nanami kento pussy inspection with dad's best friend ⊹ panty fucking ⊹ helping you masturbate in front of a mirror ⊹ somnophilia with your husband ⊹ reader with small breasts ⊹ he provides relief to his pregnant wife ⊹ kitchen sex with your husband ⊹ riding your husband in his study sfw a day at his office with your daughter
gojo satoru secret admirer installing a camera in your bedroom ⊹ brother's best friend ⊹ sex after a mission ⊹ hotel room mirror sex
toji fushiguro cheating on your husband with the masseur ⊹ cheating on your nerdy bf with your PE teacher ⊹ cheating on your frigid husband with the plumber
you're lying back on the bed, sheets rumpled beneath as your body hums with anticipation. nanami positions himself between your spread thighs, his strong hands grab your hips, pulling you closer, the tip of his thick cock pressing against your cunt. he pushes in slowly, the stretch burning sweetly as your pussy yields to his girth, inch after inch filling you up. you gasp, clutching the pillows, your walls clenching around him instinctively.
"is it all in yet?" you whisper breathlessly, eyes wide as you look up to him, feeling so full already but yet craving more.
kento pauses, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, while his gaze darkens with lust. he reaches for your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before guiding your hand down between your bodies. gently but firmly, he wraps your palm around the base of his cock—the part that's still exposed, hot and veined, throbbing against your skin. "not even close," he murmurs, voice husky, thrusting his hips just enough to slide another inch inside you, making you moan as your fingers feel the slick between your bodies.
your hand trembles around him, feeling the length that remains, the way it pulses with need. he holds your hand there, letting you stroke the exposed shaft while he rocks deeper, your pussy stretching further to accommodate him. the sensation of your own fingers brushing against your clit as you grab around him sends sparks straight through your core. nanami groans, his free hand pinning your wrist lightly, controlling the pace as he sinks in more.
after what feels like an eternity, his hips finally meet yours, his entire cock buried to the hilt inside you. he releases your hand, leaning down to claim your mouth in a searing kiss just as he starts to move—pulling out halfway before slamming back in. you wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, your pussy dripping around him with each thrust.
"been wanting to do this for so fucking long," he gasps as his hand slides up to pinch your nipple, rolling it between his fingers while the other braces beside your head. you arch into him, the coil in your stomach tightening as his cock drags through your most sensitive spots, hitting deep and hard. "feel that?" he growls against your lips. "all mine now."
when he finally bottoms out inside of you and lets out such a low, ragged and almost desperate sound that makes it known he’s been waiting for this alllllllll day
Hi guys, I know my account is for asoiaf fanarts but I have something sad and revolting to share with you.
Recently in Brazil, teenagers beat a stray dog named "Orelha" to death. What revolts me the most is knowing that nothing will happen to the teenagers because they are the sons of billionaire entrepreneurs and one of them is the son of the owner of the Majestic Palace Hotel, and one is the son of a policeman.
The parents are trying to bury the case by threatening to sue everyone who comments on it, but I'm not afraid, if it's to try and do justice, I'm not afraid of evil billionaires.
“I might take it easy on you. For the first five minutes.”
ft. toji taking your virginity, college student! reader
Toji is not supposed to be here—he’s definitely not supposed to be sitting on your twin XL bed while you pretend to highlight a sociology textbook—but the man treats personal space like a challenge.
“You’re squinting,” Toji rumbles, his massive frame making your mattress dip so low you’re practically rolling into his hip. “Either the lighting in here is shit, or you’re looking for an excuse to stop pretending you care about ‘Social Stratification.’”
You huff, tossing the highlighter onto the duvet. “It’s a mid-term, Toji. Some of us actually have to work for a living. We can’t all just be… whatever it is you do.”
“I work plenty,” he smirks, the scar on his lip twitching. He leans over, his shadow swallowing you whole. He picks up the book, tosses it to the floor with a dull thud, and replaces the space it held with his hand, splaying his fingers over your thigh. “I’m working right now. Trying to figure out why your heart is trying to jump out of your chest.”
“It’s the caffeine,” you lie, though your voice sounds higher than usual. “Or maybe the fact that a wanted man is currently violating my housing contract.”
“Violating? That’s a strong word,” he hums, his thumb hooking into the hem of your shorts. He leans in closer, his heat radiating through your thin shirt. “I haven’t even started violating anything yet. But you’ve been looking at me like you want me to since I walked in.”
You swallow hard, your bravado flickering. “Is that so? And what if I’m just waiting for you to leave so I can actually pass this class?”
“Liar,” he breathes against your neck, his stubble grazing your skin. “You’re a terrible student. You haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes. You’re too busy wondering what it feels like to finally get off that pedestal of yours.”
You turn your head, your nose brushing his. “A pedestal? Or just… high standards?”
Toji’s eyes darken, that lazy smirk sharpening into something predatory. “Standards are expensive. Can you afford me?”
“I don’t know,” you whisper, your hand finding the thick muscle of his forearm. “Do you take student loans, or are you strictly cash-only?”
That earns you a low, vibrating chuckle. He doesn't wait for an answer. In one fluid motion, he’s hauling you onto his lap, his hands gripping your waist with a strength that tells you exactly how much control he’s currently exercising.
“First time?” he asks, his voice dropping to a gravelly depth. He doesn't sound soft. He sounds like he’s assessing a target.
“Does it matter?” you challenge, trying to keep your breathing steady as you feel the sheer mass of him beneath you. “Are you going to give me a discount for being a novice?”
“No discounts,” he grunts, his hand sliding up the back of your shirt to pin you closer. “But I might take it easy on you. For the first five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” You arch an eyebrow, masking your nerves with a smirk. “Is that your limit? I expected more from a professional.”
Toji’s jaw tightens, his grip on your hips bruisingly firm. “Careful, kid. You keep running that mouth and I’ll make sure you can’t walk to that exam tomorrow.”
“Is that a threat, or a… promise?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
He pulls you down into a kiss that tastes like salt, his tongue claiming yours with a practiced arrogance. When his hand moves to the button of your jeans, he pauses, looking you dead in the eye. “Last chance to go back to your books. Once I start, I don't stop until you're thoroughly educated.”
You reach down, covering his hand with yours and pushing the denim down. “Teach me then, Mr. Fushiguro. I’m a very fast learner.”
Toji doesn’t need a second invitation. He shoves your jeans down your legs with a rough impatience that sends a button skittering across the floor. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, feeling tiny and exposed against the massive breadth of his shoulders.
“Fast learner, huh?” He maneuvers you until you’re flat on your back, the cheap mattress springs protesting as he looms over you. He’s already gotten rid of his shirt, his torso a map of scars and muscle that looks like it was carved out of granite. “Let’s see how your retention is under pressure.”
He doesn't do the slow, romantic buildup. He’s all teeth and heat, his mouth attacking your neck while his hand slides between your thighs. When his fingers find you—slick and aching—he lets out a low, dark hum of approval.
“Look at that,” he murmurs against your skin. “Not even a minute in and you’re already failing to stay composed. Very unprofessional, student.”
“It’s an… extracurricular,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the hard meat of his shoulders as he slides two fingers inside you. You’re tight—ridiculously so—and the sudden fullness makes your hips jerk upward. “And I think… you’re the one being distracting.”
He grunts, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with a devastating, rhythmic pressure that makes your vision go fuzzy at the edges. “If you’re gonna be a brat about it, maybe I should just go back to the couch.”
“Don’t you dare,” you snap, your legs curling around his waist to lock him in place. You can feel him through his trousers—thick, heavy, and pulsing against your thigh. “Unless you’re admiting you can't handle the workload?”
Toji’s eyes flash. He pulls back just enough to strip out of his pants, and the sight of him—dauntingly large—makes your breath hitch. He doesn't reach for a condom; he reaches for you, dragging your hips to the very edge of the bed so your legs drape over his shoulders.
“I’ve handled worse than you,” he growls, positioning himself at your entrance. He pauses there, the tip of him teasing your cunt, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. “But you’re definitely the most annoying. Ready?”
You don’t have time to answer. He lunges forward, burying himself inside you in one heavy, soul-stealing thrust.
The air leaves your lungs in a silent scream. It’s too much—you’re stretched to the absolute limit, your body screaming at the intrusion of something so big, so solid. You feel your hymen give way, a sharp sting that’s immediately swallowed by the sheer, blunt force of him filling every available inch of you.
“Shh, breathe,” Toji commands, though his own voice is strained. He stays still, his arms trembling as he holds his weight off you, his eyes searching yours for a sign to stop. “Told you. Not a soft-handed TA.”
“Shut up,” you wheeze, your hands clutching his biceps as the initial sting fades into a heavy, throbbing warmth. You tilt your pelvis, trying to swallow more of him. “Don’t stop. Just… fuck, Toji.”
He doesn't need to be told twice. He begins to move, slow and agonizingly deep at first, letting you adjust to the friction. Every time he bottoms out, your head hits the headboard with a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that matches the frantic beat of your heart.
“There you go,” he rasps, his pace picking up as he feels you relax around him. He starts hitting your spot with the accuracy of a marksman, each thrust sending a jolt of pure electricity through your spine. “Still think I’m a distraction? Or are you starting to see the merit in the material?”
“You’re… such an asshole,” you moan, your head tossing back as he catches your wrists and pins them above your head.
“An asshole who’s currently doing your homework,” he counters, his hips snapping forward with a sudden, bruising speed. He’s fucking you mean now, his breath coming in jagged hitches, his composure finally starting to crack. “Tell me how it feels. Tell me you’re not thinking about that fucking textbook anymore.”
“I’m not,” you sob, your walls pulsing around him, milking him so hard he lets out a strangled curse. “I’m thinking about… how much I hate you for being this good.”
“Good? I’m the best you’re ever gonna get,” he grits out, his movements becoming frantic, desperate. He’s close, you can feel it in the way his muscles have turned to iron. He leans down, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “And don't forget it. Every time you’re in those lectures, you’re gonna feel me right here.”
He hits a depth that sends you over the edge, your body seizing as your first orgasm rips through you. You’re screaming his name into the quiet apartment, your pussy clenching around him in a vice grip. Toji lets out a low, guttural roar, his own release hitting him with the force of a freight train. He thrusts three more times, hard enough to move the bed a few inches, before he finally collapses into you, his hot seed filling you up, making you feel heavier and fuller.
He stays there for a long time, his face buried in your hair, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room.
“So,” he eventually rumbles, his voice vibrating against your chest as he finally pulls back, looking down at your flushed, spent face. “Think you’re gonna pass?”
You let out a weak, shaky laugh, your fingers tracing the scar on his lip. “I think I might need a tutor. For the rest of the semester.”
Toji’s smirk returns, lazy and satisfied. “My rates just went up.”
You step into the dimly lit massage parlor, the scent of lavender and sandalwood wrapping around you like a soothing embrace. Stress has been gnawing at your edges for weeks—work deadlines, family obligations, the weight of your wedding ring on your finger—and you need this. A simple massage to melt it all away. The receptionist leads you to a private room, where soft towels cover the table and candles flicker gently. "Toji will take care of you," she says with a knowing smile before leaving you to undress.
