𝐬𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: you catch Satoru fresh out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel and he catches you staring. One thing leads to another, and soon he’s got you bent over the kitchen counter.
Your brain short-circuits the moment you round the corner into the hallway and nearly slam into a wall of dripping wet muscle. Satoru’s hands pause from towelling off his hair. He blinks down at you, standing there in nothing but a towel hanging dangerously low on his hips.
You forget how to breathe.
“Yo.” He says casually, like he’s not out here looking like sin incarnate. His skin glistens from the shower, droplets of water sliding down the smooth planes of his chest, past the defined cuts of his abs, gliding down his navel, and lower–
Your eyes snap back up and you can’t stop the flash of heat that pulses down your spine.
Because oh god, he’s built. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a chest you want to lay on forever. He’s nothing but flawless, with his skin slightly flushed, and the way the light hits his still-damp body makes him look ethereal.
He stretches an arm above his head to rub the towel into the back of his hair and the shift makes the towel at his waist dip even lower. “Everything alright?” He asks with a slight smirk, already clocking how fucked you look. “You’re making a face.”
You glance away from him too quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just seconds from dropping to your knees. “I’m not making a face.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
You want to say “close, but hotter”. Instead, you step to the side and mutter, “Put some damn clothes on.”
But the image has already branded itself into your memory, water trailing down every curve and line like nature itself wanted to map out his body.
He follows you as you make your way to the kitchen. Of course he does.
“Aw, c’mon.” He drawls. “I’m clean, I smell good, I look good. Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy the view.”
You whirl on him, trying desperately to pretend your thighs aren’t clenching. “Satoru.”
He mimics you, saying your name with that playful lilt. He steps closer and you back up until your spine hits the kitchen counter. Big mistake. Because now he’s got you cornered. His towel brushes your thigh, and your breath stutters.
“You know…” he murmurs, voice lowering just enough to make heat spark low in your gut, “if you wanted to stare, you could’ve just asked me to stand still for a bit longer.”
You hate him. You hate how good he smells. You hate how clean and flushed and soft his skin looks and how badly you want to run your hands all over it.
He notices the way your eyes dip again, just for a second, and he grins.
And that’s your downfall. Because the next thing you know, he’s caging you in with a single palm on the counter beside your hip. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’m gonna start thinking you want something.”
He tilts his head. “Nah? ‘Cause you’ve been eye-fucking me ever since you bumped into me.”
“I was just– surprised.” You lie.
“Uh-huh.” He hums, and before you can backpedal, his free hand catches your wrist and guides it slowly toward his chest. “Go ahead.”
“What are you–”
“Touch me.”
Your palm lands against warm, damp skin. Smooth and unmarked. Rock solid underneath. Your fingers twitch. You should pull away. Instead, you splay your hand over his chest, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat.
“See?” He murmurs. “Not so scary.”
You feel drunk.
Your fingertips drag along the faint dip between his pecs. Down the slight rise of his abs. Your other hand joins without thinking, greedy, gliding lower and lower until it’s hovering just above where the towel sits at the base of his hips.
“You’re not stopping me.” You breathe out, throat dry.
“Why would I?” His voice is lower now, rougher. His breath fans over your cheek. “Why would I stop you when you’re panting just from touching me?”
“I’m not panting.” You whisper, even as your chest rises and falls a little too fast.
Satoru laughs softly, and the sound is infuriatingly hot. He leans in until his lips brush your ear. “You’re soaking, aren’t you?”
Your breath catches. He knows. Of course he knows. The bastard always knows.
You want to deny it. You really do. But then he snakes a hand between your thighs and cups your heat over your shorts. You flinch. Not from discomfort, but from embarrassment at how easily his fingers find the wet patch.
“Shit.” He breathes. “Did I do that?”
“Shut up.”
“Don’t be shy now.” His fingers start rubbing slow, lazy circles through the fabric. You’re practically convulsing. “You’re the one dripping on the kitchen floor like a little slut.”
“Satoru!”
“C’mon, lemme help.” He whispers, and then you don’t even get the chance to process what’s happening.
He’s tugging your shorts down, they hit the floor with a dull thud, and then his hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he lifts you like you weigh nothing onto the counter.
