction of your throat muscles working against the cage of his fingers. you set the mug down with a shaky clink on the side table, your eyes locked on his. “my voice isn't deep,” you whispered, your own breath hitching as his grip tightened a fraction, just enough to make you aware of how easily he could crush the air from your lungs if he wanted to. “but my throat is.”
the second the words left your lips, the last thread of his composure snapped. his free hand went to the back of your head, fingers twisting roughly in the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back to expose the long, elegant line of your throat. “filthy mouth,” he growled, leaning down so his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp.
“wasting my time with spreadsheets when i could've been here watching these lips stretch around me. you think that's funny, don't you, baby? making a fool out of me at work? letting everyone in that goddamn building see me storm out with a hard-on because my wife doesn't know how to act right when she's left alone?”
he didn't wait for an answer. he didn't want one. he wanted you to prove your thesis statement. with a firm, unyielding pressure on your shoulder, he pushed you forward off the couch. the floor was thankfully covered by a thick, plush shag rug he'd bought specifically because he liked you on your knees and he didn't like seeing bruises on them unless he put them there with his mouth.
you went willingly, eagerly, sinking down onto the soft fibers as he stepped back just enough to work at his belt. the clink of the metal buckle was deafening in the quiet room, a tolling bell for the debauchery to come. you looked up at him from your knees, that innocent facade melting away into something hungrier, something that matched the fire burning low in his own belly. this was the you he married—the one who could look like an angel while thinking thoughts that would make a porn star blush.
“open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice tight with restraint. he freed his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs, and the sight of it made your lips part instinctively before his words even registered. he was thick, veined, the tip an angry, flushed red and glistening with a bead of pre-cum that had been leaking steadily since you hit send on that godforsaken text.
he was heavy in his own hand, and he gave himself a slow, languid stroke, tapping the wet head against your waiting bottom lip, smearing the slickness there like gloss. “there she is. my pretty, dumb little wife with a throat that's just begging to be used. you wanted my attention so bad, didn't you? couldn't stand the thought of me thinking about numbers and contracts instead of this wet, warm fucking mouth.”
“mhm,” you hummed, the sound vibrating against the sensitive crown of his dick, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily, a guttural groan tearing from his chest. he let you take him in slowly, watching with hooded, predatory eyes as your lips stretched wide to accommodate his girth. it was a tight fit, always was, and the sight of you struggling just to take the first few inches made his balls draw up tight and heavy.
your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft, a wet, welcoming heat that made his knees feel weak for just a split second. he fisted his hand tighter in your hair, not pushing, just anchoring himself in the reality of the moment—his sweet, mouthy little wife, on her knees for him, making good on her filthy promise.
“thaaat's it,” he drawled, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a lazy, rolling purr of satisfaction. he was still pissed, the anger simmering just beneath the surface, but it was tempered now by a bone-deep, possessive pride. “look at you, already drooling all over my cock and i haven't even moved. such a good girl when you're quiet, aren't you? you just needed something heavy in your mouth to shut that clever little brain off. is that it? you needed daddy to come home and fuck the thoughts right out of your head?”
you moaned around him, a wet, garbled sound that was more vibration than noise, and your eyes fluttered shut as you started to bob your head. he let you set the pace for a few blissful seconds, savoring the slick, tight glide of your throat. but he was still too wound up, the image of that text message burned into his retinas. he needed more. he needed to feel the proof of your boast. his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you back until just the tip rested on the cushion of your bottom lip. a thick string of saliva connected you to him, glistening in the afternoon light.
“nah, baby,” he murmured, shaking his head slowly, his lips curling into a cruel, affectionate smirk. “you said your throat was deep. you didn't say anything about your mouth. that's just the warm-up. i want what you promised. i want to feel these tonsils. open up wider. relax that jaw for me. c'mon, be a big girl.”
he pressed forward again, and this time he didn't stop at the entrance to your throat. he pushed past the resistance, groaning low and long as the head of his cock nudged into the impossibly tight, velvety heat of your pharynx. “ffffuuuck,” the word was drawn out, a hiss of pure, unadulterated pleasure. your eyes were watering, tears spiking your lashes, but your hands were gripping the fabric of his slacks at his thighs, pulling him closer, not pushing him away.