You strip down, folding your clothes neatly and sliding under the sheet that drapes over your lower half. The door opens, and in walks Toji, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair tousled, a white uniform shirt straining against his muscled chest. His eyes meet yours briefly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Lie down on your stomach first," he instructs, his voice deep and gravelly. You comply, resting your cheek on the table as he warms oil between his large palms.
His hands descend featherlight at first, pressing into the tense knots along your shoulders. The oil slicks over your skin, warm and silky, as he spreads it in slow strokes down your back. You sigh, the pressure easing already. Toji's fingers trace small circles over your shoulder blades, then along your spine, kneading deeper now, coaxing out the tightness. "You carry a lot of stress here," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His touch feels professional, almost therapeutic, as he works the oil into your lower back, thumbs digging into the dimples above your hips.
You relax further, eyes fluttering shut, until his hands drift lower. They glide over the curve of your ass, still covered by the sheet at first, but he tugs it down just enough to expose more skin. "Gotta get everywhere," he says casually, pouring more oil directly onto your ass cheeks. His palms spread them wide, fingers splaying to cover every inch, rubbing in firm circles that make your breath hitch. It's intimate, too intimate, but you tell yourself it's part of the massage. Slowly, his hands inch inward, thumbs brushing the sensitive crease where thigh meets groin.
"That's… getting close," you murmur, shifting slightly. He chuckles low, ignoring the hint, his fingers now tracing the edges of your inner thighs, featherlight strokes turning bolder. Oil drips lower, and before you can protest more, his hand slips between your legs from behind, grazing the outer lips of your pussy. You tense, heat flooding your face. "Hey, wait—I'm married. This isn't right." Your voice wavers, but Toji doesn't stop. "Just relaxing you fully," he replies, his tone unyielding as he pours more oil right over your exposed folds.
The slick warmth hits your clit first, making you jolt. His fingers follow, rubbing the oil in with slow, teasing circles over your pussy lips, tracing the outer edges without dipping inside yet. He spreads the oil along the soft, swollen flesh, his fingertips gliding back and forth in lazy patterns that make your hips twitch involuntarily. "See? So tense right here," he teases, his voice a low rumble as he presses just a bit firmer, outlining each fold carefully. The oil makes everything slippery, his touch lingering on the sensitive inner lips now, parting them slightly to let the liquid trickle deeper. You bite your lip, a soft whine escaping as he circles your entrance without entering, building the heat with featherlight grazes that promise more.
"Toji, stop. I said I'm married—please." The words tumble out, laced with urgency, but his touch only intensifies. He spreads your lips wider, oiling every crease meticulously, his thumb hovering over your clit before brushing it in the lightest of touches—enough to spark electricity but not satisfy. "Your body says otherwise," he murmurs, dipping one finger just the tip into your hole, then pulling back to rub the oil around the rim instead. He repeats the motion, teasing the opening with shallow probes while his other fingers massage the surrounding folds, pinching them gently between his knuckles to heighten the sensation. Your thighs quiver, arousal seeping out to mix with the oil, and he notices, chuckling as he smears it back over your clit in slow, torturous swirls.
Your body betrays you, the teasing making you ache as he finally slides one thick finger inside you. He pumps it slowly at first, curling to stroke your inner walls, while his other hand keeps rubbing your clit with those maddening circles. "Feels like you need this," he growls, adding a second finger, stretching you with scissoring motions that make wet sounds echo in the room. You whimper, gripping the table's edges. "No, really—I'm married. My husband… this is wrong." But your hips buck slightly against his hand, the friction building despite your words.
Toji flips you onto your back effortlessly, his strength pinning you in place as he kneels between your spread legs. The sheet falls away completely, leaving you bare under his hungry gaze. He doesn't rush to your pussy again; instead, his oiled hands move up to your chest, cupping your breasts with a teasing squeeze. "Can't forget these," he says, his voice husky as he pours fresh oil over your nipples, watching it cascade down the curves. His palms glide over them, spreading the slickness in broad strokes that make your skin tingle.
He starts light, fingers tracing the undersides of your tits, lifting them gently as if weighing them, his thumbs brushing the edges of your areolas without touching the peaks. You arch a little, breath catching, but he smirks and pulls back, only to return with firmer pressure, kneading the soft flesh in his large hands. "So full and sensitive," he teases, rolling your breasts together, then apart, his fingers splaying wide to cover every inch. The oil makes his grip slide effortlessly, and he pinches your nipples between thumb and forefinger, twisting just enough to draw a gasp from you. "Toji—no, I'm married. This has to stop," you protest, but he ignores it, leaning down to blow a cool breath over the oiled peaks before sucking one into his mouth briefly, his tongue flicking the tip.
He releases it with a pop, switching to the other breast, groping harder now, his hands squeezing and releasing in rhythmic pulses that send jolts straight to your core. His fingers tug at your nipples, elongating them before letting go, watching them bounce back. "Bet your husband doesn't play with them like this," he murmurs against your skin, his teeth grazing the underside as he massages deeper, thumbs circling the areolas in tight spirals that build the ache. You squirm, hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, but the teasing has your pussy clenching emptily, the earlier oil still slick between your thighs.
Satisfied with your flushed chest, Toji's attention shifts lower again. He dives in without hesitation, his mouth latching onto your pussy. His tongue flattens against your clit, licking broad strokes through the oily slickness, before sucking the nub between his lips. You cry out, hands flying to his hair to push him away, but he growls against you, the vibration making your toes curl. "Toji! Stop—I can't do this. I'm married!" You plead again, voice breaking, but he ignores it, tongue plunging into your hole now, fucking you with wet, thrusting laps.
He eats you out ravenously, lips smacking as he devours your folds, teeth grazing your clit just enough to make you arch. His fingers rejoin, three now, pistoning deep while his mouth works your clit relentlessly. Pleasure coils tight in your belly, your protests turning to moans. "Please… oh god," you gasp, but it's futile. Your orgasm crashes over you, pussy clenching around his fingers as you squirt a little, soaking his chin. He laps it up greedily, not letting up until you're trembling.
Before you can catch your breath, Toji stands, shedding his pants in one swift motion. His thick cock springs free, veined and heavy, the head already leaking precum. It's massive, easily the girthiest you've seen, and he strokes it once, eyes locked on your dripping pussy. "Gonna fuck you now," he states, climbing onto the table. You shake your head frantically. "No, Toji—I'm married! I can't cheat like this. Please, don't." But he doesn't thrust in yet. Instead, he grips the base of his shaft and rubs the swollen head along your oily folds, tracing the slick outer lips with slowness.
The heat of his cock against your sensitive skin makes you whimper, the veined length gliding up and down your slit, bumping your clit with each pass. "Feel that?" he taunts, his voice rough as he coats his dick in the mixture of oil and your arousal. He presses the tip against your entrance but doesn't push in, just nudges it there, letting the pressure tease without relief. Your hips lift instinctively, seeking more, but he pulls back, dragging his cock through your folds again, the friction making obscene, slippery sounds.
"Toji… please, no. I'm married," you gasp, but the words lack conviction now, your body thrumming with need. He grabs the bottle of oil from the side table and tilts it over your pussy, pouring a fresh stream right onto your spread lips. The warm liquid cascades over your clit and down to your hole, mixing with the mess already there, making everything even slicker. He rubs his cock through it immediately, the head parting your folds as he slides up to circle your clit, then down to tap at your entrance repeatedly—light, frustrating taps that make your inner walls flutter emptily.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls, pouring more oil directly onto his shaft now, letting it drip onto your pussy as he resumes the teasing. His cock slips between your lips, the thick underside pressing against your clit while the tip prods your hole without entering. He rocks his hips in shallow motions, humping your folds like he's fucking you but denying the penetration, the oil allowing him to glide effortlessly. Each time the ache builds deeper, your clit throbbing under the relentless pressure, and you feel yourself clenching around nothing, desperate for fullness.
The teasing drags on, his cockhead catching on your inner lips, stretching them slightly before slipping away. He does it again and again, pouring another drizzle of oil to keep the slide smooth, watching your face contort with frustration. "Beg for it," he demands, his free hand gripping your thigh to hold you open wider. "Tell me you want this dick inside your married pussy." You shake your head at first, biting back the plea, but the torment is too much—the way his veined length rubs your swollen clit, the tip dipping just inside your rim before retreating, leaving you on the edge.
"Please… Toji," you finally whisper, voice breaking. He smirks, rubbing harder, the head now focused on your clit in tight circles that make stars burst behind your eyes. More oil pours, warm and endless, soaking your ass crack now as he grinds. "Please what? Say it." The pressure builds unbearably, your body trembling. "Put your dick inside me. Fuck me, please—I need it." The words spill out in a rush, humiliating and raw, your protests about marriage forgotten in the haze of lust.
Only then does he line up properly, the blunt head pressing against your oiled entrance. He thrusts in hard, burying half his length in one go. You scream, the stretch burning deliciously as your walls grip him tight. "Fuck, so wet for me," he grunts, pulling back only to slam deeper, bottoming out against your cervix. His hips snap forward relentlessly, cock pounding your pussy with wet, obscene slaps. You claw at his shoulders, torn between pushing him off and pulling him closer. Another plea dissolves into a moan as he angles to hit your g-spot, thick shaft dragging over it with every brutal thrust.
Toji fucks you like he owns you, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your thigh to fold you open wider. His balls slap against your ass, the table creaking under the force. "Say it again," he taunts, pounding harder, his cock throbbing inside you. "I'm… married," you whimper weakly, but your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back. He laughs darkly, leaning down to bite your neck as he rails you, the coil building again.
Sweat slicks both of you, mixing with the oil, as he drives into your pussy over and over. Your second orgasm rips through you, walls milking his cock in rhythmic squeezes. Toji follows with a roar, flooding your depths with hot spurts of cum, his thick load overflowing and dripping down your thighs. He stays buried inside, grinding lazily as you both pant. "Good girl," he murmurs, finally pulling out with a wet pop, watching his cum leak from your well-fucked hole. You lie there spent, the stress gone but replaced by a guilty, sated haze.
your familys not sure how to feel about olderbf!toji (smut) ☆
the air in your aunt’s living room was thick with the smell of pot roast and quiet judgment. toji stood beside you, a mountain of muscle in a simple black button-down that strained across his shoulders, his presence seeming to swallow the polite chatter whole. he’d been perfectly civil—a low grunt of greeting, a firm handshake that made your father blink—but his eyes held a lazy, predatory amusement as he surveyed the room.
you could hear the whispers threading through the clink of china.