His palms are hot as they slide under your thighs, spreading you wide, exposing your soaked panties, clinging to your cunt like a second skin. He drags his thumbs along the damp fabric, glancing up at you with that shit-eating grin. “This all for me?”
“Satoru–”
He hooks his fingers into the sides of your underwear and pulls them down slow, like unwrapping a present. The wet material peels away from your folds, stringy with slick, and the way he moans under his breath makes your skin erupt in goosebumps.
“You’re fuckin’ drooling,” He mutters, almost in awe. “Didn’t even touch you properly yet.”
You brace your hands on the counter behind you, breath caught in your throat as he lifts your leg up onto his shoulder and kisses the inside of your thigh. You feel the heat of his tongue leave a slow, wet stripe up the sensitive skin, just shy of where you need it.
“Please.” you whisper.
He raises an eyebrow. “Please what?”
“Please touch me.”
There’s a glint in his eye. He fucking devours you.
His mouth lands on your pussy like he’s starving, tongue flattening and dragging through your folds with zero hesitation. You choke on your own moan, thighs trembling, fingers scrabbling at the edge of the countertop to ground yourself. He’s messy with it, licking up everything you’ve got like it’s his favourite flavour, tongue flicking over your clit with practiced precision.
Your hips buck.
“Hold still.” He rasps harshly, breath hot and wet against your cunt, “Or I’ll tie you to a fucking chair.”
That shouldn’t be hot. But it is. God, it is.
You glance down to watch him, and instantly regret it, because now your eyes land on his cock. His towel’s long gone. His dick is flushed, heavy, and hanging between his thighs, leaking already, and glinting in the kitchen light is a silver ring at the tip, curved just beneath the head. Your breath catches. A small metal Prince Albert, and you can see how it pulls gently at the sensitive skin as he shifts.
“Oh my god.” You gasp, clutching the counter so hard your knuckles go white.
He hums against your clit, and the vibrations make your legs shake.
“Oh yeah.” He smirks, voice cocky and wrecked. “Bet you’re thinking about how that’s gonna feel inside you, huh?”
You are. You so are.
“You’re disgusting.” You breathe, body trembling from how relentlessly he’s working your cunt, tongue circling your clit with maddening rhythm, nose brushing just right. “You’re such a fucking–”
“You gonna cum, princess?” He cuts you off, lips shiny with your slick. “Gonna fall apart on my face like a needy little slut?”
You hate how fast your orgasm is building. You hate how right he is.
Your body jerks, your thighs clamp around his head as your hips rut up into his mouth. He groans, tongue flicking your clit faster as you cry out.
“Oh f-fuck, Satoru–!” You come hard, gushing against his mouth, voice cracking from the sheer force of it.
He doesn’t stop. He licks you through it, groaning low like he’s getting high off your taste, like he’s addicted. He only pulls away when you’re shaking and twitching, your slick dripping down the insides of your thighs.
When he rises to stand, his face is flushed, lips swollen, chin glistening. He grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes better than I imagined.”
“You’ve imagined this?” You pant, still reeling. Your thighs twitch every few seconds, slick dripping down your legs, your hands barely holding your trembling body upright on the kitchen counter.
“Every night since I met you.”
Your eyes fall to his cock again. The metal ring glistens at the tip, and now that it’s right there, so thick and flushed and heavy.
“C’mere.” He says, voice dark. He shifts between your legs, one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping his cock, holding it up. “You wanna touch it?”
You nod before you can think. He drags your hand to his length. The skin is hot and soft, but it’s so hard, twitching in your grip. Your thumb brushes over the piercing and he shudders.
“Sensitive?” You ask, breathless.
His pupils blow wide, and before you can register anything, his hands curl tight around your waist. You can’t even blink before he’s lifting you again, hoisting your slick, spent body up and flipping you around face first against the cool marble.
“Wait, Satoru!” You try to scramble, still delirious from your orgasm, “I just came!”
“Exactly.” He says, crowding up behind you. His cock presses heavy against your ass, and the wet slap of it as it drags against your skin makes your whole body jolt. “You’re wet enough to take me.”
