or any of the sort do not interact with my account, yes i’m kink shaming and no i do not care i think ur disgusting and wish u the worst; being attracted cnc or just rape is not normal even if this attraction comes from trauma, you shouldn’t indulge in it or try to normalise it, fics where ur getting oral while sleeping are disgusting, no normal person would enjoy that, waking up to that would be terrifying and most people who write things like this have never experienced how truly mortifying it is to be sexually assaulted by people you trust or love.
please have some respect and know you shouldn’t interact with my account cuz this isn’t a safe space for you.
It's your ten year high school reunion and there's just one person you're don't want to see, your first love - Satoru Gojo. He was the football captain, you were the cheerleader, it was that high school love that consumed you, only for it to all fall apart when Satoru broke your heart. Even after all these years, you still resent him for it, you hate him, in fact - so how do you two end up in the backseat of his sports car!?
˚⊹♡ pairings- ex bf! gojo x reader
˚⊹♡warnings- a little angsty, past emotions, high school sweethearts, you were a cheer captain and he was an allstar player, flashbacks, idiots in love, insecurities, teasing, mutual pining, longing, oral ( f receiving) fingering, squirting, riding him in the backseat, love confessions, happy ending <3
this one just randomly popped into my head out of nowhere, comments/rbs always appreciated if you enjoy! Wc- 7.3k
Art creds right here!
Ten years - it's been ten years since you saw him, your first love, your first kiss, the first everything.
High school reunion and truly the two of you look the same, he's a little buffer, his shoulders are broader, perhaps his jaw has sharpened ever so slightly - but it's undeniably him and you. Satoru Gojo - the top football player in the school and you - the pretty cheerleader who was always with him.
On him, near him, on top of him in the front seat of his sports car, smacking your head and giggling as he fucked up into you, stretching you out on his cock. He'd been sweet that first time, even as you all snuck around and parked in the middle of nowhere, even with the cramped confines.
Yet he'd been there - kissing you deep, messy and slow, pumping you up and down that veiny length as you took more and more from him, kissing you with his tongue ring clicking against your teeth. You'd whined out, desperately arching for more, shattering and fluttering your eyes shut.
The memories heat you up as you stand there across from him, trembling with your thighs pressed together, nails pressing into your palms, seeing him catching up with all his friends. He'd gone to university, but you'd gone out of state, and that was when it had all fallen apart.
The pain is there, lingering, eating at you - yet those feelings linger, the first love, the youth you all had where you couldn't get enough of each other, just for it all to end.
When those eerie blue eyes catch you across the room, however, he's not smirking, not laughing and shoving his friends, no he's got them locked on you now. Suguru and Nanami pause, peering over at you, then at each other, as you turn and rush to grab a drink.
You can't even stand to be in the same room with him after ten years.
You run into Shoko and Utahime, they give you a hug and the three of you throw back a shot, laughing a bit as you catch up with them.
“You two together, hmm?” Your lips twitch up in amusement, they look at each other and then kiss. “Stop that, you’re making me jealous!”
“Have you decided to stop being into men?”
“No I wish,” you pout and lean back, letting Shoko grab you another shot. “It’s been nothing but hell.”
“Another shithead?” Utahime asks, frowning a bit.
“Yeah, but it was three years…” You shake your head. “I shouldn’t talk about it, I’ll cry again, and I am not crying with Gojo at this party.”
“Ah, Gojo,” Utahime makes Shoko laugh. “What, I can’t stand him!”
“He’s not that bad, just an idiot,” she grabs her pack of cigarettes and starts smacking them on her palm, raising a dark brow as you look over at him, turning quickly when he catches you staring.
“You still have it bad, all these years, sweets?”
“No! Shoko!” You cover your face and shake your head. “Never again, I haven’t even spoken to him.”
“In ten years?” Shoko asks, surprise clear on her features.
“No, I’ve not even been in the country for five years, but he never reached out to me, and neither did I, aside from when his parents were sick and it was on the news. I did write to him, but he just… hearted it. I’m sure he had a lot going on.”
And that fucking hurt, that you couldn’t even comfort him, that you knew he faced a fuck ton of responsibilities now. Yet all these years Satoru hearted one of your photos, and reacted to the only message you sent – you swear the heart must have been a misclick, too.
It hurts so bad, that you were too stubborn to reach out in the darkest times, that he wouldn’t leave your memories. Sure – it faded, you went and got your master’s degree, you went abroad, now you’re back home, though, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d run into him somewhere. Yet, Satoru had been doing a lot of traveling himself this past year.
You’d know, you stalked his IG.
How pathetic after a decade to still want to know about him, but there was nothing to be done – since the breakup you’ve been even more so thinking of him.
Of how nothing ever felt like him touching you, him inside you, him looking at you the way he did. Yet it’s always overshadowed by the fact that you never heard him say those words, just three words that you craved so badly as a young girl. Even now, the words that spill from your lips never feel the same as that confession.
“He takes care of the company now, I think that’s hard for him.”
“He’s still just a dick,” Utahime says to Shoko, she laughs and shakes her head at her. “Sorry, but he is.”
“You two always hated each other,” you muse, peeking again to see him walking over. “Shit!”
“I’m… gonna smoke,” you gasp and Shoko grabs Utahime. “Outside… bye, baby!”
“You brats!” You hiss as they laugh and rush out, you tense as you smell his goddamn cologne the closer he gets.
Bergamot.
It was so distinctly him – even when he had none of it on, his smell on clean skin just did something – especially with raging hormones as a teenager. You clench your thighs just inhaling him, trying to ignore his very presence, but he’s already standing next to you, murmuring your name.
“Gojo.” He raises a brow, he’s just gotten hotter, his jaw is so cut it’s unfair, his blue eyes peeking at you.
Suddenly you’re nervous, tugging at your dress – you’re not eighteen anymore, your tits don’t sit up quite like they did, your hips widened, you’re just… different. And Satoru looks the same, if not more cut.
You become conscious of everything, almost holding your breath as he takes you in, smiling at you. His girl you’d seen him with was a fucking actress, you’re just a small town girl, nothing glamorous. Surely he wanted-
Why do you care what he wants?
Why is he sending you spiraling just coming near you?
“What do you want?” He sighs at that, the cocky grin off his face, easing back when you push at his chest just a bit, hand pausing before you tug it back, staring down into your drink.
“That’s the greeting I get, sweetheart? After a decade?”
“Should just smack you.”
“I’d probably like it,” you snort and roll your eyes, making his tentative little smile come back, sitting next to you. “Can’t I get a hi?”
“Hi,” you narrow your eyes now. “And bye.”
“God you’re mean,” he leans close, lips brushing against your ear, your heart hammers in your chest. “It’s hot on you.”
“You’re so full of it,” you lean back and sip your drink, narrowing your eyes at him. “As if you don’t have a girlfriend or five.”
“Yeah, no,” you raise a brow. “I was engaged, but that was over as of… let’s see,” he calculates in his head. “A month now.”
“Oh,” you frown, looking down at your own finger, the little change of color where the band once was. “Me too, but like two months.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you shrug a bit, seeing his eyes dart to your finger.
“He fucked my former best friend – and she got pregnant.”
“What!?”
“Yeah,” you throw back the rest of your wine, shaking your head. “Go ahead, laugh at it.”
“Why would I fucking do that?” You look at him and feel your heart pound in your chest at his face, at how he looks at you in that moment.
Fuck you missed him, didn’t you?
“You were mean then,” you whisper, and he falters, looking down, hurt clear on his features. “So mean to me at the end.”
“I know that,” it kills him to think of then, how upset he had been that you weren’t going to his university, the sheer upset of you moving, the fear of how desperately in love he was already.
He never even got to tell you.
His parents were pushing him to marry even back then, and it was anyone but you – a pretty middle class girl wasn’t up to ‘their standard’. It had killed him to try to keep up with that, but even so he never wanted to lose you – though he was scared shitless by what he felt for you, by the sheer obsession he had.
Even ten years ago he was searching for you, pictures of you where you’d moved, trying to keep tabs – fuck, last year he saw you with that fiance and almost got sick from it. His fiance was just someone his parents pushed enough, and with him having to take over their place soon, he’d gone along with it.
It’s not like he could ever love anyone after you.
There was nothing like what he felt, countless women underneath him, on top of him, bent over with their asses arched, but nothing came close to the breathless way he held you, how your lips brushed together. He wondered often if it was because you were his first love, you were so many of his firsts, no he wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t do all the things you two did before you.
Before that it was awkward, fumbling around, he’d usually been so nervous he’d let the girls take the lead, but everything about you made him want to – the way you fell apart when he learned to eat pussy with every flick of his tongue on you. You didn’t know that, of course, he ended up being sort of a prodigy at it rather quickly.
Satoru may have been a jock, but he was also very much a nerd at heart, so he studied it all extensively – porn wasn’t even for jerking his cock, it was to learn how to make you squirt. It was to make his girlfriend feel good.
Satoru was good at making you cum.
Yet he failed in so many other areas of your relationship – royally failed, especially that day you said good bye at the airport, and he was so very fucking hurt by you. It rushes through his head – and is if he is on the same wavelength –you say it softly.
“That day at the airport, I can’t forget that,” you shake your head. “Call me petty, a ten year long grudge holder, I agree.”
“You’re not…” He trails off then, cupping your face in a way he shouldn’t.
How does Satoru remember your scent still? After a decade it’s as vivid as ever, the scent that if he even caught a whiff of it he’d search for you, even now.
That’s what scared him the most – how obsessed he was then.
How hopeless in love he was, and scared of getting hurt – only to hurt you.
*****
Ten years ago
You were trembling, tears streaming down your face – you get it, why Satoru didn’t think long distance could work, some fucking promise to be friends, but staring at him now has you furious. You see him holding back, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears, fists clenched at his sides.
“You’re happy I’m going far away,” you whisper, clutching your luggage as he glares.
“I’m not fucking happy, what?”
“You are,” you laugh then, swiping at your cheeks, hating those trails that revealed just how upset you were. “Why’d you take me here? To make the break up more permanent?”
“I don’t want to…” He didn’t want to lose you, it’s on the tip of his dumb ass eighteen your old brain to say it.
– I don’t want to lose you. –
Yet those words never spill – he just cups your face, thumb brushing a tear away, looking into the face of the girl he’s terrified of. He’s scared to feel it all, to lose you to someone, to be put under all that pressure to marry and cause you more pain. Then he didn’t truly know how to handle it.
“Wanted to feel better by saying goodbye?”
“We were friends for years before this,” he desperately cups your face, leaning low as the rush of people walk past you all, headed toward their flight, and the attendant is making her announcements. “I just want what’s best for you, how would us being across the country ever going to be okay?”
“I’d have made it work,” you had shut your eyes, tugged him close by his letterman’s jacket, the one you used to wear all the time after you both went on dates. He’d wrap it all around your shoulders, enveloping you in that scent, the warmth. Now it’s a cruel joke to have it underneath your fingers.
“I’m your first boyfriend, what if you…” He had swallowed down that bile in his throat at the thought. “What if you regret only being with me, what if you wanted more experience?”
“You think that?” You asked, lost in his eyes, unsure how he thinks you’d ever want a boy but him. “No, I-”
‘Boarding flight 111 now, five minutes to board.’
You curse, turning to leave when he slams his lips down on yours, and for just a moment you’re done for, you’re melting in his arms, hands slipping up his chest as he presses you right against one of the pillars, uncaring of who walked by. You meet his kisses, exhaling and letting his tongue slide in, the familiar barbell dancing on the roof of your mouth.
His hands are firm on your waist, pulling back and looking down at you. “I’m doing this for you.”
You glare then, shoving at him. “For me!? Leaving me?”
“You’re the one leaving!”
“No, I’m going to college, you’re the one who won’t try! I can’t believe I let you kiss me again!” you rush off and he grabs your wrist, you jerk back and glare up at him again. “I’m done. Satoru, just let me go – don’t hurt me more.”
“I don’t want you to-”
“You don’t know what you want,” he lets your wrist go, his own eyes glazing over with emotion, pretty even under the harsh lights of the airport. “You don’t get to tell me what I’ll want in the future, you don’t get to decide that for me, and you sure don’t get to tell me that this is ‘for my own good’. It hurts, and you have to deal with that.”
“Please, just,” you can’t. You can’t fall into his arms, how would you let him go? “Just keep talking to me, keep-”
“It’ll kill me,” you stepped forward and tiptoed then, kissing his lips softly, tasting the salt of both your tears. “It’ll kill me to have to talk to you when I can’t have you.”
“Sweetheart-”
“I love you,” he faltered then, you’d not said it because he hadn’t, but there was no stopping it now. “I’ll miss you, Toru.”
You rushed off before he could say anything, tears hot down your cheeks, Satoru had rushed to catch you, but you were…
Gone.
*****
“I shouldn’t have broken up with you,” you pause, leaning back in shock. “Though now you’re probably glad I did.”