“...must be what, forty? easy…”
“...practically robbing the cradle, susan, i mean look at him…”
“...older than mike, i swear…”
toji’s hand, resting possessively on the small of your back, gave a slight, deliberate squeeze. you glanced up and saw the corner of his mouth twitch. he’d heard every word.
dinner was a minefield of pointed questions. your uncle ron, who was indeed two years younger than toji, leaned forward. “so, toji. what is it you do, exactly?”
toji took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze steady. “this and that. security work. freelance.” his voice was a low rumble that somehow silenced the table. “body’s the tool. keeps me fit.”
the way he said it wasn’t a brag. it was a simple, brutal fact. a few aunts fanned themselves. later, as you were clearing dessert plates in the kitchen, you felt him crowd you against the counter, his front to your back, his breath hot on your ear.
“hear ‘em all talkin’, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. “callin’ me old.”
“they don’t know anything,” you whispered, leaning back into his solid heat.
“oh, they know,” he chuckled, a dark, velvety sound. one of his big hands slid around your hip, palming you through your dress.
“they see it. pisses ‘em off ‘cause they know i can do things those soft little uncles of yours only dream about.” his fingers dipped beneath the hem, finding you already wet for him, just from his proximity, from his arrogant, delicious confidence. “gonna show you when we get home just what this old man can do.”
he pressed a single, rough kiss to the side of your neck, a promise that made your knees weak, before sauntering back into the living room, leaving you breathless against the counter. the knowing, triumphant smirk he threw over his shoulder was for you alone.
the drive home was a thick, silent tension. his large hand rested high on your thigh, his thumb stroking idle, possessive circles that burned through the fabric of your dress. he didn’t speak. he just let the promise hang in the air between you, heavy and potent.
“toji…” you breathed out, the word barely a whisper.
“save it,” he rumbled, his eyes on the road but his focus entirely on the heat under his hand. “gonna hear plenty from you soon.”
the moment your apartment door clicked shut, the civility evaporated. he spun you, your back hitting the wall, his body caging you in. the smug amusement from earlier was gone, replaced by a raw, hungry intensity.
“all those whispers,” he growled, his mouth descending to your throat, biting just shy of pain. “all those looks. like i’m some fuckin’ predator who stole their sweet little girl.” his hands shoved the straps of your dress down, baring you to the cool air and his hotter gaze. “maybe they’re right.”
“ah—!” you gasped as his mouth found your breast, his tongue laving over your nipple before sucking hard.
he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom, not bothering with the lights. he tossed you onto the mattress, following you down in a fluid motion, his weight pinning you in the most perfect way.
“or maybe they're wrong. you like this, don’t you?” he rasped, yanking his own shirt open, buttons scattering. his calloused hands were everywhere, pulling, squeezing, claiming. “playin’ the good girl for them all day, lettin’ ‘em think you’re innocent. while you’re sittin’ there, soakin’ wet, thinkin’ about how this old mans gonna ruin you the second we’re alone.”
“y-yes,” you moaned, arching into his touch. “god, yes, please—”
he didn’t wait. he sheathed himself in you with one brutal, perfect thrust, knocking the air from your lungs in a choked cry. “fuhhhck—toji!”
he set a punishing pace immediately, each deep drive punctuated by his filthy, low voice in your ear.
“that’s it. they have no idea, do they?” he grunted, his hips snapping harder. “no idea their precious niece gets off on this. on bein’ fucked by a man who knows exactly how to take what he wants.” he drove into you, hitting a spot that made you see stars. “nngh! say it. tell me you love it.”
“i love it—ah! haah—i love it, i love you—” you babbled, nails scraping down his back.
a dark, satisfied groan ripped from his chest. “you love it. love knowin’ i’ve seen more, done more… that i can make you feel things those boys your age couldn’t even imagine.” his rhythm was relentless, the slap of skin filling the room. “c’mon, baby, sing for me. let me hear how much you love bein’ corrupted.”
☆ — plug!sukuna didn’t expect to fall for a manipulative brat with a pretty pout and god-tier pussy. now you own him.
genre/tags: smut, fluff, angst?, drug use (weed/edibles), casual power imbalance (sukuna is whipped as hell), light degradation/teasing, dry humping, oral (f. rec), overstimulation, breeding kink word count: 5.1k
never in his life did sukuna think he’d end up playing errand boy to some girl with shiny lip gloss and an attitude problem. and yet here he was— flicking through zelle requests with one hand while the other held up your bright pink tote bag, the one you insisted on using to “discreetly” carry your shit.
fucking ridiculous.
he should’ve known you were trouble the second you texted him “how much for pre-rolls? asking for a friend :)” and then followed it up two minutes later with “jk it’s for me. my lungs are sensitive. do u do delivery?”
delivery. as if he was fucking doordash.
but sukuna’s not stupid— he’s been around girls like you before. you bat your lashes, talk all soft, act like you don’t know what you’re doing. but you do. oh, you do. and for some reason, it works. because here he is, standing outside a party he didn’t even want to go to, hoodie up, blunt tucked behind his ear, waiting for you.
“oh my god, you actually came,” you say when you spot him across the yard, solo cup in hand, pink tongue peeking out to wet your lips.
“don’t act surprised,” he mutters, stepping forward. “you blew up my phone.”
you pout at him like he’s the one being difficult. “i thought you were ignoring me. you always leave me on read.”
“you always text me dumb shit.”
“and yet,” you grin, pulling him by the sleeve as you lead him toward the back of the house, “you always show up.”
sukuna clicks his tongue but follows anyway, because apparently his reputation means nothing when you’re looking up at him all sweet and sugarcoated, like you don’t already have him wrapped around your manicured little finger.
and he knows you’re full of shit, knows you’re not as innocent as you act. you’re just too pretty. too good at playing dumb. too good at leaning forward while pretending you “don’t know how to roll” and asking him to show you— knowing damn well your skirt rides up every time you shift in his lap.
he should’ve never agreed to the first favor. because now? now he’s somehow your personal dealer, weed tutor, and emotional support plug all rolled into one.
and you haven’t even let him hit.
yet.
+
sukuna wakes up the next day with a sore neck, red solo cup on his nightstand, and three unopened texts from you sitting pretty at the top of his lock screen.
you • 12:21 PM
hiiii did u get home safe ><
also
do u know how to make edibles ???
he stares at the screen for a second too long. groans. drags a hand down his face.
he should’ve said no. he was going to say no. but then you followed up with a selfie— some half-sweet, half-seductive bullshit of you holding a whisk and pouting in your kitchen like you were trying and “needed guidance.” said it’s “too confusing,” and that “smoking hurts your lungs” and “you trust him.”
you trust him.
so now he’s here— baking tray in hand, hoodie sleeves rolled up, googling “how to make brownies with weed but not make them taste like grass” while his roommates roast him from every angle of the apartment. he’s already spent the last two hours pacing between the kitchen and the living room, checking his phone every couple minutes as the oven timer ticked down, mumbling to himself and rereading your texts like they were sacred instructions. and to make matters worse, you hadn’t asked for anything normal— no brownies, no cookies, not even simple gummies— you wanted blondies.
blondies. the most annoying, temperamental, finicky bitch of a baked good.
it was bad enough that sukuna already didn’t know how to cook for shit, and now here he was trying to get the butter-to-weed ratio perfect for something he’s never even tasted before. your exact words had been, “not too strong, but not too weak. i wanna feel it, but like…cutely.”
whatever the hell that means.
his third and final attempt actually came out decent, which is the only reason he allowed gojo, geto, and toji to taste-test them without threat of violence.
“i don’t taste anything,” gojo says with his mouth full, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “you sure there’s weed in this or did you just make a snack for your girlfriend?”
“she’s not my girlfriend,” sukuna mutters, slicing the tray into crooked squares.
“oh, she’s definitely your girlfriend,” geto hums, licking his thumb. “only explanation for why you’re baking at 1 am in a fucking apron.”
“it’s my apron,” gojo adds unhelpfully.
“he didn’t even charge her,” toji calls out from across the apartment. “was on the phone with her all night talking about sugar measurements and ‘do u prefer chewy or gooey?’ like a bitch.”
“i was just helping her,” sukuna says, reaching for the ziplocks in the drawer, trying not to look as flustered as he feels. “she didn’t know how to infuse the oil. and she was asking questions.”
“bro,” gojo deadpans. “she sent you a heart and now you’re making gourmet treats for free. be serious.”
he is serious. serious enough that he’s already snapping a picture of the finished batch before his roommates can tear into it any further.
sukuna • 2:21 AM
[Attachment: 1 Image]
they turned out fire
you • 9:03 AM
omggggg
ur literally the best
how much for like 6?? :o
he stares at your texts with one eye open, thumb hovering over the screen as he debates whether to say what he should say— or do what he always ends up doing.
sukuna • 9:08 AM
don’t worry abt it
i gotchu
you • 9:09 AM
what 🥺
nooo i feel bad now
lemme pay u pls
he’s about to respond with something chill and casual, something that doesn’t make him sound like a complete simp, when your next message comes in.
you • 9:10 AM
[Attachment: 1 Image]
i can pay in other ways maybe :3
jk jk
unless…? 👀
it’s a photo of your lips, pink and glossy, a little pout just dramatic enough to be intentional. the neckline of your t-shirt is slipping down your shoulder, bra strap peeking out, and you’re pressing your chest against your forearm to make your tits sit higher— just enough to make his brain short-circuit.
he doesn’t even blink.
sukuna • 9:11 AM
actually yeah no fr don’t even pay lmao
this one’s on me
when u want it?
you • 9:12 AM
u sure??
i’d hate for u to lose money ;(
sukuna • 9:13 AM
money comes n goes
ur satisfaction is priceless 🤭
dropoff or u coming to mine?
he doesn’t even like emojis. and yet here he is, typing one out like a clown, cheeks warm, heart thudding, already moving shit around on his schedule to make sure he’s home when you are.
after about a month and a half of being your full-time edible supplier slash unofficial emotional support plug, sukuna’s fully convinced you’re using him. and honestly? he doesn’t even care. he’ll make brownies, blondies, weed-laced cake pops shaped like little hearts— whatever you want.
if it means you keep texting him.
if it means you keep sending those pictures.
if it means you keep calling him “kuna” and telling your friends you’ve got a “special guy” who hooks you up.
his roommates keep calling him pussy-whipped. and maybe he is.
but when you text him “can u make sum w pink sprinkles this time? pretty pls?” he’s already preheating the oven.
+
enough time has passed that even sukuna can admit to himself— begrudgingly, silently, privately— that whatever this thing is between you two, it’s not exactly strictly business anymore.
sure, he’s still your plug. still drops off your weekly batch of cupcakes or brownies or cereal bars, whatever cute little edible treat you requested in your late night texts. but he’s also the one saving your name in his notes app with little hearts. the one checking the delivery time twice before knocking. the one you always invite inside now.
he’s convinced you’re evil. evil and dangerous and hot as fuck. and he doesn’t care. red’s his favorite color anyway.
“this is embarrassing,” toji mutters, nodding toward the mirror where sukuna is fixing his hair and checking his hoodie for cat hair before leaving. “you’re literally going over there just because she asked.”
“she said she wanted to see him,” gojo adds mockingly, holding his hands over his heart. “so romantic. so pure. so drug-fueled.”
“i’m literally just dropping something off,” sukuna snaps, grabbing the tupperware from the counter.