you were such a fucking marvel. so eager to please him, so desperate to prove you could take all of him. he held himself there for a beat, letting you adjust, letting you feel the heavy, throbbing weight of him lodged deep inside your neck. his thumb swiped under your eye, catching a tear. “that's my girl. look at you, crying all pretty on my dick. you love this, don't you? you love being my little throat warmer while i'm supposed to be making million-dollar deals.”
he started to move then, but it wasn't the frantic, face-fucking pace his anger initially craved. no, this was something lazier, something more intimate and degrading all at once. he kept his thrusts shallow, just barely pulling out of the tight clutch of your throat before sinking back in, a slow, wet, gliding rhythm.
each time he bottomed out, your nose pressed into the coarse, trimmed hair at his base, and he'd hold it there for a long, torturous second, letting your throat muscles flutter and contract around him in a desperate attempt to swallow or breathe. the sounds were obscene—a wet, rhythmic gluck-gluck-gluck that filled the living room, punctuated by his own deep, satisfied groans.
“that's my deep-throated little wife,” he praised, the words dripping with condescending affection. his hand was still at your throat, feeling the obscene bulge of himself through your skin. the tactile feedback made his own eyes roll back for a second.
“feels so fucking good, baby. you have no idea. sitting in that meeting, all those stuffy old bastards talking about market volatility, and all i could think about was this. this exact, tight, wet spot right here.” he pressed down on your throat where he was buried, and you gagged beautifully, the contraction making his cock jump.
“shhhhh, easy. i know. it's a lot, isn't it? too much cock for such a small, pretty throat. but you're doing so well. you're proving your point, aren't you, sweetheart? you've got the deepest, greediest little throat in the whole damn city.”
he pulled out completely, letting you gasp and sputter, a waterfall of drool spilling from your swollen, red lips down onto the front of his tee shirt. you looked wrecked, absolutely debauched, and he hadn't even gotten his pants all the way off. he liked it that way. he liked you messy and dumb for him, your brain turned to static from the lack of oxygen and the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled. he crouched down, his face level with yours, and his expression was a complicated mix of sadistic glee and genuine adoration. he kissed you, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue, a guttural sound of approval vibrating in his chest.
“don't think this is over because i let you breathe,” he murmured against your wet lips. “i'm still pissed. you owe me an afternoon. i'm going to sit on this couch, and you're going to stay right there on that rug, on your pretty knees, and you're going to keep my cock warm in that deep throat of yours until you forget what words even are. until that clever, bratty little brain is just a puddle of nothing but 'yes, sukuna' and 'thank you, sukuna'. understand?”
he didn't wait for a verbal confirmation. he just stood back up, dragging you with him by the hair to position you between his spread thighs as he sank back onto the sectional. he guided your mouth back down onto his spit-slicked, aching length, sighing in pure contentment as that wet heat enveloped him again. he grabbed the remote from the side table and turned on the tv, settling back as if he didn't have his wife's throat stuffed full of his cock.
his thumb stroked idly over the damp skin of your cheek, a silent, affectionate counterpoint to the filthy, lazy degradation of the act. “there we go. nice and deep. just like you promised, baby. good girl. just breathe through your nose and let daddy enjoy his afternoon off.” and you did, kneeling there on the soft rug, your world narrowed down to the heavy weight on your tongue and the quiet, possessive hum of the man who owned every inch of you, proving with every slow, lazy pulse of his dick in your throat that some promises were definitely meant to be kept.
When the topic of “the most embarrassing thing your ex ever said in bed” came up. You laughed, told him about the one guy who kept asking if you were “close yet” like he was checking a fucking timer. Toji snorted laughing, “Bet none of ‘em ever made you squirt, huh?”
You blinked at the dumb shit that he’d just said. “Made me…what?”
He stared at you for a second, then barked out a laugh. “You’re shittin’ me. You really don’t know?”
You shrugged, cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve come before. It feels good. But squirting? That’s…porn bullshit, not real life.” you laughed, kicking your legs up onto his lap. “Girls fake that shit for views.”
He sat up, elbows on his knees, looking at you like you were fucking crazy, “You serious right now?” You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, “Yeah, okay, Mr. Expert. You’ve made every girl you’ve fucked squirt then?”