“You… you’re… saying sorry?”
“Is it so surprising?” He rubs the back of his neck, you’re in shock clearly. “Guess so, I wasn’t one to admit I was wrong then.”
“Why do you say you shouldn’t have?” He sips his own drink, eyes shutting for a moment. “You feel bad how it happened?”
No, Satoru knows he’ll never feel that way about anyone – and a decade of loneliness has only made him regret that shit more. He could have three babies with you by now, have given you anything you wanted – he stalks your pages, he knows you work constantly, and he loves that. But another part of him wishes you didn’t have to, that you were taken care of.
You’d probably smack him and call him a misogynist for that shit, and he loves that about you.
He still loves that girl from high school, the woman sitting here with her face just a bit more defined, with her tits so soft and pretty looking, hips he bets would feel so good to grab as he bent her over. Thighs that he has to touch, they just look too smooth with whatever shimmery lotion you put on them.
He gives into the urge, fingertips brushing on your skin, eliciting a shaky little breath from your lips, your eyes catching each other. “Yeah, you could say I feel bad about how I did it. I never said…”
He’s not really gonna apologize is he?
“Shh,” you put a finger to his lips, he smirks a bit. “Don’t make me like you, Toru.”
“Toru, fuck, been forever since I heard that,” he grins all dopey and cute, taking your wrist in his hand, long fingers wrapping it. He presses a little kiss to your fingers, a gesture he used to do forever ago, pausing as it feels too natural.
“I don’t want to like you.” He nods a bit, thumb brushing over your knuckles, eyeing the place where that ring was.
“He was an idiot.”
“Yeah?”
“I’d know, I’m a big fucking idiot,” you laugh a bit, nodding. “Don’t agree with me!? Brat.”
“Well, you are,” you sigh then, he nips your finger hard with his sharp ass teeth, and Shoko and Utahime walk back in, watching you both.
You have the eyes of your entire graduating class on you both.
Satoru and you, the perfect couple – that perky cheerleader and the star player, voted in the yearbook to be the best couple in fact, most popular, the best looking, you name it. You and Satoru won so many they had to give them to other people – and all for what?
To hate looking at your yearbook?
To look at how happy you were?
“Do you ever wonder…” He eases your hand down now, but he doesn’t let it go. “If it was just the first love, the hormones, the high school puppy love?”
“Puppy love…” You’ve never even heard him say that word – love. Though he means it differently, it gets you. “I guess everyone’s first love is kind of epic.”
“Nah, not really,” he sips on his drink, a little droplet clinging to his lips, one of his thighs brushing against yours and you barely hold back a gasp at the contact. “I haven’t found many people that had… what we did.”
“A toxic ass relationship, nasty breakup?”
“That was some of it,” he admits, heart racing like he’s some inexperienced boy and not a grown man – you just make him feel that way.
“Yes I wonder,” you sigh, admitting it finally. “I wonder if it was hyped up in my head, if the nostalgia and the… pain of you breaking up mess with me more. All the what ifs.”
“I hurt you.” It’s a quiet little statement.
“You hurt me, and I hated you,” he looks down where your hand brushes on his thigh, covering it with his huge one. “You were a dick.”
“I know, I just-” you lean forward and kiss him before you can stop yourself, making him tense up, his hand on the small of your back tugging close as he relaxes into it, exhaling against your lips. You pull back with a little dazed look, lips glossy. “What did I do to deserve that?”
“I was trying to see if that’s what it was,” you whisper softly. “Puppy love.”
“Ah,” he tilts your chin up, kissing you again, your earrings fall back, brushing the side of your neck as he tugs you close until your ass is half off that barstool. “We should see, yeah? If it’s just nostalgia.”
“Yeah just for um… closure,” he laughs a bit, and you glare. “Closure and I’m horny and single.”
“I’ll take it,” fuck he’d take any of you. “For true nostalgia we should…”
He’s kissing down the side of your neck, your eyes flutter closed as his mouth leaves a wet trail, his tongue flicking over your racing pulse. You cling so tightly, it’s hard to let go, whining out and arching your hips, thankful there is loud music reverberating all over.
Satoru heard it, though, leaking pre and pulsing from your taste, your scent, the softness of your skin.
Fuck he can’t ever do this and hope to be ‘normal’.
But there was no way he didn’t take one night with you.
“Should what?” You murmur, biting down on your lip when he gently nips behind your ear, your nails cling to his jacket tightly.
“For old times sake, I’d say we go to my car,” you laugh then, shaking your head as he pulls back, kissing your lips again. “Lemme drink your pretty little cunt up again, finger you till you squirt all over my new seats.”
Fuck.
Fuck him, really.
“In your car? Are we in high school?” He looks around and you laugh then, shaking your head. “Fine, but I’m not as flexible, I haven’t tumbled since college.”
“I bet you still are,” he teases. “Used to fold you right in-”
“Now.”
“Now?” You hop down with his help, turning and just walking. “Wait!”
It’s moments and you all are devouring each other, stumbling against the cool brick wall outside as the night air brushes against your skin, you’re shivering as he walks you to his car – by walking, that meant him carrying your ass, cock pressing your needy cunt as your thighs wrap his hips.
The car is nicer than his in high school – a fancy ass Audi – you aren’t one to know anything about cars, but the damn thing looked like it was exactly what Satoru would drive. The expensive leather hits your senses as he slides you in, your mouths are all over each other, needy and desperate.
"Missed this," you almost don’t believe it, that he ever could, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before trailing his mouth down your jaw. "Missed you."
“You don’t…”
“No?” You sigh, shaking your head as Satoru shifts, maneuvering you both until you're lying back across the wide seats, his body covering yours, an even heavier weight than you remembered, pinning you down with his hand on your wrists, his mouth claiming yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.
It's a tight fit even with how surprisingly big the interior is, the cramped space reminding you of every stolen moment you had in his old car, sneaking before curfew, fuck you two would ditch school and go drive in that car, you’d lay your feet in his lap and just let him drive you around with the tops down. The memory of his smile, of his laugh, of his kisses all come together as he captures your very breath.
This isn't the sweet, messy kissing of teenage versions of you and Satoru – this is pent up need, a decade of frustration poured into a single, desperate kiss, his hands all over you, huge palms taking you over. Satoru’s tongue is delving in and out of the hot recesses of your mouth, tongue gliding right along yours, the click of his tongue ring against your teeth shooting every bit of memory back.
God you remember when he pierced it.
You remember him buying that vibrating tongue ring so he could eat your pussy out – and oh, he did it every time he could, no one has made you feel that way since, no one could figure your body out like him. The nostalgia hits as much as the need, the pleasure, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders over his dress shirt.
“Need more,” you whisper out, pausing then as he looks at you under his lashes. “Just tonight, right?”
He doesn’t say anything – as if he’d take only one night and be fine with that.
"Fuck, I've thought about this so often it’s pathetic," he laughs out without humor, hands slipping up your hips and bunching that little dress up your hips.
“You thought of me?” You ask, and he stares at you then – swollen lips all pretty and glossy in the night, ruining him.
You don’t think he remembers?
You don’t think he regrets it all?
He kisses you softer, nipping a plump lower lip between his sharp teeth, drinking up your little gasp. "Thought about this mouth, this body, the way you used to squirt all over me."
“Satoru…” You shake your head, moaning softly when he tugs your neckline down, hands squishing your pretty tits. “You don’t mean it.”
“No?” You shake your head, eyes rolling back in your skull when his tongue swirls around your nipple ever so slowly, tongue ring flicking that sensitive peak. “You think I forgot you, huh?”
“I know you did, ah!” His fingers find you, sliding your panties aside and swiping up and down in that mess. “Toru…”
“God please,” he’s plunging them inside you, she clamps right down, spasming as he finds that spot he remembers in those tacky walls, watching your face as he presses over and over. “Call me that again.”
“Sh-should call you dickhead,” he laughs breathlessly, curving those fingers again so that your head smacks back, almost hitting the handle in the car door, he kisses your lips as he fucks his fingers into you, the stretch making you ache. “Ngh!”
“Tight as ever, god, how…” he marvels as he plays with your cunt, all pretense gone when he looks down at you, breaking the kiss, breathless from you. “I’ve thought of you an embarrassing amount of times.”
“Don’t say it,” you sniffle just a bit. “I can’t handle it.”
“The truth?”
“I can’t believe you thought of me too…” You trail off, emotional even as you are soaking wet and needy, Satoru keeps kissing down, lower, lower, feeling his breath against your skin makes you jolt. “You didn’t.”
“I did, sweetheart, I missed this so much, the sounds you make… how soaking wet you got,” he’s running his thumb on your clit, gauging your reaction, shoving your thighs even higher. “How pretty you looked when you fell apart f’me.”
“You can’t remember,” he sighs and watches you get closer, getting you so, so close until he knows it’s not enough. He’s shoving you up, damn near folding you in half. “Ah! Toru I can’t bend like that?!”
“No?” he murmurs, big hands gripping your thighs bruisingly, pushing them up and apart, you blink a bit, gasping when he’s licking the trails of slick from your inner thigh, inhaling your cunt and bumping your clit affectionately almost. “God, your scent drives me fucking crazy, why do you have to smell s’good?”
“Do I? I – ah! Satoru, what are you…" He places an open mouthed kiss on your messy, dripping entrance, peeking up at you. “You’re um…”
“I’m starving,” he teases softly, kissing it again, you feel that pleasure shoot up your body until you’re dizzy, weak from it, so exposed to him when he tugs those panties further aside, on one side of those puffy lips. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen.”
“No…”
“Yeah, and I’ve seen alot,” you glare and he chuckles, resting his hands on those knees and flicking his tongue to gather the drops of arousal falling down between your slit. “What, ya jealous?”
“No!?” Yes.
“No?”
“No,” he smirks just a bit and then he folds you in half, those broad shoulders pressing against the backs of your thighs, forcing your knees to your chest, your dress hopelessly shoved up.
“See? Still a cheerleader,” you want to laugh but you’re smushed.
“I so am not, ah!” You're completely exposed to him then, utterly vulnerable in a way that makes you nervous.
“Relax,” he says then, softly, peeking up at you and kissing your inner thigh. “If you want me to stop, just tell me. It was enough I got to kiss you again.”
You falter, that boy you fell in love with – the sweet, nerdy one? The jock who was also an entire nerd? Goofy and yet ultimately serious Satoru Gojo, leaning his head against your inner knee, nuzzling you damn near. You’re weak then, as every feeling you’ve shoved down for over a third of your life comes back full force.
“We can go back in, or just look at the stars,” he eases up, and sees how nervous you are. “You’re so beautiful, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not in high school now,” you whisper, he eases up your body then, brushing your cheek and shaking his head.
“Neither am I, sweetheart.”
“Yet you look even better-”
“You’re even sexier, even prettier than the first time I saw you,” you kiss him again, lost in his every kiss, his every touch, afraid that he’ll just disappear, clinging to him so tightly you don’t know if you can ever let go. “You are.”
“You haven’t seen me all naked…”
“I wanna,” he grins and you giggle, even as he’s kissing up your cheeks. “I wanna see every part of you.”
God you can’t take it – it feels just like that first date all over again. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he slides your dress up and off you then, breath catching as he takes in your body – you’ve only gotten sexier, it’s so evident when he just looks down at you, folded in half in his damn car and the prettiest thing he’s seen.
You cover yourself a bit then ease your hands off, breasts rising and falling as Satoru looks at you, his gaze heating you up before his fingers can touch. “You’re seeing all of me.”
“I am,” he grips a tit and squishes it in his hand, that familiar barbell flicking an areola, having your back arch in the cramped confines of the car, still humming softly underneath you. “Is it bad if I say I jerked it to your IG?”
“Satoru!” He’s chuckling now, grinning all big as you smack at him. “We were having a touching moment!?”
“Yeah I know,” he’s back down between your thighs, shoving them high and sighing.
“Did you really?” His lips curve up in amusement, watching your slick pussy drip down.
“You love that, huh?”
“No!?”
Yes.
“How often?” He’s laughing now.
“I’m not tellin’ ya, no way.”
“Hmmph,” he’s too gone then, every bit of this moment the very thing he’s searched for.
He could have had it.
He’ll think of that later, the hot regret of letting you go, of being young and dumb and then too fucking stubborn, for now you’re his, underneath him, looking up in that way that you used to – like he was the very stars in the sky. The ones peppering the sky overhead and shining through that little sky light in his car, illuminating your pretty body for his gaze.
“A lot. Happy?” He whispers, you just bite your lip, not answering, letting his lips graze your entrance once more.
“Satoru!” Your eyes roll back in your skull, pleasure shooting as the tip of that tongue swirls your clit lazily, like he’s got all the time in the world.
"Look at this pretty little cunt," he breathes out softly, feeling your slick coat his tongue, lapping another filthy stripe achingly slow. "Still so fucking perfect.”
“You d-don’t have to…”
“S’perfect,” he whispers, holding back what he truly wants to say.