“then why the fuck did you put cologne on?” geto asks, not even looking up from his phone.
sukuna ignores them. leaves anyway.
by the time he pulls up to your place, he’s already mentally coached himself to be normal. be chill. just hand it off and go. no flirting. no lingering. no folding the second you bat your lashes at him.
you open the door in a tiny tank top and matching shorts and he immediately forgets every single rule he made for himself.
“you’re late,” you pout, pulling him in by the wrist.
“you never said a time,” he mutters, shutting the door behind him.
“still. i missed you.”
he doesn’t respond. just hands you the container, avoiding your eyes as you open it and gasp.
“oh my god, these are so cute!”
they’re heart-shaped this time. pink frosting. edible glitter. he won’t admit how many youtube tutorials it took.
“i love them,” you say sweetly, grabbing one and leaning against the counter. “wanna smoke?”
sukuna pauses. blinks. “what?”
you smile. “i mean… i did say i missed you.”
you end up on your couch together fifteen minutes later, his lighter in your hand and his hoodie now hanging off your shoulders because you claimed you were cold— even though you’re half sitting in his lap.
he lights the blunt for you slowly, his movements practiced and smooth, but his eyes keep flicking to your lips. “you sure you’re good?”
you nod. “i trust you.”
that word again. trust. the same one you always throw in at just the right time. it works every single time.
you’re nervous, though. he can feel it. can see it in the way your hand trembles slightly as you raise the blunt to your mouth. you take a cautious hit, coughing almost immediately, and he rubs your back as you groan into his shoulder.
“fuck,” you mutter. “that’s strong.”
“you good?” he asks again, softer this time.
you nod, snuggling closer. “just… don’t leave yet.”
sukuna swears under his breath, arms tightening around you without thinking. you’re warm and soft and high and dangerously close to making him fall for you completely.
“wasn’t planning on it,” he murmurs, and this time, it’s the truth.
he should’ve said no. should’ve left after the handoff. but now you’re curled up in his lap giggling about nothing, stealing puffs from his lips, and resting your cheek against his chest like you belong there.
you glance up at him, eyes glossy. “hey, ‘kuna?”
“hm?”
“you ever fuck while high?”
his whole body goes still— as if that question alone was enough to alter his brain chemistry. whatever half-baked thought he was chasing evaporates completely.
you smile, slow and wicked.
and just like that, sukuna’s fucked.
your lips are on him before he can even process what’s happening.
soft. slow. sweet at first. a lingering drag of cherry balm and weed smoke as you slot your mouth over his, pressing in like you’ve done it a hundred times before— like this isn’t the first time, just something you do when you’re bored, high, and feel like ruining someone.
his hand flies to your waist instantly, pulling you tighter, grounding himself as your tongue lazily swipes across his bottom lip. he parts for you with no hesitation, already drunk on the scent of you, the weight of you on his lap, the whimper you let out when he sucks on your tongue.
you taste too good. smell too good. feel too fucking good. your hips are already shifting— slow, grinding little movements like you’re testing him, seeing just how far he’ll let you go.
and the answer is all the way.
he groans low in his throat as your core presses flush against the bulge in his sweats, your thin sleep shorts doing nothing to hide how warm and wet you are through the fabric. he can feel it— can feel the heat and the slight dampness and the way you gasp against his mouth when his hips buck up into yours.
“fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “you’re gonna kill me.”
“mm…not yet,” you giggle, lacing your fingers behind his neck. “still need you for a few things.”
you roll your hips again— slower this time, deeper— and he physically shudders, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut as you move against him. “you’re, fuck, you’re soaked.”
“mhm,” you hum, brushing your nose against his cheek. “told you i missed you.”
your tone is all sugar and satin but your hips are grinding like you want to break him. and he wants to be broken. wants to be used. wants to lay back and let you ride his thigh or his cock or his fucking face if it’ll make you keep making those breathy little sounds every time your clit drags against the ridge of his length.
he kisses you harder this time, messier— spit-slick and tongue-heavy, teeth dragging your bottom lip until you whimper. his hands grip your ass and guide your movements, slow grinds back and forth, letting your body rock against him while his cock twitches helplessly under the fabric.
“sukuna,” you whisper, all high and whiny, fingers tugging his hair. “feels good…”
he growls, hips stuttering. “keep going, baby. fuck, grind on me just like that. keep goin’, yeah…”
you’re panting now, mouth glossy and puffy from his kisses, hips faltering as you ride the length of him through the layers of fabric. your cunt is soaked, sticky and hot against the tent in his sweats—and every time your clit catches against the tip, your thighs twitch and your breath hitches.
“s’too much,” you whisper, but you don’t stop.
you can’t. he’s too hard. too hot. too much. and he’s everywhere. on your lips, under your hands, between your legs.
“you wanna cum?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “grind that pretty little pussy on my cock, yeah? i’ll make you cum just like this. don’t even gotta take your clothes off.”
you moan— loud and unfiltered, your forehead pressing into the crook of his neck, hips jerking forward faster, sloppier now. it’s wet. filthy. the friction sends shockwaves through you both, underwear completely soaked, sweat beading down your back as you hump him like a fucking pillow.
his hands roam, palming your tits over your shirt, fingers tugging at the neckline to expose more skin, thumbing over your nipple until you gasp. and when you arch your back, riding him harder, crying out into his shoulder— he thinks he might actually cum untouched.
“baby,” he rasps, rutting up against you with ragged breaths, “lemme eat it.”
you freeze.
“i mean it,” he pants, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “please. lemme taste you. wanna eat you out so bad. been fuckin’ dreamin’ about it.”
your stomach flips at the sound of his voice, low and desperate, completely wrecked with undying need— and when you pull back to look at him, his eyes are black.
“say yes,” he begs, gripping your ass. “just say yes, baby, i’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good, i’ll eat it til you’re shaking, i swear—”
you smile.
and slowly climb off his lap.
he stares up at you, chest heaving, lips parted, pupils blown wide.
“bedroom?” you ask, cocking your head.
he nods so fast it’s pathetic.
+
he gets you on the bed in less than ten seconds.
you’re barely halfway through peeling off your shorts before sukuna’s dragging them down for you, muttering curses under his breath the entire time. his hands are relentless— palming your thighs, kneading your ass, thumbing the wet spot on your panties like he can’t believe it’s real.
“fuck,” he groans, head dropping low so he can mouth at the fabric. “you’re soaked. you fuckin’ ruined these.”
“i told you i missed you,” you breathe, lifting your hips to let him tug your panties down.
“nah, this—” he pauses to spread your legs wider, jaw clenching at the sight of your glistening pussy, folds slick and sticky and already twitching from how worked up you are. “this ain’t just missin’ me. this is obsession.”
he leans in and spits directly on your cunt.
you gasp. he grins. and then he dives in.
no teasing. no warm-up. just full, nasty suction against your clit as his tongue works tight circles around it, lips wrapping around the swollen bud with a groan that vibrates against your core. it’s wet— obscenely so— the lewd sounds echoing off the walls as he eats you like he’s starving.
your hands fly to his hair instinctively, fingers curling in his soft pink strands as your thighs clamp around his head. he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit, gathering all your slick on the way, moaning into your pussy like it’s the best meal he’s ever had.
“taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles, sounding muffled against your folds. “could live down here.”
he’s messy. slurping. sucking. scissoring you open with two fingers so he can tongue-fuck you deeper. when he pulls back to breathe, his chin is shiny, lips swollen, and he immediately spits on your clit again just to smear it around with the tip of his tongue.
“nngh, wait- m’gonna cum again,” you whimper, back arching off the mattress. “fuck, ‘kuna, slow down—”
“can’t,” he pants, rutting his hips into the bed. “you taste too fuckin’ good. pussy’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, shit- feels like a dream.”
he wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you closer, locking you in place. sucks your clit into his mouth again and flicks it over and over with his tongue until your legs are shaking and your fingers are pulling at his hair like you’re trying to hold on for dear life.
“c’mon, pretty girl,” he coaxes between licks, voice low and ruined, “wanna feel you cum on my tongue. need it. please, baby- gimme that shit. cum for me.”
you cry out— hips jolting, thighs clenching around his ears— you cum hard, voice breaking on a sob as your orgasm crashes over you. he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even slow down. just moans into your pussy and keeps sucking, licking, overstimulating you through every aftershock until you’re writhing and gasping and trying to shove his head away.
he finally lets up with a groan, pulling back with a wet ‘pop’. his lips are shiny. his chin is dripping. and when he looks up at you?
he looks feral.
“you good?” he asks, climbing up your body and kissing your collarbone, your jaw, your lips. “you with me, baby?”
you nod, still breathless. “fuck…”
“mhm.” he nudges his nose against yours, his cock hard and leaking against your thigh. “can i- can i just…?”
you blink up at him. “just what?”
his hand wraps around the base of his dick, guiding it between your thighs until the tip is brushing your clit— thick and hot and swollen. he drags it slowly up your slit, spreading your arousal all over himself with a low grunt.
“just this,” he murmurs, hips rolling forward to grind the head against your clit. “just wanna feel you, s’not even in yet- fuck, you feel so good already—”
you moan, thighs spreading for him automatically. he keeps grinding against you, cock sliding up and down your folds, tip catching your entrance every so often just to make you squirm.
“you want it?” he whispers. “wanna feel me inside, baby?”
he’s teasing. unraveling you. seamlessly gliding over your clit again and again until you’re twitching and chasing every lazy roll of his.
“beg me,” he breathes, voice cracking. “say you want it.”
you moan, eyes fluttering— but you hesitate, lips parted, a quiet whimper caught in your throat. you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction. not entirely. but your body betrays you anyway, clenching, reacting, practically pleading for more with every slick grind of his cock against your folds.
he doesn’t slip it in right away.
no, he keeeps teasing, just to mess with you at first. drags the fat tip up and down your pussy like it’s something he owns, spreading your slick until it coats his cock in a glossy sheen. you try to keep your breathing steady, try not to whine too loud, but the second he taps your clit again with the head— just right— you gasp and grab at his hips like you might cry if he doesn’t fuck you soon.
“fuck,” you hiss, voice hoarse, “quit teasing and just—” you pause, teeth gritted. “just fuck me already. you know i want it.”
but he still doesn’t give it to you. he keeps pulling back, smearing his precum all over your clit, lets it mix with your slick until it’s dripping down the curve of your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you.
“look at this fuckin’ mess,” he grits out, fisting himself at the base. “this all you, baby? or was it me eatin’ you out like a slut?”
you swallow hard. glare up at him, lashes wet. “don’t act like you didn’t love it.”
he smirks.
because he did.
and now he’s gonna make you say please.
you gasp when he taps the tip against your entrance again, teasing your hole but not pushing in, just letting you feel it, thick and heavy and right there.
“sukuna,” you whimper, legs falling open wider.