He caught your ankle again when you tried to playfully kick his face, this time yanking you forward so fast you yelped, sliding you halfway onto his lap. “Hell yeah, everyone single one and the fact that none of those pathetic exes of yours ever got you there…kinda pisses me off.”
You opened your mouth to deny it, “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I’m not missing out on anything.” Toji’s hand landed heavy on your thigh, slapping it, “You are. And I’m not letting my best friend walk around thinking she can’t squirt when I know damn well she can…Bet I could make you.”
Now your best friend had you pinned on his bed, shirt shoved up over your tits, shorts and panties dangling off one ankle. His palm strokes slow circles over your stomach, the other hand resting heavy on your inner thigh. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, “You trust me, right?”
You nod, this was Toji. Your best friend. The guy who’s seen you ugly-cry over breakups and insults you about it. And now his fingers are sliding through your already slick folds like he’s done this a hundred times in his head. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he laughed at you. “Just from talking about it?”
You tried to glare at him, but it came out as a shaky breath when his calloused thumb found your clit and rubbed lazy circles. Your back arched off the bed, tits bouncing slightly with the movement since your shirt was bunched uselessly above them. “Shut up,” you moaned, as he pushed two thick fingers inside you. He leaned down, biting the side of your breast before sucking your nipple into his hot mouth.
“I—I don’t—” You gasped as he added a third finger, “It’s not gonna happen, Ji. I already t-told you—it doesn’t happen to me-e.” You’re soaked, embarrassingly so, as you bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly.
“‘Cause you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” Toji growled, releasing your nipple with a wet pop and shifting so he could watch his fingers disappear into you. “Toji—wait, it feels…weird—” you whimpered, trying to close your legs. It was too intense, like you had to pee but a hundred times stronger.
He spits on your clit, then drags his tongue through your folds in one long lick before sucking your clit into his mouth. “That’s your body telling you you’re about to squirt all over my fucking hand like a good girl.” He spits on your clit again, three thick fingers stretching you open as he fucks you faster.
The slick sounds were louder now, as you tried to close your legs, but Toji’s broad shoulders keep you spread wide, his free hand pinning your thigh down, the other curling perfectly while his palm slapped wetly against your clit with every stroke so you couldn’t escape the overwhelming sensation. “Squirt for me like a good fucking girl.”
You begin to whimper desperately, “Toji—Toji I—oh my god—!” You shake your head, panting, “Ji, seriously—stop, it feels like I’m gonna—” Your back arches hard, tits heaving, nipples stiff and aching from his earlier attention.
Your whole body is trembling, thighs trying uselessly to snap shut around his huge fuckass shoulders while gushing squirts soak Toji’s wrist, his forearm, the sheets beneath your ass in a clear, messy spray. You whimper louder as your squirt splashes messily against his chest and stomach, “Fuuuck, there it is,” Toji groaned, watching with satisfaction as you made a mess. “Look at that. Keep going, good girl, that’s it.”
When he finally slowed his fingers and pulled them out, you were a shaking whimpering mess. He lifted his soaked hand to his mouth and licked off his fingers groaning. “Fuckin’ told you,” he said, voice rough with arousal.
Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers as the last weak spurts trickled out. You lay there panting, trembling, thighs soaked and staring up at him in stunned, blissed-out disbelief. “Told you it was real,” he rasped, “It’s a good thing I love provin’ you wrong.”
♡ ྀི꒱ᩙ ࣪ ׅ ⊹ kento covers himself while eating u out !
kento is the biggest munch you've ever been with! he'll eat it for breakfast, lunch, & dinner if he could（and trust me, he absolutely tries to !）
but there's one little peculiar thing he always does . .
he always covers himself with a blanket over him while his face is buried deep in your sweet core. when he did it the first time you two ever got intimate, you just thought it was something he did out of respect for you and you wouldn't put it past him to do something like that so you let it be.
as time went on though, he continued doing this and so you couldn't help wonder why. so today you decide to find out just that.
while he's ever so sweetly lapping at your slicked folds, you very slowly lift up the blanket and peek in to see your beloved. he doesn't seem to notice at first since you're still letting out those cute whimpers of yours. but then, he soon hears a soft giggle from you and that makes his eyes shoot up to look at you.
and gosh, he looks so goddamn cute & sexy at the same time — so greedily suckling on your puffy clit and stretching you out with those thick fingers of his, it's like he's completely lost in the moment. then . . his eyes flit up to meet yours whose peaking so adorably with that pretty smile on your face.
kento stops like he'd just been caught doing something naughty（technically he had been!）and then his entire face flushes a shade of pink, smushing his cheek to your inner thigh. you'd never seen him get flustered like this & you genuinely feel your heart do flips at how cute he looks.