Mine.
You’re not his, he can’t get possessive and psychotic, even when faced with your winking hole and the soft give of your thighs underneath his fingertips. He buries his face in you, his mouth hot and messy as it drinks up every bit of those juices your pussy is pouring, lavving a broad, flat stripe up your slit and slurping you up, eliciting the prettiest whines for his ears.
“Mmm, that’s it,” he whispers, flicking his tongue on your clit and groaning as he parts those lips. “She’s jumpin’ all around, fuck… look at her.”
You cry out, your fingers tangling in the soft white strands of Satoru’s hair, only for him to place them on your thighs, looking at you in that way only Satoru Gojo can.
“Hold ‘em up f’me,” he’s slurring, mouth just full of that messy cunt, swallowing it as he watches you do just that. “Good girl.”
Fuck him.
Fuck him truly and completely, for what those damn words do to you, how they have you a needy mess for him. He groans at the sight of your manicured nails pressing on the back of your thighs, the vibrations rushing on your pretty pussy, and then his tongue is inside you, fucking your hole as if he’s never forgotten how.
“Toru!” You’re quivering, thighs threatening to close, he breathes , that barbell smacking your spongy spot over and over, with the same intensity he used to use with his cock.
Your first time with him flits through your mind, he’d made sure to lick your pussy for thirty minutes, even then he’d been worried he’d hurt you – even then he’d eased into you, watching your every movement. That Satoru and this one merge – the jock and the cheerleader now gro business people.
But you’re still just the two of you.
He's lavishing every crevice, every bit of your cunt like it’s worship – his tongue, his lips, the sharp edge of those fangs of his scraping against your clit just making you scream out, weak from it. He bites it again, groaning as your juices spill over his mouth, his chin, down his neck.
Satoru wants to drown in you.
"You like that, huh?" he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin glistening embarrassingly with how much you’re gushing. He swirls two fingers down it, raising a thin white brow. "Like me eating this pussy?”
“Yes… ah!” He’s curving his fingers up, rutting his cock along the leather seats, dying to bury it inside you.
“Missed this, didn't you? Missed my tongue on you?"
You can only nod quickly and let out a pathetic little moan, wishing you could play coy or tease – but how can you, when he’s taking you over. One hand pumping fingers into you, his tongue finding your clit again, sucking it into his mouth with a mean little hum, and the cold metal of his tongue ring just flicking.
“Toru! I’m so… I’m…”
He pulls back and sighs.
You’re so beautiful like this.
“Cum for me,” he says softly, curving up one more time, and you shatter for him, peak crashing into you so hard you see stars – ones that aren’t the ones hanging in the sky. No, they’re right behind your eyelids, pussy spasming as moans escape those lips that hold you in that kiss.
Satoru eases back, curving his fingers a few more times, every slide sensitive. “Please…”
“Please what, baby?” He whispers – he hadn’t called you that since the last time you saw him, brushing your hair back and kissing you, your juices spilling into your own mouth with a push of his tongue.
“Need you.”
“I’m here-”
“Need more,” he pauses, blushing a bit and making you giggle. “What, you think I don’t want more?”
“I didn’t know,” he trails off now, sitting up and dragging you on his lap, undoing his zipper as you’re on your knees, head smacking the ceiling, Satoru chuckles and puts his hand right over it, sighing. “You want my cock inside you?”
“You’re such a jerk,” he grins now, running his hands down your waist. “You gonna make me say it?”
“Nah but it’d be fun to hear,” he frees his cock, watching the blush dance across your cheeks when faced with his pearly pink cock, thick and veiny, leaking all that white. You gather some and swirl it on your thumb, sucking it off. “God…”
It’s moments when he’s got you positioned on his cock, slamming you down in one mean stroke, filling you so full you feel him everywhere – in your stomach, so fucking deep your cervix hurts. But fuck you want it, you want more, but he holds you down for a moment, hands brutal on your hips.
“Fuck, don’t move yet,” he barely bites out those words, looking up at you underneath that fringe of lashes, breaths coming in short pants, fogging up all the car windows. “Please, baby. Hold on a sec.”
“Feel good, Toru?” You tease, he glares and bites your shoulder. “Ah! Sharp t-teeth…”
“Jus’ stay here for a minute,” he’s mumbling against your skin, exhaling at the feeling of your pussy wrapping around his cock. “You’re so warm, so tight… god you feel s’good…”
You’re holding there, cunt gripping him so tight he’s gonna bust, and he was not doing that after ten damn years. He has stamina now, he can’t bust inside you in one minute – has it even been a minute!?
“Wanna move, please,” you’re damn near whining, wriggling as he pins you even more firmly. “Toru!”
“You’re bratty still,” he murmurs, lifting you up and slamming you back down, that mess of slick pouring all over. “You want me to cum in three pumps?”
You blush then, realizing that one key thing – he’d never cum inside you, the two of you were careful to make sure it never happened. “I um… inside me?”
“Only if you wanted… god imagine breeding your cunt,” you suck in a breath as his hands press into your hips. “Breedable fucking hips, bet you’d have so many babies for me.”
“Babies!?”
“God yes, bet you’d give me three, hah…” he’s fucking lost it now, fucking up into your cunt, your head smacks his ceiling, your hand up to brace yourself as he begins to move, feet planted on the floor of the car, cock gliding in and out of your mess even faster. “Sorry baby.”
“Sorry? You’re psychotic, j-just once,” he holds you down and runs his thumb on your clit then, watching your eyes flutter closed as you cum again, this time milking him. “Ngh!”
“So beautiful, fuck,” he’s looking right at you with those blue eyes, your arms wrap his neck, letting him lift you up and down him, huge hands just using you, you’re quivering around him, cunt squelching in the backseat of that car, his lips slamming on yours and drinking down your whines.
You hear the faint noises of the party with your ringing ears, his thumb brushing faster, your tits bouncing right in his face. “Breed k-kink tracks for you…”
He chuckles, grinning up at you, painting those pretty patterns until you’re overstimulated, thighs twitching on either side of his hips, the open leather belt pressing on your heated skin. His lips are swollen when his tongue runs across them, as if to catch any lingering juices he can, his brows drawing together as he gets closer, cheeks flushed pink in the dark.
“Should I pump you full? Hmm?” Your answer is to roll your hips, making his own eyes shut, those fluffy lashes sweeping across his cheeks. He’s pinning you down, slipping that thumb in between your lips and letting you suck as his cock twitches. “I used to jerk it to your cheer pictures b-before we w-went out…”
“Toru, you freak,” you’re breathless, struggling to take that stretch, whining out as his veiny length brushes your walls, white pre kissin’ your cute little cervix with every pump. “You did?”
“Yeah,” he’s full of confessions, you guess, but that one has you blushing, even mid fuck, giggling a bit until he slams hard, your head falling back. “You love it.”
“Cum inside,” he moans – you don’t have to tell him twice – cock pumping your hole full, so much your walls are just coated, those puffy ropes flooding you. “Ah!”
You’ve never been so full, his warmth rushing in hot and sticky as you kiss him desperately, needy, shaking as your teeth click together, your mouths messy and dripping saliva. It’s filthy, the sounds of your whines mixing with the squishing and clicking of his cock pumping impossibly more, his moans filling your mouth, tongues dancing along each other as his cock keeps twitching.
“F-fuck…” He’s whimpering in your ear as he holds you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck, arms wrapping your waist as he bucks his hips up and fucks more cum inside you. “God I love you.”
“Wha-? Huh?” You must be fucked out and hearing shit, you barely blink any sense into yourself, as he pulls back, looking at you and sighing.
“I should have said it then, not let you leave thinking…” He swallows now, cupping your face with one hand, thumb slipping across your cheek reverently. “That I didn’t.”
“You can’t… I didn’t… you…” You’re trembling now as it all hits, breaths mingling as you hardly hold back. “You did then?”
“Of course I fucking loved you, how couldn’t I?” You kiss him then, tears slipping down between your mouths, salty on his tongue as his hand slips up the curve of your spine, the two of your hearts racing in your own ears. “I never stopped.”
“Don’t say that…” You pull back now, hands on his wrists. “That’s impossible, it’s been t-ten years and… you don’t know me now, and…”
“Do you still love me?” He asks, voice breaking, still intimately joined with you, easing you off and eyeing the mess that pours, sighing. “Fuck I shouldn’t ask that.”
“Yes,” he blinks a bit, looking up in shock as you go back to sitting on his lap, cunt pouring him right back down on his cock. “I never stopped loving you, even though I hated you, too. I hated you so much for so long… but I never quit loving you, Satoru.”
“I hated me too, s’okay,” you shake your head. “I did, for being so dumb. For letting you go – pushing you away.”
“We were so young, Toru… so young.”
“There was all that time we could have had this,” he sighs now, nose brushing yours, looking into your eyes with utter devotion. “I can’t let you go again. I can’t let this be once, this? I’ve never felt anything close to you.”
“I know…” you’re kissing again, forgetting about anything else, and soon you’re in Satoru’s pretty penthouse, fucked out after he’d lifted you right up on that glass, so many stories up.
After he’d ate his cum out of you, and you’d lapped your pussy off – after your friends started texting you both, making sure you’re all right since you two had disappeared. After Satoru orders you food, and the two of you are laughing in bed, and you’re in one of his big shirts, does he bring out that jacket, making you pause.
“Toru…”
“This was yours,” he exhales and throws it over your shoulders, tugging the lapels closed and kissing your head. You’re all flushed and pretty, your hair a tangled mess, that mascara long gone, swallowed by that letterman’s jacket. “You’re so beautiful like this.”
“I get to keep it this time?” You tease, but the emotions are rushing still, tummy fluttering as you toy with the snaps, the familiar scent bringing you right back.
𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ husband!gojo doesn’t play when it comes to expanding your little family :: cw. smut, brēeding & pregnancy themes.
“. . . you two make such cute babies.”
those are the words that have been driving satoru crazy. ever since this morning, after a little walk with your two children, he’s been waiting to get you alone. now that he finally does, he’s not letting go.
“been thinkin’ about this since the park,” your husband murmurs against your throat, his voice low and silky. “fuck—that old lady wasn’t wrong,” his hips roll once, deep, making your breath hitch, “we make the cutest fuckin’ babies, don’t we, sweets?”
you arch beneath him. your fingers dig into the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders, “y-yes—toru, nghh—“
satoru cuts you off with a slow and filthy grind, his fat cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you until your thighs tremble. “my mind’s been full with thoughts of it,” he confesses, glossy lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“carrying our little girl on my shoulders, her tiny hands in my hair… and then i look at you—” he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his blue eyes glint even in the dark, pupils blown wide with want, “—and all i can think about is puttin’ another one in you.”
the words hit like a spark to dry grass. your sloppy pussy clenches around him instinctively. he groans and his forehead drops to yours in response.
“fuckk, you like that,” satoru shifts and hooks your legs higher over his hips so he can sink even deeper. “you want it again, don’t ya? want me to fill you up until it takes?”
“yes,” you gasp as your nails rake down his smooth back, “please!”
that’s all it takes.
satoru fucks you harder then—with long and punishing strokes that make the headboard tap the wall in quiet rhythm. one big hand slides between your bodies. slender fingers find your clit and circle with devastating precision. the other cradles the back of your head, keeping you locked against his gaze.
“look at me,” he demands softly with that charming grin of his, “watch me while i breed ya, baby.”
your orgasm builds fast. embarrassingly fast. your thighs shake as he keeps that same relentless pace. he’s everywhere—inside you, around you, whispering filthy promises against your lips.
“gonna give you a boy this time,” satoru pants with a muffled almost-whimepr, “or ‘nother girl. doesn’t matter. just—fuck—gonna keep ya pregnant.“
you shatter with a broken cry. your cunt flutters, milking him. satoru follows seconds later. his hips stutter as he buries himself to the hilt and comes with a shuddering groan. you feel him spilling in deep. so much it leaks out around his cock even as he stays pressed inside, grinding lazily to push every drop where it belongs.
satoru doesn’t pull out right away. instead he rolls you both so you’re draped across his chest, still connected, his arms caging you close. when you try to shift, he playfully nibbles on your ear and tightens his hold;
“aht, aht, we’re not done yet. gonna keep on tryin’ till i’m sure it’ll take.”
fucking surfer!gojo on the beach after a bad breakup. 18+
The coast brushes the shore with soft kisses in secret. Blanket laid out beneath your feet, you find yourself nearing the coastline, letting your toes dip in the teasing water. The sun was hardly out, rising from the waves like it spent the night giving light to the sea.
Your mind was a torrent of terrible anger, a stark contrast to the calm waters. That stupid man who is your now ex-boyfriend still lingers in your thoughts. Dumping you out of the blue after a fight so idiotic, you couldn’t even bear to see that promise ring he slid on your finger anymore.
So, you pried it off, angrily chucking it into the water, not bothering to see where it lands before you close your eyes again.
“Hey!” a voice calls, sultry yet demanding.