“yeah?” he pants, eyes glued to where you’re spread for him. “you ready f’me now? finally gonna let me fuck this perfect little pussy?”
you nod fast, breath catching, a broken little sound slipping out as your hips lift for him— quiet, desperate, not even trying to hide it anymore.
and that’s all it takes.
he sinks in slow at first, only the head of his cock stretching you open, and even that makes you tense all over, nails digging into his shoulders as your body jerks up from the pressure.
“fuuuuck,” he growls, head falling to your shoulder as he slowly pushes deeper. “you’re- fuck- you’re squeezin’ me so tight already, baby, holy shit…”
you’re so tight he can barely breathe. so warm, so wet, so fucking perfect that he swears his knees almost give out. he has to pause halfway in, breathing ragged, forehead pressed to yours.
“shit,” he huffs, hips twitching. “y’gonna break me.”
you’re clenching around him— walls fluttering, sucking him in— and the deeper he goes, the more you gasp, the more your legs shake, the more you whine his name like it’s the only thing you remember how to say.
“more,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist. “need it all, ‘kuna. please—”
he groans like it physically hurts, grabs you by the thighs and slams the rest of his cock inside in one brutal thrust.
you both cry out.
your back arches. your eyes roll back. your pussy clamps down so hard he nearly blacks out.
“jesus fucking christ,” he snarls, pulling out just enough to slam back in, “this pussy’s unreal- made for me, swear to god- fuck, baby, you hear that? you hear how wet you are?”
and it’s loud. squelching and sticky and filthy, your slick making a mess of his cock every time he drives back in. he sets a brutal rhythm fast, pounding into you like he’s trying to bury himself in your womb, muttering curses under his breath between every slap of skin against skin.
“take it,” he pants, grabbing your waist and pulling you down onto his cock, “take it all, baby, c’mon, i know you can. been teasing me for weeks, you can take this dick.”
you moan, gasping his name, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from how deep he’s hitting. your legs tremble, belly clenching as your orgasm creeps up again— faster this time, sharper, your body too sensitive from how long he’s been working you open.
“s-slow down, t-too much—” you whimper, words coming out shaky and slurred.
“nah, it’s not enough,” he growls, snapping his hips harder, “you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ good, baby, feel that? feel how deep i am?”
his hand slips between your bodies and presses down on your lower belly, right where he’s bulging inside you.
“that’s me,” he murmurs, slowing just enough to grind his cock into you. “right there, baby. stuffed so full of me. pussy’s mine, yeah?”
you nod. moan. sob out a yes, yes, all yours, and that’s when he snaps.
he flips you. manhandles you onto your hands and knees, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip as he fucks into you from behind with no mercy.
the sound of skin slapping fills the room, his balls smacking against your soaked pussy with every thrust. the headboard rattles. the sheets are soaked. your voice is ragged— gasping, crying, moaning his name over and over while he slams into you like he’s trying to rearrange your guts.
“wanna cum in this pussy so bad,” he groans, leaning over your back, hips still slamming. “wanna fuckin’ fill you up, baby. wanna see it drip out. you’d like that, huh?”
you nod, frantically. “please, ‘kuna- fuck, please—”
“you want my cum?” he growls, hand sliding around to rub your clit. “say it. tell me you want me to fuck a baby in you.”
your eyes roll back, pussy clenching hard as you weep from the overwhelming pleasure. “want it- fuck- put it in me, fill me up, i wanna keep it,” you cry, barely coherent. “wanna feel it dripping out- wanna feel you inside even after.”
and then you scream.
your orgasm hits like a freight train— sudden, devastating, body locking up as you gush around him, legs giving out, mouth falling open in a silent, shaking cry while he keeps fucking you through it, relentless, deep, as if he’s trying to imprint himself inside you.
he doesn’t cum.
not yet.
he pulls out slow, cock shiny and throbbing in his fist as he strokes himself, watching your pussy pulse around nothing, more slick pouring out of your hole while he smears it back over your folds.
and then he lines it up again.
grinds it against your aching clit in lazy circles, savoring the way your hips still twitch for it. the way you’re trembling, overstimulated, panting into the sheets like you can barely hold yourself together.
“one more,” he whispers, sound completely wrecked. “just gimme one more, baby. i’ll put it in after. promise.”
and you, still dazed out of your mind, nod weakly.
you’ll let him.
because at this point, you want him just as bad.
you’re still shaking when he slides back in.
slow. steady. not as brutal this time, more like he’s worshipping it now. loving the way your pretty cunt parts for him again, fluttering and dripping, still soaking wet from how hard he made you cum.
“there you go,” he mutters, one hand spreading your ass so he can watch himself disappear. “just like that, baby. takin’ me so fuckin’ easy now.”
you whimper into the sheets, body limp under him as he starts to move again— deep, dragging every inch of his cock out until only the tip remains, then pushing all the way back in until his hips are flush against your ass.
schlk. schlk. schlk.
the sound is filthy. wet. the kind of sound that would make someone blush if they walked by the door right now. but you don’t give a fuck. you’re gone. brain fuzzy, eyes glossy, mouth open with every shaky moan he pulls out of you.
“this pussy’s mine now,” he groans, “you hear me? ain’t no one else touchin’ you again. you’re fuckin’ mine.”
you nod. gasp. sob out his name when he hits that same spot inside you that makes your visions turn white.
“say it,” he pants, hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “say it’s mine.”
“it’s yours,” you choke out. “fuck, ‘kuna- it’s all yours, promise—”
“that’s right,” he growls, hips snapping even faster, “only i get to fuck you like this. only i get to see this pussy cream for me. say you want my cum, baby. say you want me to fill you up and make it stay.”
you cry out, clenching around him so tight it makes his hips stutter.
“please,” you gasp, “cum in me, want it so bad- wanna feel it, wanna be full—”
he loses it.
slams into you one last time, deep and rough, cock throbbing as he unloads everything inside you with a broken moan against your shoulder. you can feel it— hot, heavy spurts painting your walls, thick ropes spilling out around the base of his cock as he grinds into you slowly, fucking it deeper, whining through the overstimulation.
“fuckfuckfuck,” he gasps, hips twitching. “so good, baby- so fucking good, i’m gonna lose my mind…”
you’re both breathing hard. sweaty. trembling. legs sore, pussy dripping, bodies tangled in the sheets as he finally— finally— slows to a stop.
and for a moment… everything’s quiet.
his head drops to your back. you’re still panting into the pillow. his cum is everywhere— inside, outside, leaking down your thighs and making a mess on the sheets. his cock slips out with a wet squelch, pulsing against your skin.
“holy shit,” he whispers.
you hum.
and then, after a pause—
“go get me some water.”
he blinks.
“what?”
you shift a little, nudging him with your heel. “i’m thirsty. go.”
he lets out a breathless laugh— totally fucked out, sweaty, pink-haired, covered in your slick and still catching his breath— and drags himself out of bed without argument.
“yes, princess,” he mutters, grabbing his boxers off the floor and stumbling toward the kitchen. “anything else, your highness?”
you grin. stretch.
“maybe some fruit. ooh, and another edible.”
he scoffs, but you hear the fondness in it. hear the smile in his tone when he says, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”
you hum again.
“good thing you’re mine now.”
he doesn’t even try to argue.
because he is.
your plug. your bitchboy. your boyfriend.
still delivers your weed. still makes your edibles. still sends you pictures before every drop-off.
but now he gets to eat you out too.
so really… everyone wins.
i literally made this blog just to get this fic out of my system lol ok baiiiii <3
In the dim glow of his laptop screen, Gojo Satoru's blindfold is pushed up onto his forehead, his piercing blue eyes locked onto the hidden camera feed from your bedroom. He's rigged it up weeks ago, that tiny black lens concealed in the corner of your vanity mirror, snatching every private second you believe is yours alone. Your face, soft and flushed from the day's end, dominates the view as you kick off your shoes and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your tight jeans. Gojo shifts in his chair, his free hand yanking down the zipper of his pants, fishing out his thick cock that's already swelling at the base, veins pulsing with anticipation.
Your social media feeds his addiction like a drug—he's devoured every post, every story, zooming in on shots where your tongue darts out to wet your lips or your cleavage strains against a low-cut top. Hundreds of images clutter his hard drive, a secret vault of your body from every angle: bikini pics from summer trips showing the swell of your tits and the dip of your bikini line, gym selfies capturing the sweat glistening on your collarbone. Tonight, he multitasks, one tab open to your latest reel where you twirl in a short dress, the fabric riding up to tease the underside of your ass. As you shimmy the jeans down your legs, revealing smooth thighs and the black lace thong clinging to your hips, Gojo grips his shaft hard, stroking from root to tip with a slow twist.
"God, you're killing me," he growls under his breath, his thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum that's leaking from his slit. On screen, you tug your shirt over your head, your hair tumbling wild as the fabric catches briefly on your earrings. The bra comes next—simple black lace that cups your breasts perfectly. You reach back, fingers deftly unhooking it, and let the straps slide down your shoulders. Your tits spill free, full and round, nipples tightening into stiff peaks as the room's chill kisses your skin. Gojo's breath catches, his fist pumping faster now, the wet schlick of his hand echoing in the quiet of his room. He pictures himself there, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his fingers pinch the other, making you gasp and squirm.
But he stays hidden, savoring the thrill of your ignorance. You turn sideways to the mirror, arching your back as you peel the thong down, bending at the waist to step out of it. Your ass cheeks part slightly in the motion, giving the camera—and Gojo—a fleeting glimpse of your puckered hole and the pink folds of your pussy, already glistening faintly from whatever thoughts linger in your mind. His cock throbs in his grip, balls drawing up tight as he jerks roughly, imagining burying his face between those cheeks, tongue lapping at your slit, tasting your arousal while you remain oblivious. "Spread for me, baby," he murmurs, hips thrusting up into his fist, the head of his dick flushed dark red and slick.
He pulls up another saved photo—a candid shot of you in yoga pants, the seam digging into your crotch like an invitation. Side by side with the live feed, it's intoxicating: the frozen shot versus your real-time footage. You straighten up, fully nude now, and run your hands down your sides, cupping your breasts briefly before letting them bounce free. Do you know he's watching? The thought sends a jolt through him, his strokes turning frantic. He edges closer to the brink, slowing when his abs clench, not ready to end it yet. On camera, you saunter to the bed, the sway of your hips hypnotic, your pussy lips rubbing together with each step.
Climbing onto the mattress, you kneel for a moment, sheets rumpling under your knees. Your hand trails down your body, fingers brushing over your mound absentmindedly—maybe scratching an itch, or perhaps dipping lower to soothe a hidden ache. Gojo's eyes widen, his free hand gripping the desk edge as he pumps his cock in short, urgent bursts. "Touch it," he begs the screen, voice hoarse. "Finger that tight little pussy for me," In his mind, you're spreading your legs wide, two fingers plunging into your wet heat, moaning his name as you fuck yourself. Reality teases him instead, you flop back onto the pillows, thighs parting just enough for the camera to catch the inner curve of your labia, shiny and inviting.