"honey . ." he mutters, squishing his face even more into the plush of your thighs. ". . what are you doing?"
"just looking at my lovely boyfriend." you muse, running your fingers through his hair. "because he's always hiding himself when he's eating me out."
the flush on his face gets darker as he lets out a tiny groan, embarrassed & bashful. ". . i just get shy about it, sweetheart. i don't know why but i just do."
your heart flutters at his adorable admission, and with that, you lower the blanket back down & you can hear kento hum in delight as he dives right back in to devouring you ❤︎ !
Satoru Gojo is the top masseuse at this fine establishment - he's the best at giving his clients the happiest endings. Yet you are by far the most tense damn girl he's ever touched.
"Shit, you're all locked up," he mumbles, those long fingers gliding across your muscles, pressing into your skin with that jasmine scented oil. "You good, sweetheart?"
"Mmm, not really," you mumble, sucking in a breath when he starts pressing harder on your sore, aching muscles. "Ah! You're so rough!"
"Well normally I just finger girls, you actually need a damn massage," you snort and he chuckles a bit, pausing when you turn your head to look at him, pretty eyes all dilated.
You're so fucking pretty.
This elegant pretty that comes from being in your late twenties that is his weakness - Satoru is twenty three but he loves a thirty year old milf. He just can't help his tastes, really, especially when they blush all sweet like you.
He's no poor college student trying to make it, no - he's rich enough to buy this entire spa twenty times over. Satoru is here for the joy of it, carpal tunnel and all can't stop him from making sure he got these clients off. Nothing really is as fulfilling as watching a woman come apart under his long fingers.
Making them squirt is truly a fucking art form.
But he never has felt this much tension, he's having to put his actual skills to use for once - and honestly? Satoru was better at fingering than rubbing backs.
He tugs that tiny towel down, till it's barely covering your ass, thumbs gliding in on those cute dimples. He vividly pictures how pretty your hips would be in his big ass hands - breedable hips that are wreaking havoc on his brain.
He's usually pretty unaffected, used to this, but the way you arch and whine out fucks him up.
Satoru kneads those thumbs into your hips now, a couple stretch marks right on them making him throb - he's not kidding when he says he loves a milf. You're gasping out, little filthy sound ruining him, he can't help but raise a brow.
"Hmm, husband not doing it for you?"
"I'm separated now..." You mumble, peeking at that spot your wedding band left a line.
You're still technically 'married' to your shitty husband Naoya, who had always been terrible, but recently fucked someone right in your bed, and had the utter audacity to act offended when you left. So what better to cheer you up, then to have someone work all that frustration out?
"Bad split?"
"You could say that..." you can't stop arching up a more, he takes the hint and slides his hands up your ribcage, eliciting a soft little moan.
Fingers glide down the sides of your breasts, your cunt is dripping wet then - the very recent memory of your cheating husband washed away with every glide of long fingers on your skin.
"You like me touching right here, sweetheart?" He asks softly. you moan, nodding. "Then turn around for me."
You obey easily, blushing a bit, his hands brushing oil on your tits, making your lashes flutter shut, covering up just a bit.
"Don't, you're sexy.."
You blush even more if that were possible, breasts rising and falling as his huge hands knead that flesh, plucking at your nipples. Satoru moves to stand right over your head, the view of his cock tenting his pants fucking you up.
"You're getting the highest tip," he snorts at that.
"Oh?" He's gliding more oil across your tummy, leaning over to part your thighs and eye your slick pussy, hesitating just a bit - this is where he likes to let the clients guide him. "Put my hand where you want."
"Oh..." your heart hammers in your chest as you slip it down further, he lets out a soft little moan when his fingertips are right between your slit. "Mnh!"
"You don't need any oil there," he muses softly, teasing fingers slipping up your slit, making you jolt as they toy with your twitchy clit. Your hips arch as he teases your entrance, slick pouring from your little hole down his fingers. "So wet already, we just started the massage.... your little cunt is so needy."