Your eyes wrench open.
A man rises from the water, cerulean surfboard tucked under his arm. An unfeeling frown set on his pink lips.
“You can’t chuck your valuables in the ocean,” he holds up the promise ring you had just discarded. “It hit me in the eye.”
Your gaze trails from his veiny hands, down his muscular drenched frame. His soaked white locks, like water lilies in a pond, drip with the salty water of the sea, skating down his pearly, hardened abs.
“That cheap thing’s not valuable,” you grumble, waving dismissively. “It’s probably from a pawn shop. You can do whatever with it.”
He cocks a snowy brow over his brilliant blue eyes, an indifferent crease between them as he eyed you from head to toe. “You get dumped or something?”
Your eyes sharply shoot toward him, “Is it that obvious?”
He holds up the ring as a silent response. You remain quiet, continuing to eye his every feature and his bulky frame.
He throws the ring into the ocean, chucking it over his shoulder. “You want to get over him?”
You furrow your brows.
Your face buries into the blanket sprawled out on the sand. Satoru has you on your side, hand cupped underneath your thigh, holding it up as his dick slips in and out of you with a precision so baffling it has you choking back on your own moans.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he rumbles, cock plowing in and out of your cunt like it’s second nature. “Let it out. He fuck you like this?”
His lips feather over the curve of your shoulder, cock rutting so deep into your sopping wet pussy that his balls making an obscene squelching sound with each force of contact. Prodding so deep inside you, the head of his cock bustles at an angle so delicious, it truly feels like he is in your stomach. In fact, if you make the brave decision of looking down, then you can see the way it leaves an outline bulging on your tummy.
Mindlessly whimpering, you shake your head. Not paying any mind to the fact that you are fucking an absolute stranger because his dick prods so deliciously inside you, it feels like complete insanity.
“Oh god,” your back arches away from him, fingers trailing down between your thighs, pads of your digits rub loose circles against your clit, already glistening and wet from your mixed arousal.
“This pussy—clenching so hard around me—” Satoru grunted, hand slipping around your jaw to force your mouth to his. “That guy’s a fucking idiot.”
And just like that, his lips capture yours in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss where a mesh of tongues and saliva is all you can comprehend.
“Gonna make you forget all about him.”
Panting like wild dogs in heat into each other’s mouths, your tongues slide against one another, and you hardly even remember who Satoru is referring to.
Your fingers curl into the blanket you had sprawled out before sunrise to sit and mope on. The bagel you brought was probably rotting away in your tote. And bit by bit, the sky is becoming brighter and brighter.
You could hardly process how it happened, one moment you’re talking to Satoru about getting dumped, and the next he has you on your back and hovers over you.
Satoru’s thrusts into you one final time, and when he stills for only a second, you worry that he won’t move after that. Except he doesn’t, with one muscly arm, he lifts you off your side and gruffly plops you in his lap.
Out of breath, you gaze down at him, catching a full and proper glimpse of how irrevocably beautiful he is, even when in such a debauched state. Before anything could be said, he lifts your hips with effortless ease, and sinks you down on him again.
The edge of his lip twitches when your jaw falls open, brows pinching together when he guides your movements on his cock, helping you ride him to filth.
“Too pretty to be miserable,” he whispers, unsmiling. “Ride that cock, baby, yeah, just like that.”
You whimper just at the praise, hands falling to his chest as you lift yourself off of him, to sheath back down. You work yourself up to a pace so heady and quick, the salt air begins to feel like clammy steam, the gentle waves feel like blurring music, and your spinning head begins to feel like the world around you is spinning in your stead.
Satoru pulls you flush against himself, eliciting a shocked squeal from you when your still-covered breasts meet his chest, and he holds you in place. Planting his feet flat on the ground, he fucks up into you, thrusting at a rough and fast pace.
“Fuck—ah—I’m gonna cum,” you whine into his ear, hair a mess and face buried in his neck.
His hand curls around your shoulder, holding you in place while fucking up into you. You feel the way his fingers imprint into your skin, all the while his cock slips out of you till your walls hug his flushed tip, and ruts so harshly back into you.
And he’s not giving anytime begin each thrust to recover. Beyond the waves of the waves of the ocean, all you can hear is the obscene pap pap pap of his skin slapping against yours. Your moans come broken, mingling with the wretched breaths that spill from his own mouth.
A gasp so sharp rips from your throat when your vision goes completely blurry, stars painting on the darks of your eyelids when you squeezed them shut, unraveling all over his cock.
With your forehead pressed against his sweat slicked temple, you can hear every sound that drips from his lips. How he grunts when he bucks his hips up into you, how he almost chokes on his breath when you squeeze around his length, how it sounds like a strangled moan because he is so caught up in the way he barely fits in you.
“Just a pretty little cock sleeve, huh?” his voice cracks with the groan. “Needed a stranger to give you good dick.”
He doesn’t let up his tempo, beginning to throw his head back as he reached his climax, tilting your jaw towards him, “Hey, pretty, it’s okay for me to cum inside, yeah?”
Whimpering like a pathetic mess, you nod, “Mhm—”
He smirks a smirk so subtle, you miss it. You miss the devious undertone to his question, the lewd dirty pleasure in his desire. How you two are out in the open and don’t know each other at all, and you’re letting him ruin you before the elderly couples that walk the coast for their morning walks could emerge.
And when he plunges into you one final time and releases all that pent up tension in the form of white warm ropes inside your cunt, dripping down your thighs and his own, trickling onto that blanket you had laid out.
You both stay quiet, your breaths heavy and winded are all that fill the air.
Until he sits up, saying, “Let’s go. I can show you how I eat pussy better than that dumbass too.”
"Mmh, you smell so good," he commented, sticking his nose in the nape of your neck. His body hovered atop yours, arms wrapped around your back. You would tell him to beat it and get his outside clothes from off the bed, but you could tell your husband was tired.
He had texted you a litany of sad face emojis, letting you know he had to stay late. Taking that opportunity of quiet, you did a bit of self-care. Skin smooth and shaved, smothered in body butters and oils, and hair wrapped up in a silk-satin bonnet. Even putting on a cute pajama set to match, with Satoru around, being in the bathroom that long or completing a full skin care routine without interruptions would be impossible.
Letting him feel up your skin, his hands roaming to massage it between his fingers, leaving small kisses against your neck. "I missed you," he mumbled, voice vibrating against your throat.
He was so cute like this, his body wanting to go to sleep, yet he fought hard just to have small moments with you like this. Spreading your legs, you pulled him closer, allowing him a more comfortable position rather than holding himself up. Your foot slid up his legs, settling on wrapping your legs around his waist.
"I missed you, too, Satoru." You hummed, kissing the top of his hair. White strands tickling your face, your nails scratched at his overgrown undercut. You would remind him later to get one, twirling your fingers with his. He leaned into your touch, body growing more lax.
"How was work?" you asked, ignoring how his hands were creeping under your shorts, gently molding the globes of your ass.
"Boring," he grumbled, a pout forming on his lips. "Wanted to come home so bad, I grabbed something on the way home, it is in the fridge," he added. His head raised, cerulean eyes looking into yours. He came closer to kiss you, but you held his hair, stopping him in his tracks.
"Nope, I just put my lip mask on, and I don't feel like getting up for it again." That was a half-truth. You could just put more on, and as much as you were aching to feel his lips on yours and embrace him, you knew it would not end there.
First, it is a kiss, and before you realize, it's two in the morning, you're sweaty and in need of a shower, and your mixed fluids drench the fresh sheets.
Satoru simply frowned, bottom lip jutting out slightly. Eyes softening as he peered up at you. "First drawer." You groaned; you were weak to him, especially when he looked sweet enough to eat. Perking up, he quickly pulled out the pink jar and set it on the nightstand. His hand moved to your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip.
The kiss was soft at first, a careful press of warm, dry skin against the slick, protected shield of your mask. But Satoru had never been good at being soft. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in the edge of your bonnet, holding you in place as the kiss deepened.
He licked along the seam of your lips, and you gasped— partly from the audacity, partly from the way his tongue tasted of artificial sweetness. He hummed against your mouth, a low, appreciative sound that vibrated straight down your spine and settled hot and heavy between your legs.
This is how it starts, a voice warned in the back of your mind.
His other hand, the one that had been cupping your ass, squeezed hard, fingers kneading the flesh. He pulled you closer, grinding his hips down into the cradle of yours, and you felt him. He was half-hard, thick even through the fabric of his slacks.
Your own body responded instantly, a rush of slick heat flooding your core, your thighs tightening around his waist of their own accord.
You wanted him. God, you wanted him. Your nails raked down his back, over the starched collar of his shirt, feeling the damp heat radiating off his skin.
But you were also tired. And you knew him. Knew that once Satoru got started, he wouldn't go to sleep until he was buried deep inside you. His sleep schedule was already worrying with the increase in hours during busy work weeks.
You broke the kiss with a soft, reluctant sound, pushing gently at his chest. He chased your lips, eyes still half-lidded, drunk on you. "Satoru," you breathed, voice deliberately breathy. "You're still in your work clothes."
"So?" He nuzzled into your neck, teeth grazing the tendon there. "Take them off for me."
"You smell like outside," you said, and though it was a deflection, it was also true. The faint haze of city exhaust and the sterile air of the office. "I love you and all, but I just got out of the shower."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, one white eyebrow arched. "You want me to shower."
"I want you not to ruin my hard work," you corrected, running a soothing hand down his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palm. "You go get clean. I'll keep the bed warm." you leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth; gentle, laced with sweet honey that pulled him deeper. "We have all night, baby."
His eyes darkened, a flicker of that insatiable hunger surfacing. "Promise?"
"Don't keep me waiting, Satoru." Your nail dragged softly from behind his neck to the lacy hem of your top, pulling at it just enough for the fabric to reveal more of your cleavage.
He groaned, dropping one last, bruising kiss to your collarbone before untangling himself from your limbs with a dramatic sigh. "Fine."
You smiled up at him, "Hurry, okay."
He padded toward the bathroom, already shucking his shirt over his head, revealing the pale, sculpted expanse of his back, the way his shoulders tapered to his narrow waist.
You watched the muscles flex as he undid his belt, the metallic jingle loud in the quiet room. Then he disappeared through the door, and you heard the squeak of the faucet, the immediate hiss of water hitting tile.
You listened partially as he showered, humming some song.
By the time Satoru came out of the ensuite bathroom, a towel was wrapped loosely around his waist, and another was drying his hair.
"Honey." A pause. Then, louder, tinged with disbelief: "You did not."
Instead of being spread out and ready for him like he expected. The thick duvet was wrapped around your body as you softly snored into the pillows. Pulling the cover back slightly, he kissed the edge of your shoulder.
(MDNI) which pet name makes you clench the hardest - ft. Nanami
"Y-you're not gonna finger me properly? No? Okay…"
Taking a deep, shuddering breath in, you tried not to fuck your hips downwards so that you could chase the pleasure Nanami's fingers refused to give you. The blonde was half-sprawled on top of you, barely hovering with one firm bicep framing the side of your head.
How long had it been since he had come home from work and initiated spicy time with you, as you liked to call it? One hour? Two?
Time was nothing but a blur as Nanami worked two thick, deft fingers inside of you — rolling the pad of his thumb over your pert clit in tight circles.
But he had no intention of making you cum. Not yet, for he had a little experiment he wanted to try out first.
"Let me try something," he murmured, fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside of your cunt.
You nodded, brows knitting in the middle. But then Nanami spoke once more, his voice taking on a low timbre that sent heat rushing to your cheeks.
"Baby."
Your pussy clenched — just a little — around your husband's fingers. As expected. Nanami chuckled, mentally logging down the exact pressure that had squeezed at his pruning digits.
"Love?" he asked this time, thin brow raised.
You shook your head, lips tightening into a thin line so that you could suppress the breathy sounds threatening to leave you. Your body gave you away, however, giving Nanami another squeeze — harder this time.
"Stop," you whispered, your pussy now beginning to thoroughly coat his fingers in a glossy sheen of your slick.
"That's not quite right," Nanami observed, shifting himself upwards ever so slightly. His lips were against your ear now, voice low.
"Sweetie."
Clench.
"Honey?"
Squeeze.
"…darling?"
At that, your body tensed, pussy fluttering wildly around his fingers. Nanami was quick to notice the way your lips parted, a chorus of gasps and pleas leaving you. Then, your hand came up, tightly gripping Nanami's wrist in a desperate attempt to get him to move.
"There it is."
"Please, Ken. Move your fingers. I think 'm— I feel like I'm close."
"Already?"
You shook your head, face screwing slightly in embarrassment, which prompted the man to chuckle.
"Ah, I suppose I've been mean enough, darling." Nanami's voice lowered, dropping an octave as he punctuated his words with a firm curl of his fingers inside of you. He watched as your back arched, both of your breathing turning heavier when he came to his final conclusion.
Your favourite pet name he had for you was darling, and there was no doubt about it.