The obsession coils in his gut, a dark, possessive fire that makes his shaft leak steadily now, pre-cum dripping down to coat his knuckles. He's jerked off to you so many times, but tonight's live show pushes him over. As you pull the covers up, one leg kicking out to expose more of your bare skin, Gojo loses it. His fist flies over his length, balls slapping against his thigh with each thrust, and then he's erupting. Thick spurts of cum shoot from his cock, arcing onto his stomach, his chest, one rogue jet hitting the laptop's edge near your image. He milks every drop, groaning as waves of pleasure rip through him, his blue eyes never leaving your form.
Panting, he slumps back, cock softening in his sticky hand. He saves the clip immediately, tagging it with tonight's date, then queues up your socials again—scrolling for fresh fuel while you drift toward sleep on screen, chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. His hunger doesn't fade, it sharpens. What if he installs another camera, in your bathroom this time?
pussy inspection with dad's best friend! kento 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
TAGS f! reader. nsfw. reader is a virgin.
The door to your bedroom swings open with a sudden creak, catching you in the throes of your desperate rhythm—hips rolling hard against the pillow wedged between your spread thighs. Your oversized t-shirt bunches up around your waist, panties yanked to the side, exposing your slick, aching pussy as it grinds for that sweet friction. A gasp rips from your throat when you see him: Nanami Kento, your dad's closest friend, his broad shoulders filling the frame, suit jacket straining over his muscled chest. Those piercing hazel eyes fix on you, drinking in the sight of your flushed skin, the way your breasts heave under the thin fabric, nipples hard and straining.
The air thickens with the scent of your arousal, pungent and needy, the pillow soaked from your juices. You try to stop, thighs quivering, but your clit pulses insistently, demanding more. Nanami steps inside, shutting the door with a click that seals you both in this forbidden moment. He doesn't flinch or avert his gaze; instead, a slow, predatory smile tugs at his lips as he approaches, his polished shoes silent on the carpet.
"I see you've been keeping busy," he murmurs, voice a deep rumble that vibrates through you, settling low in your belly. He looms at the bed's edge, close enough for you to catch his scent—crisp cologne laced with masculine heat. Your heart hammers as you clutch the pillow, but he reaches out, prying it from your grip with firm fingers, tossing it aside. It lands with a damp thud, leaving your pussy bare and glistening in the dim light.
"Don't hide from me," he says, his tone commanding yet laced with dark promise. "Your father asked me to check on you while he's out. And look at you—fucking a pillow like it's the only thing that can satisfy this greedy little cunt." His words hit like a spark, making your inner walls clench emptily. You shift, trying to close your legs, but he plants a hand on each knee, forcing them wider with unyielding strength. The t-shirt rides up fully now, and cool air kisses your exposed folds, sending a shiver straight to your core.
He drops to one knee, his face level with your lap, breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. "Spread for me. Let me see that pussy up close. Is it still pure, or have those dirty college pricks been slamming into it, pumping you full of their cum?" The vulgarity from his usually composed mouth makes your breath hitch. Trembling, you hook your fingers into your slick lips, pulling them apart to reveal everything—the swollen pink of your entrance, your clit throbbing visibly, a bead of wetness trailing down to your ass.
Nanami's eyes darken, pupils blown wide as he leans in, so close his nose nearly brushes your mound. "Fuck, look at this," he growls, voice rough with hunger. "So tight and untouched. No one's stretched this virgin hole yet—no rough hands groping you, no cocks rutting deep until you scream." His gaze traces every inch, intense and possessive, lingering on the way your inner walls quiver slightly from the exposure, the delicate hood of your clit peeking out, flushed and begging for attention. He studies the sparse trim of your pubic hair, how it frames your dripping slit like an invitation, and the subtle pucker of your asshole below, untouched and innocent.
He reaches out with one hand, his large palm hovering just above your mound before his fingers part your outer lips further, holding them open with a firm grip that makes you gasp. "Hold still," he orders, his thumb pressing lightly against the base of your clit without rubbing, just enough pressure to make it swell under his touch. You bite your lip, the vulnerability of being splayed like this under his scrutiny sending heat pooling deeper inside you. His index finger traces the edge of your entrance slowly, circling the tight ring of muscle that guards your virginity, dipping just enough to feel the slick heat but not penetrating.
"See how it flutters? Clenching like it wants to suck something in," he observes, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he watches your body's reactions. He slides his finger along your inner folds, gathering more of your arousal, spreading it upward to coat your clit in shiny wetness. The sensation makes your hips jerk involuntarily, and he pins you down with his other hand on your hip, fingers digging into your soft skin. "No one's been here, have they? No eager boy shoving his fingers in, making this pussy gape and leak for him."
You shake your head, whimpering as he adds a second finger to the exploration, pressing both against your entrance now, testing the resistance. They push in just the barest inch, stretching you slightly, feeling the velvety grip of your walls. "Tight as fuck," he mutters, withdrawing them to inspect the gloss of your juices on his skin, holding them up to the light before bringing them close to your face. "See how wet you are for me. This is what a real man's inspection does to you."
His fingers return, this time scissoring your lips wider, exposing the deepest pink inside, where your arousal gathers in glistening beads. He blows a cool stream of air over the sensitive area, watching your clit twitch and your hole contract in response. He rubs his thumb over your clit in slow, deliberate circles, building the pressure steadily, while his other fingers probe and tease your entrance, sliding in and out shallowly, mimicking a thrust without fully claiming you.
"Tell me the truth," he demands, increasing the pace on your clit, his touch firm and unrelenting. "Has any boy buried his dick in here? Made you cum around him while he breeds this sweet pussy?"" His free hand grips your thigh harder, his eyes locked on the way your pussy responds—swelling, leaking and desperate.
"N-no," you gasp, voice breaking as his fingers plunge a bit deeper now, two curling inside to stroke that sensitive spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. "Only… only my fingers. Please, Nanami…"
He chuckles low, the sound sending vibrations into your core. "Good girl. Keeping it pure for me. But I need to be thorough." He works his fingers faster, thrusting them in rhythm with the circles on your clit, stretching and filling you just enough to edge you toward release without mercy. Your body betrays you completely, hips bucking into his hand, chasing the orgasm he builds relentlessly. He doesn't let up, even as you shatter, pussy clenching around his digits, gushing wetness over his palm and wrist.
Only when you slump, panting and spent, does he pull back, his fingers slick and shining. He stands, wiping them on your thigh possessively, the bulge in his pants massive and straining. "Still untouched," he confirms, voice husky with restrained desire. "But not for long. Next time I check, I'll make sure you're ready—by filling you myself." He adjusts himself, before turning to leave, leaving you wrecked and craving his return.
Kento hovers over you on the bed, his broad frame casting a shadow that makes your heart pound. His tie hangs loose around his neck, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the hard planes of his chest, but his hazel eyes hold a rare flicker of uncertainty as he gazes down at your spread thighs. You're bare from the waist down except for the thin cotton panties clinging to your hips, the fabric already damp from his earlier touches. "I can't… not yet," he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, his large hand stroking your inner thigh. "You're a virgin, and my cock—it's too big. I won't risk hurting you."
You whimper, arching up toward him, the ache between your legs insistent. He exhales sharply, unbuckling his belt with slowness, freeing his massive cock from his slacks. It springs out, thick and veined, the head flushed dark and leaking pre-cum, easily longer and girthier than anything you've imagined. Your breath catches at the sight, a mix of fear and thrill twisting in your gut—it's intimidating, how it could stretch you beyond limits. Nanami notices your wide eyes, his jaw tightening. "See? I won't take that from you tonight. But I need to feel you."
He shifts closer, gripping the base of his shaft and guiding the swollen tip to press against the crotch of your panties. The heat of him seeps through the barrier, making you gasp as he drags it slowly along your slit, the fabric molding to your folds under the pressure. "Just like this," he says, voice low and commanding, though laced with that protective edge. He rocks his hips forward, rubbing his cock up and down through the damp cotton, the friction teasing your clit with each pass. You moan, legs trembling, the sensation electric—his girth bullying the material against your sensitive entrance without breaching it.
Nanami groans, his free hand pinning your hip to keep you steady as he grinds harder, the head of his cock catching on the edge of your panties, nudging your folds apart just enough to outline them. Pre-cum soaks through, mixing with your arousal, turning the fabric slick and translucent. You feel every ridge, every throb, as he slides back and forth, the barrier heightening the tease until you're clenching around nothing, desperate for more. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," he rasps, eyes locked on where his cock rubs your pussy, the size difference making it obscene—his thickness dwarfing your untouched cunt. "I could ruin you, but this… this is safe. Feel how hard you make me?"
His pace quickens, breaths ragged, the wet sounds of fabric and skin filling the room. You buck up to meet him, the pressure on your clit building to a fever pitch, but he holds back your release, focused on his own edge. "Gonna cum on you, mark this pretty pussy without taking it," he growls, thrusting faster, the tip bumping your clit with each stroke. Tension coils in his body, muscles flexing under his shirt, until he stiffens, a deep groan tearing from his throat. Hot ropes of cum erupt from his cock, splattering over your panty-covered folds, seeping through to coat your pussy lips in thick, sticky warmth.
He keeps rubbing through the mess, milking every drop onto you, your skin tingling from the heat. Finally, he stills, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his cock twitching against your soaked panties. "Good girl," he whispers, thumb brushing a stray tear of overwhelmed pleasure from your cheek. "We'll go slow. When you're ready."
You've always known Satoru as your big brother's shadow—the tall, white-haired guy with those piercing blue eyes and a grin that could charm the devil himself. He's been crashing at your house for sleepovers and game nights since you were kids, your elder brother's best friend, inseparable since high school. The one who teases you about your awkward crushes, sneaks you extra candy when your parents aren't looking, and always seems to be there, watching. But over the last year, something's changed. His gaze lingers too long when you bend over to grab something from the fridge, his laughs come a little too deep when you joke around, and those casual touches—his hand on your lower back guiding you through a crowded room—send electric jolts straight to your core. He likes you. Secretly. Intensely. And you've felt the heat in his stare, the way his pupils dilate when you wear those short skirts around the house, hidden behind his playful, cocky facade.
Tonight, your brother's out of town on that stupid work trip, leaving the house echoing with silence. Satoru's supposed to be bunking in the guest room like always, but as you slip out of bed in your skimpy tank top that clings to your curves and tiny shorts that ride up your ass, you hear the low murmur of the TV from the living room. He's lounged out on the couch like he owns the place, long legs stretched wide, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his sharp hip bones. His bare chest gleams under the soft lamp light—rippling abs, broad shoulders, that V-line dipping into the waistband like an invitation. White hair tousled from running his fingers through it, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours as you pause in the doorway.
"Couldn't sleep?" His voice is a casual, lazy drawl, but there's an edge to it, like gravel under silk. His gaze drops, slow and deliberate, tracing the outline of your hard nipples pressing against the thin fabric of your top, then lower to the way your shorts hug the swell of your hips. Heat floods your cheeks, but you nod, stepping closer despite the warning bells in your head.