All you manage is your eyes rolling back in your skull - your man just never made you cum, and your own fingers didn't feel close to as good as those five inch fingers did.
You swear they're bigger than your ex's cock.
Rough fingertips dip in your slick just to the first knuckle, slutty little moans escape your throat at it.
"Feel good?" He murmurs softly, one hand holds your thigh apart, the other swirls around your messy cunt and sliding in. "You're so tight here, too, I think need to loosen you up."
"Please," this slutty masseuse with pretty blue eyes pumps your pussy full - stretching you out with these sweet nurn6, that spongy spot he presses, making you gasp out, back arching off the little bed. "Mnh, there, there!"
"Shh, not too loud," he leans fully over you to press a kiss on your inner knee - that was not protocol, not when he couldn't stop thinking of drinking your pussy and breeding you. "Your cunt is already so loud."
You huff, earning another chuckle, when suddenly you can't help but tug at his zipper, sliding so your head dangles off the bed. He pauses, blushing and looking down at you, fingers sliding out.
"What are..." You look up all pretty with hearts in your eyes for him, biting your lip, thighs shaking.
"I really want your cock in my throat, I'll pay so much more," he almost laughs.
Paying him to suck his cock!?
"You sure, sweetheart? This is for you."
"I'll love it if you would like it," you turn around, on your elbows and knees, looking right up at him as he frees his cock. "Is this special treatment?"
"It is, can't say anyone's touched me," he mumbles, suddenly nervous, when you've got your mouth wrapping his cock, his head falls back, groan slipping from his throat as that tip grazes the roof of your mouth.
You didn't look the type to suck a dick down your throat like you have no gag reflex - but here you are, swallowing him like you can't get enough. Your oiled up ass is arched, Satoru reaches a long arm over you, one hand entangled in your hair, the other finding your hole and fucking his fingers in and out.
The loud sounds of your squelching pussy and his cock choking your slutty throat are loud, the stupid ass spa music falling on deaf ears as he thinks he's in love with your mouth.
"F-fuck you're... too good at..." He's never one to be at a loss for words, but with every glide of his pretty pink tip in your throat, you're swallowing impossibly more of him. "That's it - fuck, just like..."
Satoru bites down on his lower lip as he shoves the back of your head so he's choking you with his length, curling his fingers just right so you squirt right down him. Dripping in rivulets you're making the biggest mess, squishing sounds loud when he rushes his fingers side to side to make you squirt even more.
"Mmmph," tears streak down your eyes as you swallow Satoru's cock, thighs shaking on the leather bed, nails pressing into well muscled thighs. His grip on your head tightens as he bends over, fucking your throat even faster
"Want me to use your throat, cum deep inside it, huh sweetheart? Use your mouth like a pretty toy till all my cum makes you full?" Your answer is to desperately suck, two of his hands now on your head. Hips snapping, cock fucking in and out.
For a woman who had nothing but missionary and a little spit on your cunt as lube, you've never wanted to please like this. You want him to use yojr throat - fuck you would let him use every hole he wanted, looking up at him to see his flushed cheeks through your watering eyes.
"Mnh, m"gonna..." he cups your face to hold it in place, cock bottoming out so his drool soaked balls press on your chin. He pumps so much cum his knees are weak, he damn near has to cling to the bed as you keep sucking. "That thirsty? Gonna suck me dry..."
You keep sucking even as he is sensitive, Satoru pulls back and looks at the mess he's made of you, cum having slipped down your chin. He gathers it and slips it back between your lips.
"Open for me, pretty."
You eagerly listen- you, a soccer mom having this white haired masseuse spit in your open mouth in a filthy string. You eagerly swallow him up, earning him yanking you to your knees, kissing you right when the little timer goes off for his next client.
"Oh," you flush as you realize just how much you loved that, tying your robe hastily and almost bouncing at the door before he stops you.
"Hey," he tilts your chin up, pressing you against the door. "Can I see you again? Like... dinner or..."
"You want to go on a date? With me?"
"Nervous about a date but you just let me spit in your mouth?" he grins and you cover your face now.
"Oh god..."
"Pretty please?"
He is pretty sure he is in love when you give him your number and peck a kiss on his cheek.
and when he has to cancel his next client, it may or may not be because he's jerking his cock to the way your juices are still coating his fingers 💗