And so Nanami began fingering you, properly now. It was the most talkative he had ever been, with lips nipping against your ear as he talked you through the sudden burst of pleasure hitting you all at once.
"Oh, my darling," he crooned, voice smooth but laced with increasing hunger. "Is this too much? Do you like it when your husband coddles you like this?"
"Yesyesyes— wait, no. D-don't call me that—"
Nanami's fingers continued to stroke inside of you steadily, your arousal dripping down his wrist by now with each deliberate thrust. With each purred pet name sent your way, your walls squeezed involuntarily around him, before you could even register what he had just called you.
"Seems like your body— ah, you're squeezing again — knows what she needs."
A series of pecks came your way, landing on your lips and cheek and whatever bit of skin your teasing husband could reach.
He didn't even wait for you to respond, too engrossed in making you feel good. The pressure on your clit returned, Nanami's thumb working overtime to draw out every ounce of pleasure he could bring you.
"Close, darling? I can feel it." He swallowed, now lowly grunting into your ear. The slight ache in Nanami's wrist was worth it as he angled it down, stroking against that one spongy spot inside of you that had you positively writhing against him.
"Go on, make a mess all over your husband."
With Nanami's loving words of encouragement, you did — letting go until the breath left your lungs in heaving pants. The mess only grew wetter, soaking the sheets below as you came with a cry.
He could only watch with a look of utmost devotion on his face, grinding his palm against your clit in an attempt to wring out your orgasm to the fullest. And when Nanami pulled his fingers out of you with a squelch, webs of your slick glued his fingers together — snapping wetly when he pulled them apart.
"I don't think my work is done quite yet," he sighed, situating himself between your spread legs.
With two large hands on either one of your thighs, he squeezed — coaxing them onto his hips.
Something prodded you down below, hard to the touch as it moved up and down obscenely slow. Nanami gasped somewhat sharply, aching tip drooling out a fat drop of precum.
"W-what else could you possibly do now, you fiend?"
"Oh, I think you know," he muttered breathily, the sound of a belt unbuckling following shortly after.
᭡୧ Fix your route? Nah, Fuck you right. — N. Kento.
᭡୧ synopsis: in which nanami is a longtime divorced man but got a very active sex life. and in which a new, bimbo… and a very much younger neighbor moves in next to his apartment. worst part is, he’s not able to control himself around you. especially when you’re at his door, asking him to fix your wifi late at this hour.
᭡୧ pairing: older!nanami kento x kinda bimbo fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: age gap, heavy sexuál tension, eyefu cking, solo m. mast urbation, nanami is in his 40s and reader is early 20s, belly/tummy bulge, fing ering, did i say heavy se xual tension?, pus sy eating, overstim ulation, squi rting, weak plot/heavy po rn — if there’s more to tag lmk. w.c: 7.8k+
nanami kento has always kept his life neat and quiet, the kind of man who folds his shirts the same way every morning and times his coffee exactly seven minutes after the water boils. forty years old, divorced once a long time ago, and now he lives alone in the corner apartment on the fourth floor where the hallway light flickers just enough to remind him he should probably call maintenance but never does.
his sex life is the same as everything else he controls, sparse and deliberate. a few times a year he lets himself download one of those bland apps, meets a woman his age in a hotel bar, fucks her slow and polite in the dark so neither of them has to look too closely at the other.
most nights though it is just his own hand in the shower, quick and efficient, eyes closed while he thinks about nothing at all. he likes it that way. clean. no mess. no complications. until you moved in next door three months ago and ruined every single one of those careful rules without even trying.
you showed up on a rainy tuesday with too many cardboard boxes and a laugh that carried through the thin walls like it belonged there.
early twenties, fresh out of whatever college or job that spat you into this building, always in oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts that rode up the back of your thighs when you bent over to pick up your mail. nanami noticed you the first time he passed you in the hallway, the way you smiled at him like he was just another neighbor instead of a man who suddenly felt every one of those twenty years between you. he told himself it was nothing. just new noise in a building that had been quiet for years. but then the noise became something else.
the soft thump of your music when you cooked dinner, the way your balcony light stayed on late while you scrolled on your phone, the faint vanilla scent that drifted under his door every time you took out the trash. he started catching himself pausing at the peephole when he heard your keys, hating the way his cock twitched at the mere sound of your footsteps. hating it more when he realized he was hard again in the shower that same night, fist wrapped tight around himself while he pictured those sleep shorts pooled around your ankles.
he tried to ignore it at first. threw himself into longer office hours, came home later, kept the volume on his television higher so he would not hear you humming in the shower through the shared wall. it did not work.
every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.
he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.
then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.
nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.
your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.
you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.
you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.
“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.
nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.
you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.
his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.
fuck.
he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.
“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.
he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.
every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.
he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.
he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.
he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.
“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.
his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.
“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.
“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.
he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.
he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.
nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.
the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.
he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.
you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.
your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.
“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.
“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.
nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.
and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.
+
a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.
nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.
it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.
it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.
he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.
you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.
each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.
he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.
tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.
the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.
nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.
you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.
“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”
he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.
he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.
you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.
the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.
nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.
he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.
“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”
you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.
your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.
the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.
his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.
you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.
he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.
you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.
nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.
he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.
you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”
“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”
you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”
caught him red handed. fuck you.
he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”
his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.
“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”
you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”
the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.
he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.
nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.
he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.
his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.
his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.
he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.
the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.
nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.
he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.
he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.
he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.
the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.
he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.
only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.
he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.
nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.
when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.
your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.
he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.
you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.
the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.
“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.
he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.
you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.
nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.
his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.
the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.
he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.
“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.
your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.
his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.
now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.
he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.
you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.
nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.
but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.
with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.
your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.
he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.
the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.
your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”
the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.
nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.
nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.
his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.
the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.
nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.
nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.
your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.
finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.
a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.
the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.
he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.
“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”
the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.
he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.
“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”
the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.
well y’all i had to claw my nails onto a wall to storm this idea so it better do good or you’re not hearing from me again.. (i’m literally posting in few hours again 😛)
is it so hard to find an omegaverse fic where wife reader comes home to alpha sukuna deep into his rut, surrounded in a pile of ur messed up clothes bc he was trying to soothe himself while you were gone with his cock hard as rock that its hurting, dripping and pulsing while his face is flushed and he's rapidly jerking himself before hearing the door open and immediately the smell of you filling the house. no clothing of yours could beat the real thing, right? and ofc as soon as you enter the house, the scent of sukuna's arousal just hits your nose and you also get triggered by it...
no words exchanged, just immediately understanding the assignment and taking your clothes off in front of him, and two of you getting down to businessssss ugh
his eyes rolling to the back of his head when he first slides it into your cunt, slick already oozing out of you and he's actively drooling while he's fucking you in missionary. you drag your tongue up his chin to catch it all and turn it into a messy ass make out sesh. kissing while his balls slap against you from how hard he's thrusting, dick aching badly.
that first knot hitting like absolute crack, he's buried deep inside when it swells up, biting all over your neck and breathing your scent in deep, groaning and growling against you animalistically, he cums for ages, bodies clinging to each other while youre both sweaty and him occasionally shuddering against you from the pleasure while pressed deep into you...
and when he's done and his knot finally calms down somewhat, he begins thrusting again without even pulling out, since he's far from done. by the end of it you look like youre pregnant from how much he's dumped into you <3
just possessive cuddling and him nuzzling against you afterwards as aftercare <3
gojo using his blindfold to gag you when he fucks you in doggy because he can’t keep a hand clasped over your mouth when he’s having too much fun grabbing handfuls of your ass.
usually he’d encourage your noises, but the room he’s pulled you into has thin walls and a door that doesn’t lock. he’d rather not deal with the lectures of someone walking in and witnessing the way your legs shake when you cum. or deal with you putting him on a sex ban for letting anyone see you like that. again.
you're drooling all over his blindfold, half a mind to spit it out and moan his name just to spite him, but he’s being nice and fucking you good so you oblige, even if he is being a bit of an ass about it.
“fucking you so good i gotta gag you to shut you up, hm?” he coos. “should have fucked your throat instead, kept you quiet that way. but fuck—” he snaps his hips against your ass “—you feel so good.”
you fuck back onto his cock a little, pushing your ass back against him, and that’s all it takes to make your lover fold. he moans when he cums, loud, so much so that gagging you was pointless. he doesn't even pretend to care about the noise he's making as he cries out your name with a dramatic groan that you're sure the next city over can hear.
"Day four without sex, by the way. In case you didn't know."
"Oh, I know."
". . . sorta drying up here. Not getting any younger either."
"Should probably invest in some Viagra instead of gambling then."
Toji scowled at that, taking that as a low blow to his manhood. The mattress dipped under the thick elbow he had propped himself up on.
To be frank, he was offended — your boyfriend still had a good few years on him and was perfectly capable of getting erect. "What's your deal, huh? What happened to making my dick hard and not my life?"
"First world problems, 'ji. Do better."
"You know what I'm trying to say," Toji grunted, adjusting himself through his boxers. "You can't back your ass into me then blue ball me."
You stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful look on your face. He watched through furrowed brows, the way your nose scrunched as you debated on whether to be honest with your grump of a boyfriend.
Fuck it, why not?
"It's bush season," you said simply, not caring to elaborate.
. . .
"Listen, I told you I'm not getting rid of the bush—"
"Not you, idiot," you scoffe, "me. Just felt lazy. Didn't want to shave but I don't know if you find hair gross or whatever."
"You've dug your tongue in my ass before," Toji rebutted, jaw clenching at the memory. Of course, you let out a nostalgic sigh, pussy tingling a little at the thought. "What makes you think i give a fuck about hair?"
You shrugged, still staring at the ceiling. Toji was staring at you. Then, your crotch. Without warning, his hand shot out, lifting up the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
"Toji—"
No panties, typical.
But that did let him get a real good eyeful of a thick patch of hair right above where your cunt was, unruly in its nature and slightly coarse. Toji let out a low whistle, sitting up and ignoring your protests. "Shit, you weren't kidding."
Usually, your pubes were well-kept or at least relatively neat. The sight of random shapes being trimmed above where your pussy began was not uncommon to your boyfriend. Hell, Toji had even caught you attempting to give yourself a fade before.
This, though? This was completely different — and Toji liked it.
"Hey— c'mon now," you yelped, ass lifting off the sheets as your boyfriend manhandled the shorts right off of your body.
You landed back onto your ass with a soft thwump, having no time to recover when Toji pries your thighs back open. You let out a pitched shriek, yanking the fiend by the scalp.
"Could make a fuckin' wig out of this."
Your body tensed, hot as he dug his nose into your slit and pushed upwards — all the way until it was nudging up against your pert clit. Toji stayed there, letting your pubes brush up against the lower half of his face like a freak.
"See, this is why I don't show you anything," you scolded, "because you always make it weird."
Toji groaned, inhaling the musky scent that was so you in with two hands holding your quivering thighs open. "You're the weird one. Why would you think I wouldn't want to fuck you like this?"
"Dunno. Scared our pubes will interlock and I'll get attached to you like velcro. I've had enough of you already—"
A sharp nip to your clit made you yelp, cutting off your yelp. A languid lick soothed the sting, but you still glared down at Toji regardless — even if arousal was clouding your judgment and you wanted nothing more than to get fucked dumb by your boyfriend.
"Stupid girl," he rumbled, angling your hips further into his mouth by giving your hair a gentle warning tug. "You've got one more chance, are we fucking or not?"
frat!jo who is physically incapable of giving you a normal kiss. every kiss turns into slow, soft lip kisses.
frat!jo who memorizes your exact lip combo like it’s sacred information: liner shade, gloss brand, balm scent. he eventually starts carrying your lip products in his pockets “just in case” —but it’s really so he can keep kissing you.
his jean pockets = your makeup bag.
frat!jo who pulls your gloss out like a flex in front of his friends, and even sukuna himself is impressed by the way he doesn’t care if people tease him. he gets genuinely offended if you use a different brand without telling him.
frat!jo who kisses you just to taste your lip gloss and how soft your lips are. he reapplies it for you with way too much focus, one big hand on your jaw while the other touches up your smudged combo. he loves when your lips are glossy—says it makes you look “too kissable.”
your loving boyfriend carries your lip combo like it’s something important. like keys, wallet, phone… gloss, liner, balm.
you’re standing in his room, digging through your bag, ready to attend his own fraternity weekly party. mini dress, cute shoes, mini shoulder bag. looking immaculate—like what satoru always says.
“I forgot my lip gloss,” you mumble.
he doesn’t even look up and reaches into his pocket. pulls it out. holds it up.
you stare at him. “why do you have that?” he shrugs, casual, but his ears are pink. “because I like kissing you. and i like when your lips are soft.”
you step closer, smiling. “so you just…carry my makeup now?” he smirks, eyes on yours. “only the important ones.”
you raise your brows.