You settle on the far end of the couch, tucking your legs under you, but he smirks and pats the cushion right beside him. "C'mere, don't be shy. Movie's shit without someone to make fun of it with." It's innocent on the surface—or pretends to be. You slide over, and immediately, his arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side. His body heat radiates like a furnace, seeping through your clothes, his scent wrapping around you—fresh soap mixed with that underlying musk of arousal he's not even trying to hide anymore. The movie plays on, some forgettable action thriller with explosions neither of you care about, but his fingers start their betrayal, light traces along your arm, dipping to your elbow, then boldly slipping under the hem of your tank top to splay his palm flat against your bare stomach.
The touch is fire. His skin is hot, calloused from whatever gym sessions he crams in between hanging out with your brother, and your breath hitches as his thumb strokes lazy circles just above your navel. "Satoru," you whisper, voice shaky, a mix of protest and plea. It could be a warning, but it sounds more like begging. He stills, his chest rising and falling faster now, and turns his head, lips ghosting over your temple. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, voice dropping an octave, rough with the restraint he's barely holding onto. "But I've been dying to touch you like this. Every fucking night your brother drags me over here, I imagine it—your body under mine, moaning my name."
You don't tell him to stop. Can't. Instead, you tilt your head up, and he surges forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss that's pure hunger. His lips crush against yours, tongue forcing its way past your teeth to tangle with yours, thrusting deep and claiming every inch. He tastes like mint and sin, nipping your bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothing it with a slow lick. His hand on your stomach slides higher, cupping one breast fully now, thumb flicking over your nipple until it pebbles under his touch. You arch into him, a soft whimper escaping, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you.
The kiss breaks only for him to shift, maneuvering you back against the couch cushions with effortless strength. His knee nudges your thighs apart, settling between them, and you feel it immediately—the thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your inner thigh through his sweatpants. He's huge, already throbbing, the heat of him seeping through the fabric like a brand. "Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me," he pants, trailing scorching kisses down your jaw, your neck, sucking at the pulse point until you know there'll be a bruise blooming by morning—one you'll have to cover with makeup, a secret mark of this forbidden night.
His free hand yanks at your tank top, shoving it up over your breasts to expose them to the cool air. Your nipples tighten further, and he dives in, mouth latching onto one with a wet suck, tongue swirling around the peak while his teeth graze just enough to sting. You moan, louder than you mean to, fingers threading into his soft white hair, pulling him closer. He switches to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention, while his hand dips lower, fingers teasing the waistband of your shorts before dipping inside. He finds your panties soaked, the fabric clinging to your slick folds, and he groans against your skin. "So fucking wet already. This pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't it? Dripping just thinking about your brother's best friend touching you like this."
He hooks his fingers into your shorts and panties, dragging them down your legs in one rough tug, tossing them aside. Cool air hits your bare pussy, but it's nothing compared to the heat of his stare as he spreads your thighs wider, settling between them fully now. His sweatpants tent obscenely, pre-cum darkening a spot at the tip, and he grinds against you once, twice, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock sliding along your slit through the barrier. You buck up, desperate for more friction, and he chuckles darkly, withdrawing just enough to shove his pants down his thighs. His cock springs free—heavy, veined, the flushed head leaking steadily, curving up toward his abs like it's made to hit every spot inside you.
"Touch me," he demands, grabbing your hand and wrapping it around his shaft. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, he's pulsing hot in your palm as you stroke him from base to tip, thumb smearing the pre-cum over the sensitive head. He hisses, hips jerking forward, eyes locked on your face like he's memorizing every expression. "Yeah, just like that. Stroke my cock, baby. Show me how bad you want it." But he doesn't let you continue long—too impatient. He bats your hand away, notches himself at your entrance, and rubs the fat head along your folds, coating himself in your arousal until you're both slick and shining.
"We shouldn't—" you start, even as your hips lift to meet him, but the words die on a gasp as he thrusts in. The stretch burns so good, his thick cock splitting you open inch by inch, filling you until your walls flutter around him, adjusting to the invasion. He bottoms out with a grunt, balls snug against your ass, and pauses there, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "That's what makes it so goddamn hot," he whispers, voice strained. "Fucking you on your family couch, knowing your brother could come home any second and catch his best friend balls-deep in his little sister. Our dirty little secret."
Then he moves. Pulls back almost all the way out, the drag of his cock against your inner walls making you clench, before slamming back in—hard, deep, setting a brutal rhythm that has the couch springs protesting. Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, his hips snapping forward with enough force to jolt your body up the cushions. You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper, and he rewards you by angling his hips just right, the head of his cock grinding against that spot inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.
"So tight," he groans, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other gripping your thigh to spread you wider. "This pussy was made for my cock. Squeezing me like you never want me to leave." Sweat slicks his skin, dripping onto your chest as he pounds into you, the wet slap of flesh on flesh filling the room, mingled with your moans and his grunts. You can feel him everywhere—stretching you, owning you, the taboo thrill spiking your arousal higher. What if your brother calls? What if he walks in and sees you like this, legs spread, taking his best friend's cock like a slut?
He releases your wrists to slide a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, fast circles that have you keening. The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in your belly, and you shatter—orgasm ripping through you, pussy convulsing around him in rhythmic pulses, gushing slick that eases his thrusts even more. "Fuck, yes—cum on my cock," he snarls, pace faltering as your walls milk him relentlessly. But he doesn't stop, fucking you through it, drawing out every tremor until you're oversensitive and whimpering.
He pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach with strong hands, yanking your hips up so you're on all fours. "Not done yet," he says, voice wrecked. He slaps your ass once, sharp and stinging, then spreads your cheeks, spitting on your pussy for good measure before lining up and thrusting back in. This angle's deeper, his cock hitting new spots, and you bury your face in the cushion to muffle your scream. He grips your hips with bruising force, pulling you back onto every thrust, his balls slapping against your clit with each drive. "Look at you, ass up, taking it like you were born for this. Your brother's gonna kill me if he finds out, but fuck if I care—your pussy's too good to stop."
The risk fuels him; his rhythm turns savage, hips pistoning as he chases his peak. You reach back, fingers circling your clit again, and it doesn't take long—second orgasm building on the heels of the first, crashing over you as you clench down hard. That's his undoing. "Shit—gonna fill you up," he warns, but it's too late; he buries himself to the root, cock swelling as he erupts, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy, marking you from the inside. He grinds through it, prolonging the pulses, until you're both spent, collapsing in a tangle of limbs.
He pulls out with a wet pop, watching his seed leak from your abused hole, thick and white trailing down your thighs. "Beautiful," he murmurs, swiping two fingers through the mess and pushing it back inside you, making you shiver. He gathers you against his chest, kissing your temple softly now, the contrast to his earlier roughness making your heart stutter. "This stays between us," he says, voice low and serious, blue eyes searching yours. "But I need more. Whenever your brother's not looking… or even when he is. Sneaking around, fucking you in his bed, the bathroom—everywhere."
kento helping you masturbate in front of a mirror, soft dom/sub dynamics 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚
Your heart races like a trapped bird as you sit perched on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your combined weight. Nanami Kento's strong arms encircle your waist, pulling your back flush against his broad chest, his warmth seeping through your thin blouse. You're the shyest girl he's ever met, or so he says, and right now, that shyness feels like a living thing clawing at your insides. Your legs dangle over his, spread wide and exposed, your skirt bunched up around your hips, leaving your bare pussy on full display. The full-length mirror looms in front of you both, merciless in its reflection—your flushed face, wide eyes flickering with panic, and the undeniable slickness already gathering between your thighs despite the mortification burning through you.
His breath ghosts over your ear, warm and steady, sending shivers down your spine. "Shh, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your back. One of his large hands cups your chin gently but firmly, tilting your head so you can't escape the sight of yourself. "Look at the mirror. See how beautiful you are, all trembling and pink? I want you to watch while you touch that pretty pussy for me. Show me how needy you get when you're this embarrassed."
Your hands shake uncontrollably, hovering just above your thighs, fingers curling into loose fists as embarrassment floods your cheeks. How can he ask this? Sitting here like this, with the mirror capturing every vulnerable inch of you—your breasts heaving under your blouse, your nipples hardening against the fabric from the cool air and his proximity. You try to press your thighs together, but his legs keep yours parted, his body an unyielding anchor behind you. The reflection shows it all, the soft curve of your mound, the way your folds glisten faintly, betraying your arousal even as your mind screams in protest.
He senses your hesitation, his free hand capturing one of yours, his fingers intertwining with your trembling ones. He guides you downward, pressing your palm against your slick entrance, the contact making you gasp sharply. The warmth of your own touch feels foreign and invasive under his watchful eye. "That's my good girl," he whispers, lips brushing the sensitive spot behind your ear. "Feel how wet you are already? Your pussy's soaking for me, even though you're blushing like this. Slide those fingers in, baby. Let me see you open up."
A whimper escapes your lips as you obey, too caught in his gentle command to resist. Your index finger dips between your folds, tracing the slippery heat before pushing inside with a tentative thrust. The sensation is electric—your walls clenching around the intrusion, a soft squelch echoing in the quiet room. In the mirror, you watch your hand move, your face crumpling in shame as your eyes lock onto the sight. Your cheeks burn hotter, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you can't look away, not with his hand still holding your chin.
He nuzzles closer, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back, a stark contrast to your erratic breaths. You feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your ass through his pants, thick and insistent, rocking subtly to tease you. "Look at that," he coos softly, his tone laced with that kinky affection that makes your stomach twist in the best-worst way. "Your fingers disappearing into your tight little hole. You're so shy, but fuck, your body's honest. Push deeper—add another one. I want to hear how sloppy you get."
Trembling, you slide a second finger in alongside the first, the stretch making your hips jerk involuntarily. The fullness borders on overwhelming, your pussy fluttering around your digits as you start to pump them slowly. Wet sounds fill the air, obscene and amplifying your humiliation. The mirror reflects your every reaction, brows furrowed, lips parted in silent pleas, your free hand gripping the bedsheet for dear life. His arm bands across your stomach, holding you steady as you lean back against him, your body surrendering even as your mind reels.
"Eyes on the mirror, love," he instructs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper when you try to squeeze them shut. "Watch yourself finger-fuck that dripping cunt. See how your clit swells when you rub it? Circle it now—nice and slow at first." His words wrap around you like silk ropes, pulling you deeper into the act. You do as he says, your thumb finding your swollen nub, circling it with shaky pressure. Pleasure sparks through you, sharp and unwanted in its intensity, making your thighs quiver over his.
He kisses your neck, teeth grazing lightly, sending jolts straight to your core. "Good girl," he praises, his hand roaming up to cup your breast through your blouse, thumb flicking your nipple until it pebbles harder. "Faster on that clit. Imagine my cock right there instead, pounding into you while you watch. You'd look so pretty split open, cum leaking down your thighs. But for now, it's your fingers making that mess—my embarrassed little slut, touching herself just because I asked."
The dirty talk hits you like a wave, soft yet filthy, coaxing moans from your throat that you can't suppress. Your fingers plunge deeper, curling to hit that sensitive spot inside, your thumb grinding against your clit with increasing urgency. The mirror shows your face twisting—pleasure warring with shame, tears spilling over as you bite your lip. Your back arches against him, seeking more of his solid presence, his cock twitching against your ass in response.