“c’mere.” he sits on his bed, long legs spread apart ready for you to come stand in between. you follow his orders, cheeks already hot. you stand close to him, his hand comes to grab your jaw, soft, delicate. his other hand already holding the lip liner. you let him apply it for you—slow, careful, thumb brushing your lip.
then he leans in and kisses you gently. not rushed, not hungry, just soft, affectionate, warm.
“Do you want blue-eyed babies running rampant across Tokyo Tech for the next five years or do you have even a sliver of control?”
Gojo outwardly smirks at your miffed state, massive hands splayed over your supple thighs on the counter of the staff kitchen, the flushed tip of his pale cock brushing through your silky folds teasingly. It seems that your body is giving away just how much you need him, too. “Impeccable timing, sweetheart, because today’s our lucky day. I’ve got the perfect solution for us,” he purrs, and you aren’t all that thrilled knowing the sort of mischief he tangos with.
But you give in anyway. Because he’s Gojo Satoru.
His lips latch onto the column of your throat, and it isn’t long until you feel him pressing into your pulsing entrance, slathered in your leaking arousal.
But something’s off.
“G-Gojo…? What is that?” You quiz with a whine, head tossed back as he laps at your jawline, right where he knows you’re sensitive after years of working by his side and fucking you in his apartment to watch you come undone time after time.
“Little trick I came up w-with, jerking off to those sexy little pictures you sent when I was on that mission in Hokkaido,” he grunts out, thumbs digging bruises into the plush of your thighs as he buries himself to the hilt. “You know how much I can’t work through a quickie with a rubber.” The pout that hangs off his lower lip is all theatrics—the man just likes going at it raw.
You squirm, legs trembling, walls fluttering around his massive size. And then it clicks, because you know Gojo Satoru, and his pullout game is tragically weak.
“There’s no way…”
“Yes way.”
He cups a hand over your mouth as he starts rutting into you, your whines muffled lest some poor employee makes their way into the room, your skull knocking into the cabinet behind your head.
Your eyes are rolling back into their sockets as you piece together that Gojo is using his Infinity around his dick.
A makeshift condom of sorts.
The prominent lines bulging down his length drag against your gummy walls, his technique rounded out so thin and so precise that in a cockdrunk state, you probably wouldn’t have even noticed he had it activated.
But right now, you feel him everywhere.
“C’mon,” he bites down on your collarbone, the low timbre of his tone sending sparks darting up your spine. “Beg me to fill you up raw.”
His vulgar words punch a whimper from you, your legs ensnaring his tapered waist while you clench around him involuntarily. You can’t get a sound out, muffled whines sounding against his soft palm.
Moments later, when the lights above you fade and flicker as his orgasm careens into him and stars bloom behind your eyelids, does he spill inside of you.
But not really inside of you. Just inside of the infinite barrier he managed to keep up after he came.
Once he catches his breath, he pulls out, a thick layer of seed around his cock and held tight against it with his technique.
You hold back a snicker as he fumbles around with his shaft.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he muttered, mostly to himself as he waddles around the room.
And of course, when your situation couldn’t get any weirder, does Ijichi push his way into the staff lounge—spluttering apologies with flushed cheeks, trying to avert his gaze from your hiked up pencil skirt and Gojo’s dick on the verge of leaking onto the linoleum floors.
☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.
it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.
but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.
he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.
so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.
but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.
and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.
and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs, your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.
satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.
so, naturally, gojo plays into it.
the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.
and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.
“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”
it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.
you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked his claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that dresses your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.
he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity, but he isn’t. his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.
he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants at the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.
“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”
“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”
“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.
gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”
“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, satoru.”
“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”
“no you’re not.”
“yeah, i’m not.” he parrots. “but you will be.”
“wh—“
in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other on your waist, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.
“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”
you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.
he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way. how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.
how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.
“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”
“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”
“yeah? well where is it now?”
you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.
you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums he does so right over your parted thighs to dress you further in himself. you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.
God, you hated that man. Naoya Zenin, the pride of the Zenin clan, whose insufferable ego preceded him. A man wrapped in devastatingly aristocratic beauty. A rebel from the status quo, with dyed blonde hair and multiple ear piercings, and yet a countercultural rebel in all the wrong ways. Behind a veneer that could make any woman swoon was a narcissistic egomaniac who could shrivel even the roses, if roses could sense a man’s heart.
It was just too bad he was your betrothed; arranged, of course. Ever since your conception, were you to be born a girl, you would be Naoya Zenin’s bride. An unfortunate fate.
Yet no woman born into a traditional clan of jujutsu society came out meek and demure. No, this was a world where only the strongest survive, and the weak are stepped on. The firstborn girl of the Kitayama clan was anything but meek. You were born in the north mountains, forged in frigid winters, and trained against the tougher northern cursed spirits. It would take more than a prissy Zenin boy to bring you to heel.
“What’s got you so down, princess? Try smiling. You married a Zenin.” He lounged against the futon, still dressed in his groom’s kimono with the obi loosened and his posture anything but regal. “Don’t go souring your husband’s mood on the first night.”
Crescent moon divots were left behind when your nails dug into the mahogany vanity in the honeymoon suite, which the Zenin clan had so graciously given you two. You keep your eyes down as an effort to keep the peace.
Deigning his words not worthy of a response, you work the ornaments out of your hair methodically, staring into the vanity mirror while doing your absolute best not make eye contact with him through the glass.
Petulance creates a scowl on his lips. It drags his honey-colored brows down into a scowl. Petulance is not a mood one wants to witness on Naoya Zenin. Petulance quickly becomes anger.
He stood and crossed the room in no more than a heartbeat, his barrel of a chest a bullying presence against your back.
“Good wives take heed of their husband’s words.” He drawled, lips low and close to your ear. Any response that you would have spoken wasn’t fast enough for him. Long fingers caught in your hair, yanking hard and causing your neck to bow backwards.
Sparks of pain lanced through your skull. A timid woman might cry out and go still. Perhaps they’d cry. A northern-born woman like yourself? You slapped him.
Naoya Zenin was the fastest sorcerer alive— a well-known fact. Yet the blonde Zenin’s worst vice was his own arrogance. Never would the bastard consider you might retaliate, so he didn’t even bother keeping his guard up.
It was over in a second. One moment, he was pulling your head back, the next, he’d let go and stagger back, hand now covering his rapidly reddening cheek.
A mistake, one that a prideful son of a bitch like him would never forget.
“Fucking bitch.”
He lunged. For all your strength, you weren’t a fool— you’d never be as fast as the Zenin golden boy. Your back hit the vanity, the desk crashing into the wall as he shoved you hard into it.
Your left knee came up, clipping dangerously close enough to his cock, the arrogant bastard had enough intelligence to jump back a little.
“That’s not a nice thing to call your wife. We’ve only been married a few hours.” You retorted languidly, refusing to let on the throbbing ache in your spine.
“Next time you disrespect me, I won’t be so lenient.” Naoya spat; he was crowding forward again already, albeit with his guard up and a wary look in his furious brown eyes.
“I hadn’t said a word to you.” Came your bitter reply. He bared his teeth, shoving his face close into yours.
“Perhaps I should make it clear, Kitayama bitch. Speak when spoken to, come when called, and spread your legs when I tell you to.” Naoya sneered.
You reached back, grabbing one of the various pins still clinging to your hair and lancing it towards his midsection. Naoya wasn’t easily fooled twice; however, he grabbed your wrist, twisting hard and throwing you towards the futon.
Your body hit the mattress chest first, momentarily knocking the breath from your lungs. It granted him enough time to start unbuttoning the shirt beneath his kimono, lazily unfastening his hakama pants as he sauntered forward.
“Should’ve been a good little wife.” He feigned lamentation.
You turned in time for him to straddle your body, knees bracketing your waist. “Luckily, such things can be remedied. A woman can be trained; she can be brought to heel.” Naoya continued smoothly, letting his attire fall open.
Rigid muscles etched into his abdomen; a testament to rigorous training. From his belly button, a trail of raven black curls swept down towards his navel, the V of his hips joining at an unfairly large manhood.
“What a waste of cock, attached to a man who surely doesn’t even know how to properly use it. Tell me, Zenin, do you pay your whores extra for their screaming performances?”
It seems Naoya was unaware of the type of woman he’d married. You weren’t like the Zenin maids— no, for the first time, Naoya encountered a woman with spite and pride that went as deep as his own.
The man snarled, pouncing forward, intent on wrapping his long fingers around your pretty throat and throttling the defiance out. You kneed him hard in the diaphragm, causing spittle to fly from his mouth.
With a sharp wrench, the ties of his hakama pants snapped. You pulled just enough of the cord to stuff it into his perfect mouth and cinch it hard around his head. “That’s better.”
Hatred never reflected in his honeyed brown eyes more than they did now as he looked at his new bride.
With the breath forcibly kicked out of him, it didn’t take much more scuffling to have one of his hands beneath your knee, grinding it into the mattress hard enough to make his brows pinch in pain.
The next hand you grabbed, twisted, and effectively tied to the futon frame with knots so tight they’d leave welts in his skin for days.
“Much better,” you cooed, even as his face reddened with fury. If a glare could kill, Naoya would have bestowed the most cruel of deaths upon you.
“A man’s tongue should only be used to lap at a woman’s clit. Nothing more. Any real man worth his salt knows this, Zenin boy.” You tapped his chest, dragging fingers over his smooth skin until the kimono gaped open.
You spit. His head jerked, eyes bulging with fury as your saliva landed across the bridge of his nose. Muffled curses, ones that probably were supposed to sound something like “fucking whore” were mumbled past the gag in his mouth.
They never learn, not even bound and tied.
His chest heaved, all pretty muscle and smooth skin. It was such a shame, so much beauty wasted on a worthless man. “If only you were a good man, Naoya.” You sighed, leaning down to ghost a kiss over his sternum. “We would’ve had a good life, you know. With looks like this, I would’ve fucked you every night.”
You withdrew another pin, dragging it along his jugular. Long, silver, and sharp at the end, Naoya stopped heaving for a moment. His eyes widened, arms bulging as he strained at his bindings.
“How many women have you beaten? Killed?” You whispered, tracing his jaw with the pin. “How about this? One stab for each woman; right into this pretty throat of yours.”
He seized against the gag in his mouth, whatever curses he hurled muffled behind it. No matter, you weren’t going to kill him yet, at least. The blood feuds such a murder would produce were too much of an inconvenience as yet. Besides, Naoya Zenin was a vision when he was muzzled.
You worked his hakama pants open further, till his clothes were draped open and his cock sprang forward. Hard and throbbing— despite his life just being threatened.
“Masochist.” You laughed, a bitter sound. Yet heat curled low in your stomach. Naoya Zenin was unfairly well endowed. His cock stood proudly, a darker color from the porcelain skin of his chest. You traced a finger up the prominent vein that curled its way up to his tip, an even darker tan that was flushed red and already leaked pre. He grunted behind the gag, hips twitching up towards your hand like a desperate dog.
You wrapped your fist around the shaft— he was heavy. Not too long, quite girthy, and heavy enough to make your stomach flip.
“If I fuck you, will you say ‘yes ma’am’?” You purred, fisting his cock hard. Naoya thrashed, a low whine erupting behind that gag.
Murder forgotten, you dropped the pin, your now free hand coming down to cup his balls. You swiped a thumb over his seam, watching him keen and shake. How pathetic. That was the thing about men, a few quick strokes over their cocks and suddenly they all had manners. Within a minute, they knew all those words like ‘Yes ma’am, no ma’am, please and thank you’ too.
His cock twitched violently. Naoya’s chest heaved, not with anger, this time with lust.
“Murdering you would be inconvenient.” You drawled, steadily fisting his cock. Up and down, thumb swiping over his slit. You leaned down, spitting on the pretty mushroom tip for lubricant.
“But maybe I’ll keep you tied up here. You can be a stud horse, muzzled, kept in your stall. I’ll come fetch you when I want you to breed. A good performance will get you a treat. Doesn’t that sound nice, Naoya? After all, it’d be a pity to waste these genes, Zenin.”
He moaned, hips rutting up into your hand shamelessly. You let go of him when his cock began to throb harder. He wouldn’t get released that easily, no matter how much of a masochist he was proving to be.
Instead, you undressed, pulling layers of your bridal kimono off until they pool on the floor off the edge of the futon. Returning to straddle his waist, you leaned forward, pulling his gag off harsh enough to yank his head around.
“Can’t have you gagged when I need that tongue.” You drawled.
Naoya worked his jaw and snarled, his pretty aristocratic face twisting with fury. “I’ll have you fucking killed for this.”
Within a second, the silver pin was jammed up against his throat again, pressing hard enough that a bead of crimson began to well.
“What did I say to you?” You spat. Naoya stiffened. You drew your hand back, slapping him hard enough that his head snapped to the side. His cock jumped beneath you.
“The only thing your tongue is good for is lapping at a woman’s clit. Just like a dog.” You reminded. “Now repeat it.”
“You fucking bitch I’ll kill you-“
*crack*
You slapped him again. A choked moan tore past his pretty mouth. “Repeat it, Naoya. My tongue is only good for pleasing women.”
A sharp press of metal to remind him of your early threat had the words staggering out of his mouth.
“My tongue— is only good for—“ he clenched his teeth hard, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Pleasing women.”
After that, you rewarded him, offering a tit to his mouth. Your hips grinded slow circles against his throbbing length, letting the tip push through your folds and coat in the slick that had been pooling between your thighs since you’d entered this suite.
Naoya suckled obediently, lapping at each tit you smothered into his face like a good dog. Give a man a tit, and suddenly he’s as soft as a baby, even Naoya Zenin.
“Luckily for you, it seems your behavior can be remedied. All men can be trained and brought to heel.” You threw his own words back in his face.
Naoya’s brow twitched, his honeyed brown eyes flicking up to meet yours. Yet whatever spiteful arrogance had fueled him early had been thoroughly sedated by the tit in his mouth, laving his tongue over your nipple in a way that had slick pooling and making a mess between both of you.
You pulled back, tit popping free from his lips with a wet sound. You lifted, sliding forward to lower your cunt towards his mouth.
“Clean this mess up.” You demanded not giving him time to speak before dragging your cunt across his face.
Naoya writhed, repulsed, but unable to avoid the way slick smeared from his brows to his chin, coating his face.
His perfect nose caught the hood of your clit, making you gasp and swirl down hard. his nose ran over the nub again, making your eyes flutter.
“Oh- that’s it- Naoya, seems you're learning.”
For all his arrogance and pride, even Naoya couldn't deny his own instinct to open his mouth and swipe his tongue through his new bride's folds, though of course a slew of curses promptly followed it.
"Tastes like shit," he spat, yet his tongue swept through her cunt again, a groan barely audible under his breath. You laughed humorlessly, grinding yourself harder onto his face.
"Keep going, Zenin."
His tongue found your clit, flicking over it. It was clear he'd never actually taken a moment to consider a woman's pleasure before. His tongue was awkward, swirling clumsily across the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Good boy..." You breathed out, head tipping back as your hips rut into his mouth. Perhaps he'd be useful to keep around, as long as you were able to fuck the respect into him.
"Fuck- stop fucking squirming." He snarled, teeth dragging over your folds. You jerked, the pleasure-pain making you mewl. Naoya's shoulders flexed, arms fighting against the ties around his wrists as he strained forward to bury his face deeper between your thighs.
Seems that the narcissist liked eating after all. Of course, he'd never admit that, though. You lifted off his face. No sense in letting a man like him enjoy himself when all he'd ever done is torment women his entire life.
He scowled, a slick mess glistening across his face in the moonlight that now cascaded into the room. How long had you been at this? It had been late evening when you first slapped him.
You sat back, pulling his cock upright and running the tip through your folds, now drenched with your own slick and his saliva. "You want an heir, Naoya? I can give you sons, but I'll have to kill you afterwards. I wouldn't want to risk my son knowing his worthless father. "
Naoya scoffed, "Kill me, and the rest of the Zenin clan will confiscate the boy. You think you'll skip off that easily after murdering me?" He sneered, cocky attitude returning now that his mouth wasn't occupied.
With a quick shift of your hips, his tip notched into your entrance, drawing a collective gasp from both of you. "You really don't get it, do you? What did you think would happen marrying into the Kitayama clan? You wed a sorceress woman, not a whore. I won't just go down meekly like one of your mistresses. If I kill you, it won't exactly be hard to convince the upper echelons of jujutsu society that it was an act of self-defense when you beat me. Your reputation as a woman-beating son of a bitch precedes you."
He glowered at that, hate flashing in his eyes.
"Just think, a Kitayama boy with Zenin blood. Imagine the power my clan would have if we held the Zenin technique and our own." You sneered. With that, you mounted him, sucking in a breath as the Zenin heir's cock stuffed your cunt to the brim. God, it was unfair. His cock reached every deep recess inside your cunt, each vein molding against your walls while his tip kissed your cervix.
Naoya whined, a long and breathless noise that left his brows furrowing and mouth clamping shut in humiliation. You flashed a grin, swirling your hips as you adjusted to his cock buried inside of you.
"If only you were a good man, Naoya." You lamented mildly yet again, stroking his jaw before catching his chin between your fingers. "Perhaps after this, I'll find Toji down the hall? Maybe he'd be a better Zenin to claim as my own." You taunted.
He jerked, hips snapping up hard and earning a choked gasp from you. "Like hell you will." He spat, fucking up hard into your poor cunt. It was all you could do to steady yourself on his chest, even with his arms bound behind his back. "That's what's wrong with a woman being a sorcerer. You've got worthwhile bloodlines, tits, and hips to please a man, but once a woman learns her technique, she's nothing but a slut high on power. You think you'll claim a Zenin? You're fucking deluded."
You rut your hips down, meeting each rapid thrust of his hips.
"Big talk for a man who I easily tied up and can't even use his cock well. Look at you, rutting haphazardly like an inexperienced boy. Is this your first time getting your cock wet? Unfortunately, you can't pay me to brag and scream for you like your other mistresses.
He bared his teeth, rutting hard enough that his tip bullied straight into your G-spot. At your parted lips and scrunched brows, he laughed. "I don't pay my mistresses shit." He spat, rocking harder into that spot. A moan escaped your lips, thighs trembling as his cock drew out and rammed right back into that spot that had you seeing stars. "You're not that fucking clever bitch. I told you a woman can be trained. Fuck her well, breed her. You'll go soft in no time. Look at you, already shaking."
You couldn't respond; no thoughts could formulate in your brain well enough before the sharp thrust of his cock had your cognitive functions scattering.
"Na-Naoya." You whimpered, eyes falling over the way his abdomen flexed with each upward drag of his hips. Gods, he was gorgeous. Before you knew it, you were reaching back, undoing the ties of his wrists and letting his arms free.
He lunged, flipping you over without slipping his cock out. Your back hit the futon mattress hard, just as his hands gripped your thighs in a too-tight hold and practically folded you in half.
"You said you can give me heirs? I'll fuck them right into you, and when I'm done, you'll clean the mess off my cock and tell me you're sorry."
Your vision blurred, tension curling low in your stomach and building up.
"Oh god! Naoya-! I'm, I'm..."
He bit down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark, one hand squeezing tight around your breast while his hips thrust so roughly that the room echoed with the obscene, wet noise.
"That's it. Cum like the bitch in heat you are." He rasped against your ear. "You'll be fat with a kid in no time- a good Zenin girl."
Just as you reached your crest, your hands fisted in the sheets of the futon, the fingers of your right hand brushing against the metal hairpin you'd threatened him with just moments prior.
Your climax had your fingers clamping around the cool metal, his name leaving your lips like a cursed sort of prayer.
"Naoya! Oh fuck- Naoya!"
He smirked at that, eyes fluttering closed as his head jerked back once, twice, a grunt escaping his lips and a shudder running down his spine as he came, seed pouring into your cunt hot and fast.
"Naoya..." You breathed out, free hand coming up to cup the back of his neck gently as his head dropped to your shoulder.
"I think you were right." You ghosted your lips over his jaw, fingers carding through his honey blonde hair. "
You could practically feel the smugness pouring off of him. He indulged, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I'll make a good wife out of you." He assured, relaxing into your touch as his cock softened inside your cunt. "Just be good from here on out."
Ever the prideful son of a bitch, Naoya was too arrogant to notice what you clutched in your right hand, too self-assured in his strength to keep his senses alert.
"I'll be good." You promised, kissing his cheek. "I'll take care of you, Naoya."
He didn't get the chance to respond before cold metal lanced straight through his neck, cutting through his jugular and peeking out the opposite side. His honey-brown eyes went wide, pupils dilating as his mind sought to process what had happened.
Hatred gleamed in his eyes, mouth moving with the intent to curse you, only for blood to bubble up and drip past his pretty, perfect lips.
You scrambled out from under him, rolling him onto his back so he could sit there and choke on his own blood in the futon of his honeymoon suite.
"That's it, die in your own fucking blood, Zenin piece of shit."
You dressed quietly, smoothing your hair back, fixing your make-up, and padding out of the room, sliding the door shut behind you, a pretty Zenin ring glinting on your left hand as you went.
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
Might continue this, but reader gets with Choso so she can experience a real man....
God, you hated that man. Naoya Zenin, the pride of the Zenin clan, whose insufferable ego preceded him. A man wrapped in devastatingly aristocratic beauty. A rebel from the status quo, with dyed blonde hair and multiple ear piercings, and yet a countercultural rebel in all the wrong ways. Behind a veneer that could make any woman swoon was a narcissistic egomaniac who could shrivel even the roses, if roses could sense a man’s heart.
It was just too bad he was your betrothed; arranged, of course. Ever since your conception, were you to be born a girl, you would be Naoya Zenin’s bride. An unfortunate fate.
Yet no woman born into a traditional clan of jujutsu society came out meek and demure. No, this was a world where only the strongest survive, and the weak are stepped on. The firstborn girl of the Kitayama clan was anything but meek. You were born in the north mountains, forged in frigid winters, and trained against the tougher northern cursed spirits. It would take more than a prissy Zenin boy to bring you to heel.
“What’s got you so down, princess? Try smiling. You married a Zenin.” He lounged against the futon, still dressed in his groom’s kimono with the obi loosened and his posture anything but regal. “Don’t go souring your husband’s mood on the first night.”
Crescent moon divots were left behind when your nails dug into the mahogany vanity in the honeymoon suite, which the Zenin clan had so graciously given you two. You keep your eyes down as an effort to keep the peace.
Deigning his words not worthy of a response, you work the ornaments out of your hair methodically, staring into the vanity mirror while doing your absolute best not make eye contact with him through the glass.
Petulance creates a scowl on his lips. It drags his honey-colored brows down into a scowl. Petulance is not a mood one wants to witness on Naoya Zenin. Petulance quickly becomes anger.
He stood and crossed the room in no more than a heartbeat, his barrel of a chest a bullying presence against your back.
“Good wives take heed of their husband’s words.” He drawled, lips low and close to your ear. Any response that you would have spoken wasn’t fast enough for him. Long fingers caught in your hair, yanking hard and causing your neck to bow backwards.
Sparks of pain lanced through your skull. A timid woman might cry out and go still. Perhaps they’d cry. A northern-born woman like yourself? You slapped him.
Naoya Zenin was the fastest sorcerer alive— a well-known fact. Yet the blonde Zenin’s worst vice was his own arrogance. Never would the bastard consider you might retaliate, so he didn’t even bother keeping his guard up.
It was over in a second. One moment, he was pulling your head back, the next, he’d let go and stagger back, hand now covering his rapidly reddening cheek.
A mistake, one that a prideful son of a bitch like him would never forget.
“Fucking bitch.”
He lunged. For all your strength, you weren’t a fool— you’d never be as fast as the Zenin golden boy. Your back hit the vanity, the desk crashing into the wall as he shoved you hard into it.
Your left knee came up, clipping dangerously close enough to his cock, the arrogant bastard had enough intelligence to jump back a little.
“That’s not a nice thing to call your wife. We’ve only been married a few hours.” You retorted languidly, refusing to let on the throbbing ache in your spine.
“Next time you disrespect me, I won’t be so lenient.” Naoya spat; he was crowding forward again already, albeit with his guard up and a wary look in his furious brown eyes.
“I hadn’t said a word to you.” Came your bitter reply. He bared his teeth, shoving his face close into yours.
“Perhaps I should make it clear, Kitayama bitch. Speak when spoken to, come when called, and spread your legs when I tell you to.” Naoya sneered.
You reached back, grabbing one of the various pins still clinging to your hair and lancing it towards his midsection. Naoya wasn’t easily fooled twice; however, he grabbed your wrist, twisting hard and throwing you towards the futon.
Your body hit the mattress chest first, momentarily knocking the breath from your lungs. It granted him enough time to start unbuttoning the shirt beneath his kimono, lazily unfastening his hakama pants as he sauntered forward.
“Should’ve been a good little wife.” He feigned lamentation.
You turned in time for him to straddle your body, knees bracketing your waist. “Luckily, such things can be remedied. A woman can be trained; she can be brought to heel.” Naoya continued smoothly, letting his attire fall open.
Rigid muscles etched into his abdomen; a testament to rigorous training. From his belly button, a trail of raven black curls swept down towards his navel, the V of his hips joining at an unfairly large manhood.
“What a waste of cock, attached to a man who surely doesn’t even know how to properly use it. Tell me, Zenin, do you pay your whores extra for their screaming performances?”
It seems Naoya was unaware of the type of woman he’d married. You weren’t like the Zenin maids— no, for the first time, Naoya encountered a woman with spite and pride that went as deep as his own.
The man snarled, pouncing forward, intent on wrapping his long fingers around your pretty throat and throttling the defiance out. You kneed him hard in the diaphragm, causing spittle to fly from his mouth.