"Don't hide those pretty tears," he murmurs, licking a salty trail from your cheek. "Cry for me while you chase it. Deeper, baby—fuck yourself harder. I can feel you trembling; you're close, aren't you? Your pussy's gripping those fingers like it never wants them out." His free hand slips down, not to take over, but to spread your folds wider with two fingers, exposing your clit fully to your touch and the mirror's gaze. The added vulnerability makes you sob softly, but it also intensifies everything—the slick slide of your fingers, the throb in your core, the heat building unbearably.
You pump faster, three fingers now stretching you wide, the burn mixing with bliss as your hips buck against your hand. His praises continue, a steady stream of encouragement, "That's it, soak my lap with your juices. Look how your ass grinds back on my cock—you want it bad, don't you? My shy girl, turning into a needy whore right in front of her own eyes." The words push you higher, your breaths coming in ragged pants, body tensing as the coil tightens.
In the reflection, you see it all, your hand buried between your legs, wrist slick with your arousal, breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust. Nanami's eyes meet yours in the mirror, dark and hungry, his lips curved in that soft, possessive smile. "Cum for me now," he commands gently, pinching your nipple sharply. "Let go—squirt all over your fingers while you lean on me. Show me how embarrassed you get when you fall apart."
The dam breaks with a cry, your pussy clenching rhythmically around your fingers as waves of ecstasy crash over you. You tremble violently against him, thighs shaking, a gush of wetness coating your hand and dripping onto his pants. Tears stream freely now, mixing with the sweat on your face, but the release is shattering—prolonged and intense, leaving you boneless in his arms.
He holds you through it, murmuring soothing filth into your ear. "Such a good girl, cumming so hard for me. Look at the mess you made—your pussy's still twitching. Keep those fingers in a little longer; feel how it pulses." You do, weakly, watching in the mirror as aftershocks ripple through you, your body limp against his chest. The embarrassment lingers, hot and prickling, but so does the warmth of his embrace, his cock still hard and promising more.
As your breathing evens, he finally releases your chin, both hands stroking your sides tenderly. "You did so well, sweetheart," he whispers, nipping your earlobe. "But we're not done. Now, turn around and show me that pretty mouth—time to return the favor while you watch yourself suck my cock." Your eyes widen in the reflection, fresh heat blooming between your legs despite the ache, his words already stirring you anew. The mirror waits, ready to capture every trembling moment, and you know resistance is futile against his soft pull.
He shifts slightly, helping you twist in his lap without letting you close your legs, your soaked pussy brushing against his thigh as you face him. But no—his hand guides your gaze back to the mirror. "Keep watching," he says, unzipping his pants with deliberate slowness. His cock springs free, thick and veined, the head already beading with pre-cum. "On your knees now, baby. Lean forward and wrap those shy lips around me. Watch how you take it—all the way down your throat."
Your hands tremble again as you slide off his lap to your knees on the soft carpet, the mirror angled perfectly to show your position, ass up, face inches from his throbbing length. Embarrassment floods you anew—how exposed you are, pussy still dripping, visible in the reflection—but his hand in your hair is gentle, urging you forward. "Open wide," he coos. "Taste how hard you made me. Suck it like the good girl who just came on her fingers."
You part your lips, tongue darting out to lick the salty tip, a shiver running through you at the flavor. The mirror captures your hesitant swirl, your cheeks hollowing as you take the head into your mouth. He groans softly, fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck, yes—just like that. Deeper now. Watch your lips stretch around my cock." Obeying, you bob forward, inch by inch, the girth filling your mouth until it bumps the back of your throat. Gagging slightly, tears welling again, but you push on, slurping messily as saliva drips down your chin.
His hips rock subtly, fucking your mouth with shallow thrusts while his eyes flick between you and the reflection. "Look at yourself—such a pretty cocksucker, all teary-eyed and eager. Rub your pussy while you do it; keep yourself wet for when I bend you over." The command sends a fresh gush of arousal through you, your hand slipping between your legs without thought, fingers circling your oversensitive clit as you hollow your cheeks and suck harder.
The dual sensations overwhelm you, the taste of his skin, the ache in your jaw, the building heat from your touch. He praises you relentlessly, voice soft and dirty. "That's my slutty little girl—deepthroating me while you finger that sloppy cunt. You're dripping again, aren't you? Gonna cum on your hand while I fill your mouth?"
You moan around his cock, the vibration drawing a hiss from him, your fingers plunging back inside your pussy. The mirror shows the erotic tableau, your body arched, ass presented, mouth stuffed full, hand working furiously between your thighs. Pleasure builds fast this time, coaxed by his words and the visual feast of your own debasement.
He thrusts deeper, hitting your throat, pre-cum coating your tongue. "Swallow around me—milk my cock with that tight mouth." You do, gagging wetly, tears streaming as your fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot. The orgasm hits suddenly, muffled cries vibrating against him as your pussy spasms, juices squirting onto the carpet.
He follows soon after, groaning your name as hot spurts of cum flood your mouth. "Swallow it all, baby—every drop." You gulp it down, coughing slightly as he pulls out, strings of saliva and semen connecting your lips to his softening cock. He hauls you up into his lap, kissing your forehead. "Perfect," he murmurs. "Now, let's see you ride me in that mirror—watch yourself bounce on my cock until you're screaming."
The soft hum of the air conditioner fills the quiet bedroom, a gentle counterpoint to the distant city sounds filtering through the cracked window. It's late—well past midnight—and you've been out cold for hours, your body curled under the crisp white sheets, exhausted from a long day. Nanami Kento, your husband, slips into the room quietly, his broad frame casting a faint shadow in the moonlight. He's just finished his last cigarette on the balcony, the faint scent of tobacco clinging to his shirt as he unbuttons it with care.
He pauses at the foot of the bed, his sharp hazel eyes tracing the outline of your form. You're wearing that thin nightgown he bought you last month, the one that rides up your thighs when you sleep on your side. A low sigh escapes him, not frustration, but something deeper, hungrier. Work has kept him away too much lately, those curses and endless missions pulling him from your bed. Tonight, though, he needs this—needs you—without the interruptions of words or wakefulness.
Nanami sheds his shirt, folding it neatly over the chair, his muscles flexing under the pale light. He's meticulous even now, but there's a tension in his shoulders, a coiled energy that speaks to the sorcerer beneath the salaryman facade. He eases onto the mattress, the bed dipping slightly under his weight, but you don't stir. Good. He wants you like this: pliant, unaware, your breaths deep and even.
His hand starts at your ankle, fingers wrapping around the delicate bone there, sliding up slowly along your calf. The skin is warm, soft, and he savors the texture, thumb pressing into the muscle just enough to feel it yield. You shift faintly in your sleep, a murmur escaping your lips, but your eyes stay closed. Nanami's cock twitches in his pants at the sound, already half-hard from the mere sight of you.
He moves higher, palm gliding over your knee, parting your legs just a fraction. The nightgown bunches at your hips, exposing the simple cotton panties underneath. No lace tonight—just practical, everyday fabric that makes this feel even more intimate, more real. His breath quickens as he hooks a finger under the elastic, tugging it aside without pulling it down. He doesn't want to risk waking you yet.
There you are, bare and vulnerable, your pussy lips slightly parted in the cool air. Nanami leans in, his face inches from your core, inhaling the faint, musky scent that's uniquely yours. It's intoxicating, pulling a soft groan from his throat. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, lips lingering, then another higher up, teeth grazing the skin lightly. Your body responds instinctively—a subtle arch of your hips—but you remain asleep, lost in dreams.
Emboldened, he flattens his tongue against you, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The taste of you floods his mouth, salty and sweet, and he does it again, firmer this time, circling the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue. A quiet whimper slips from you, your fingers twitching in the sheets, but still, no awakening. Nanami's hand joins in, two fingers sliding along your folds, gathering the wetness that's starting to build despite your slumber.
He pushes one finger inside you, slow and deep, feeling your walls clench around the intrusion. You're tight, warm, and he works it in and out with measured thrusts, adding a second finger when you relax further. His mouth doesn't stop, sucking gently on your clit now, the suction pulling another soft moan from your lips. Your breathing hitches, body responding even as your mind drifts elsewhere.
Nanami's free hand moves to his belt, unbuckling it with a quiet clink. He frees his cock, thick and heavy, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. He strokes himself once, twice, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside you. The sight of your pussy stretched around his digits, glistening with your arousal, makes his pulse race. He wants to bury himself in you, to feel you take him while you're oblivious.
Withdrawing his fingers, he positions himself between your legs, lifting one of your thighs over his hip. He rubs the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your slickness. You sigh in your sleep, brows furrowing slightly, but your eyes stay shut. Nanami grips your hip, steadying you, and pushes in—slow, inch by inch, until he's seated fully inside.
The stretch is exquisite; your pussy grips him like a vice, hot and unyielding. He stills for a moment, savoring the fullness, the way your body molds to his. Then he starts to move, shallow thrusts at first, pulling out halfway and sliding back in. The bed creaks faintly under the motion, but the household is silent otherwise—no kids, no pets, just the two of you in this private world.
You murmur something incoherent, your hand reaching out blindly to rest on his arm. Nanami captures it, intertwining your fingers as he rocks into you deeper. His pace builds, hips snapping forward with controlled force, the slap of skin on skin muffled by the sheets. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping down his temple as he watches your face, lips parted, cheeks flushed, a sheen of perspiration on your skin.
He leans down, capturing your mouth in a one-sided kiss, tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. You respond sluggishly, even in sleep, your tongue brushing his before going slack again. It drives him wild, this half-awareness, and he fucks you harder, angling his hips to hit that spot inside that makes your body tremble.
Your walls flutter around him, a sign you're close, even unconsciously. Nanami's hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. The added stimulation has you gasping, back arching off the bed, but still, you don't wake. He feels his own release building, balls tightening as he chases it, pounding into you with relentless precision.
"That's it," he whispers against your ear, voice rough and low, knowing you can't hear but needing to say it anyway. "Take me, just like this." His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, and with a final grind against your clit, you come, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure ripple through your sleeping form. A soft cry escapes you, body shuddering, but your eyes remain closed.
The sensation pushes him over the edge. Nanami buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he spills inside you, hot spurts of cum filling your depths. He rides it out, hips jerking until he's spent, collapsing half on top of you, careful not to crush you.
For a long moment, he stays like that, cock softening inside you, his breath evening out. He pulls out gently, watching his cum leak from your pussy, a possessive satisfaction settling in his chest. With tender care, he tucks your panties back into place, smooths down your nightgown, and pulls the covers over you both.
You sigh contentedly in your sleep, nestling closer to his warmth. Nanami presses a kiss to your forehead, wrapping an arm around your waist. The house settles back into silence, the only evidence of his indulgence the faint ache between your legs that you'll feel come morning—and the secret smile he'll wear when you wake, wondering why you feel so deliciously used.