With a sharp wrench, the ties of his hakama pants snapped. You pulled just enough of the cord to stuff it into his perfect mouth and cinch it hard around his head. “That’s better.”
Hatred never reflected in his honeyed brown eyes more than they did now as he looked at his new bride.
With the breath forcibly kicked out of him, it didn’t take much more scuffling to have one of his hands beneath your knee, grinding it into the mattress hard enough to make his brows pinch in pain.
The next hand you grabbed, twisted, and effectively tied to the futon frame with knots so tight they’d leave welts in his skin for days.
“Much better,” you cooed, even as his face reddened with fury. If a glare could kill, Naoya would have bestowed the most cruel of deaths upon you.
“A man’s tongue should only be used to lap at a woman’s clit. Nothing more. Any real man worth his salt knows this, Zenin boy.” You tapped his chest, dragging fingers over his smooth skin until the kimono gaped open.
You spit. His head jerked, eyes bulging with fury as your saliva landed across the bridge of his nose. Muffled curses, ones that probably were supposed to sound something like “fucking whore” were mumbled past the gag in his mouth.
They never learn, not even bound and tied.
His chest heaved, all pretty muscle and smooth skin. It was such a shame, so much beauty wasted on a worthless man. “If only you were a good man, Naoya.” You sighed, leaning down to ghost a kiss over his sternum. “We would’ve had a good life, you know. With looks like this, I would’ve fucked you every night.”
You withdrew another pin, dragging it along his jugular. Long, silver, and sharp at the end, Naoya stopped heaving for a moment. His eyes widened, arms bulging as he strained at his bindings.
“How many women have you beaten? Killed?” You whispered, tracing his jaw with the pin. “How about this? One stab for each woman; right into this pretty throat of yours.”
He seized against the gag in his mouth, whatever curses he hurled muffled behind it. No matter, you weren’t going to kill him yet, at least. The blood feuds such a murder would produce were too much of an inconvenience as yet. Besides, Naoya Zenin was a vision when he was muzzled.
You worked his hakama pants open further, till his clothes were draped open and his cock sprang forward. Hard and throbbing— despite his life just being threatened.
“Masochist.” You laughed, a bitter sound. Yet heat curled low in your stomach. Naoya Zenin was unfairly well endowed. His cock stood proudly, a darker color from the porcelain skin of his chest. You traced a finger up the prominent vein that curled its way up to his tip, an even darker tan that was flushed red and already leaked pre. He grunted behind the gag, hips twitching up towards your hand like a desperate dog.
You wrapped your fist around the shaft— he was heavy. Not too long, quite girthy, and heavy enough to make your stomach flip.
“If I fuck you, will you say ‘yes ma’am’?” You purred, fisting his cock hard. Naoya thrashed, a low whine erupting behind that gag.
Murder forgotten, you dropped the pin, your now free hand coming down to cup his balls. You swiped a thumb over his seam, watching him keen and shake. How pathetic. That was the thing about men, a few quick strokes over their cocks and suddenly they all had manners. Within a minute, they knew all those words like ‘Yes ma’am, no ma’am, please and thank you’ too.
His cock twitched violently. Naoya’s chest heaved, not with anger, this time with lust.
“Murdering you would be inconvenient.” You drawled, steadily fisting his cock. Up and down, thumb swiping over his slit. You leaned down, spitting on the pretty mushroom tip for lubricant.
“But maybe I’ll keep you tied up here. You can be a stud horse, muzzled, kept in your stall. I’ll come fetch you when I want you to breed. A good performance will get you a treat. Doesn’t that sound nice, Naoya? After all, it’d be a pity to waste these genes, Zenin.”
He moaned, hips rutting up into your hand shamelessly. You let go of him when his cock began to throb harder. He wouldn’t get released that easily, no matter how much of a masochist he was proving to be.
Instead, you undressed, pulling layers of your bridal kimono off until they pool on the floor off the edge of the futon. Returning to straddle his waist, you leaned forward, pulling his gag off harsh enough to yank his head around.
“Can’t have you gagged when I need that tongue.” You drawled.
Naoya worked his jaw and snarled, his pretty aristocratic face twisting with fury. “I’ll have you fucking killed for this.”
Within a second, the silver pin was jammed up against his throat again, pressing hard enough that a bead of crimson began to well.
“What did I say to you?” You spat. Naoya stiffened. You drew your hand back, slapping him hard enough that his head snapped to the side. His cock jumped beneath you.
“The only thing your tongue is good for is lapping at a woman’s clit. Just like a dog.” You reminded. “Now repeat it.”
“You fucking bitch I’ll kill you-“
*crack*
You slapped him again. A choked moan tore past his pretty mouth. “Repeat it, Naoya. My tongue is only good for pleasing women.”
A sharp press of metal to remind him of your early threat had the words staggering out of his mouth.
“My tongue— is only good for—“ he clenched his teeth hard, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Pleasing women.”
After that, you rewarded him, offering a tit to his mouth. Your hips grinded slow circles against his throbbing length, letting the tip push through your folds and coat in the slick that had been pooling between your thighs since you’d entered this suite.
Naoya suckled obediently, lapping at each tit you smothered into his face like a good dog. Give a man a tit, and suddenly he’s as soft as a baby, even Naoya Zenin.
“Luckily for you, it seems your behavior can be remedied. All men can be trained and brought to heel.” You threw his own words back in his face.
Naoya’s brow twitched, his honeyed brown eyes flicking up to meet yours. Yet whatever spiteful arrogance had fueled him early had been thoroughly sedated by the tit in his mouth, laving his tongue over your nipple in a way that had slick pooling and making a mess between both of you.
You pulled back, tit popping free from his lips with a wet sound. You lifted, sliding forward to lower your cunt towards his mouth.
“Clean this mess up.” You demanded not giving him time to speak before dragging your cunt across his face.
Naoya writhed, repulsed, but unable to avoid the way slick smeared from his brows to his chin, coating his face.
His perfect nose caught the hood of your clit, making you gasp and swirl down hard. his nose ran over the nub again, making your eyes flutter.
“Oh- that’s it- Naoya, seems you're learning.”
For all his arrogance and pride, even Naoya couldn't deny his own instinct to open his mouth and swipe his tongue through his new bride's folds, though of course a slew of curses promptly followed it.
"Tastes like shit," he spat, yet his tongue swept through her cunt again, a groan barely audible under his breath. You laughed humorlessly, grinding yourself harder onto his face.
"Keep going, Zenin."
His tongue found your clit, flicking over it. It was clear he'd never actually taken a moment to consider a woman's pleasure before. His tongue was awkward, swirling clumsily across the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Good boy..." You breathed out, head tipping back as your hips rut into his mouth. Perhaps he'd be useful to keep around, as long as you were able to fuck the respect into him.
"Fuck- stop fucking squirming." He snarled, teeth dragging over your folds. You jerked, the pleasure-pain making you mewl. Naoya's shoulders flexed, arms fighting against the ties around his wrists as he strained forward to bury his face deeper between your thighs.
Seems that the narcissist liked eating after all. Of course, he'd never admit that, though. You lifted off his face. No sense in letting a man like him enjoy himself when all he'd ever done is torment women his entire life.
He scowled, a slick mess glistening across his face in the moonlight that now cascaded into the room. How long had you been at this? It had been late evening when you first slapped him.
You sat back, pulling his cock upright and running the tip through your folds, now drenched with your own slick and his saliva. "You want an heir, Naoya? I can give you sons, but I'll have to kill you afterwards. I wouldn't want to risk my son knowing his worthless father. "
Naoya scoffed, "Kill me, and the rest of the Zenin clan will confiscate the boy. You think you'll skip off that easily after murdering me?" He sneered, cocky attitude returning now that his mouth wasn't occupied.
With a quick shift of your hips, his tip notched into your entrance, drawing a collective gasp from both of you. "You really don't get it, do you? What did you think would happen marrying into the Kitayama clan? You wed a sorceress woman, not a whore. I won't just go down meekly like one of your mistresses. If I kill you, it won't exactly be hard to convince the upper echelons of jujutsu society that it was an act of self-defense when you beat me. Your reputation as a woman-beating son of a bitch precedes you."
He glowered at that, hate flashing in his eyes.
"Just think, a Kitayama boy with Zenin blood. Imagine the power my clan would have if we held the Zenin technique and our own." You sneered. With that, you mounted him, sucking in a breath as the Zenin heir's cock stuffed your cunt to the brim. God, it was unfair. His cock reached every deep recess inside your cunt, each vein molding against your walls while his tip kissed your cervix.
Naoya whined, a long and breathless noise that left his brows furrowing and mouth clamping shut in humiliation. You flashed a grin, swirling your hips as you adjusted to his cock buried inside of you.
"If only you were a good man, Naoya." You lamented mildly yet again, stroking his jaw before catching his chin between your fingers. "Perhaps after this, I'll find Toji down the hall? Maybe he'd be a better Zenin to claim as my own." You taunted.
He jerked, hips snapping up hard and earning a choked gasp from you. "Like hell you will." He spat, fucking up hard into your poor cunt. It was all you could do to steady yourself on his chest, even with his arms bound behind his back. "That's what's wrong with a woman being a sorcerer. You've got worthwhile bloodlines, tits, and hips to please a man, but once a woman learns her technique, she's nothing but a slut high on power. You think you'll claim a Zenin? You're fucking deluded."
You rut your hips down, meeting each rapid thrust of his hips.
"Big talk for a man who I easily tied up and can't even use his cock well. Look at you, rutting haphazardly like an inexperienced boy. Is this your first time getting your cock wet? Unfortunately, you can't pay me to brag and scream for you like your other mistresses.
He bared his teeth, rutting hard enough that his tip bullied straight into your G-spot. At your parted lips and scrunched brows, he laughed. "I don't pay my mistresses shit." He spat, rocking harder into that spot. A moan escaped your lips, thighs trembling as his cock drew out and rammed right back into that spot that had you seeing stars. "You're not that fucking clever bitch. I told you a woman can be trained. Fuck her well, breed her. You'll go soft in no time. Look at you, already shaking."
You couldn't respond; no thoughts could formulate in your brain well enough before the sharp thrust of his cock had your cognitive functions scattering.
"Na-Naoya." You whimpered, eyes falling over the way his abdomen flexed with each upward drag of his hips. Gods, he was gorgeous. Before you knew it, you were reaching back, undoing the ties of his wrists and letting his arms free.
He lunged, flipping you over without slipping his cock out. Your back hit the futon mattress hard, just as his hands gripped your thighs in a too-tight hold and practically folded you in half.
"You said you can give me heirs? I'll fuck them right into you, and when I'm done, you'll clean the mess off my cock and tell me you're sorry."
Your vision blurred, tension curling low in your stomach and building up.
"Oh god! Naoya-! I'm, I'm..."
He bit down on your neck hard enough to leave a mark, one hand squeezing tight around your breast while his hips thrust so roughly that the room echoed with the obscene, wet noise.
"That's it. Cum like the bitch in heat you are." He rasped against your ear. "You'll be fat with a kid in no time- a good Zenin girl."
Just as you reached your crest, your hands fisted in the sheets of the futon, the fingers of your right hand brushing against the metal hairpin you'd threatened him with just moments prior.
Your climax had your fingers clamping around the cool metal, his name leaving your lips like a cursed sort of prayer.
"Naoya! Oh fuck- Naoya!"
He smirked at that, eyes fluttering closed as his head jerked back once, twice, a grunt escaping his lips and a shudder running down his spine as he came, seed pouring into your cunt hot and fast.
"Naoya..." You breathed out, free hand coming up to cup the back of his neck gently as his head dropped to your shoulder.
"I think you were right." You ghosted your lips over his jaw, fingers carding through his honey blonde hair. "
You could practically feel the smugness pouring off of him. He indulged, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I'll make a good wife out of you." He assured, relaxing into your touch as his cock softened inside your cunt. "Just be good from here on out."
Ever the prideful son of a bitch, Naoya was too arrogant to notice what you clutched in your right hand, too self-assured in his strength to keep his senses alert.
"I'll be good." You promised, kissing his cheek. "I'll take care of you, Naoya."
He didn't get the chance to respond before cold metal lanced straight through his neck, cutting through his jugular and peeking out the opposite side. His honey-brown eyes went wide, pupils dilating as his mind sought to process what had happened.
Hatred gleamed in his eyes, mouth moving with the intent to curse you, only for blood to bubble up and drip past his pretty, perfect lips.
You scrambled out from under him, rolling him onto his back so he could sit there and choke on his own blood in the futon of his honeymoon suite.
"That's it, die in your own fucking blood, Zenin piece of shit."
You dressed quietly, smoothing your hair back, fixing your make-up, and padding out of the room, sliding the door shut behind you, a pretty Zenin ring glinting on your left hand as you went.
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆
Might continue this, but reader gets with Choso so she can experience a real man....