His hands slide up your back, your spine arching instinctively. Your cheek presses against the counter, breathing shallow as he palms your ass with both hands, spreading you wide to look at the absolute mess between your thighs.
“Fuuuuck, look at you.” He moans. “Dripping all over the counter. Bet you’d let me eat you again just like this, wouldn’t you?”
“Satoru, please–”
“Yeah, I know, baby.” He says, voice softening slightly. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it.”
You barely manage to suck in a breath before he lines himself up, one hand gripping the base of his cock, and slowly starts to press in. The stretch is immediate.
Your pussy clenches, trying to fight it, he’s too thick, too much, and the piercing doesn’t help. That curved little ring dragging over your entrance makes your eyes roll back.
“F-fuck!” You sob, legs shaking.
“Ohh, baby,” He groans, voice ragged. “Feel that? You’re so tight around me– fuck–”
He pushes deeper, relentless, feeding you inch after inch, the weight of him pressing your hips into the counter. It hurts at first, your body overwhelmed from the last organism, but the pain is blindingly good. Your cunt stretches wide around his cock, and the metal pierces through your sensitivity like lightning.
“You feel so fucking good.” He pants. “So warm– fuck, fuck– you’re squeezing the hell outta me.”
“Too much–” You gasp, but your hips are rocking back into him without permission.
He moans and snaps his hips forward, bottoming out in one thrust. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream.
His cock hits so deep you swear it brushes your cervix, the piercing catching just inside and making your nerves scream. The air punches out of your lungs. Your nails scrape against the countertop, desperate for anything to anchor you.
“Oh– oh my god, Satoru!”
“That’s it.” He grunts. “Take it. Be a good girl and take it.”
He starts to move. Slow at first, deep, grinding thrusts that push you forward on the counter, but it doesn’t stay gentle for long. He’s fucking you like he’s mad, hips snapping, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the kitchen.
Your brain is gone.
Your body’s boneless, wrecked, slick smeared across your thighs, cunt so sensitive you’re practically sobbing every time the piercing hits just right. Your vision’s gone hazy. You can barely think.
He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, bending over you so his mouth is right beside your ear.
“You’re making a mess, princess.” He mutters. “You gonna cum again just from this? From me splitting you open?”
“Yes– yes, fuck, I’m gonna– oh my god!”
You come again. Harder this time. Your legs seize. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, milking him, and you cry out completely falling apart on the counter.
But he doesn’t stop. He groans and keeps fucking you, pounding you through your orgasm, the overstimulation turning into something else entirely, melting into heat so intense your body doesn’t know how to process it. You can barely speak, voice reduced to whimpers and breathless gasps.
“I’m not stopping ‘til I cum.” He grits out, hand sliding down your front to press right on your overstimulated clit. “So you better hold on.”
You cry out, cunt still clenching from your last orgasm, and now he’s playing with your clit like it’s a fucking button. “I c-can’t– Satoru, I can’t!”
“You can.” He hisses, slamming into you harder, the metal inside you making it feel like he’s splitting you in half. “You’re gonna cum again for me, pretty girl. One more. Give me one more.”
You scream. Writhe. The pleasure is white-hot. Blinding. You’re dripping down your thighs, soaking the counter, unable to stop the way your hips jerk back to meet his thrusts like your body’s not even yours anymore.
And when you cum for the third time, raw, spasming around his cock, you can’t even form words. Just noise. High-pitched and needy and helpless.
Satoru groans, deep and filthy, hips stuttering. “Fuck fuck– you’re gonna make me–”
He pulls you back into him, one hand on your stomach, the other gripping your jaw to turn your face. He kisses you sloppily, messy and desperate as he spills inside you with a shuddering moan, cock twitching, hot cum flooding your pussy.
You feel it. Every. Fucking. Drop.
He thrusts a few more times, slower now, like he’s trying to etch the shape of his cock into your body. Your muscles tremble. And then it’s just silence. Your breath is ragged. His is worse.
He lets go of your jaw, both hands now braced on either side of your hips, chest heaving as he slumps forward, still buried deep inside you.
“…I’m gonna have to wear a towel more often from now on.”
a/n: ayo so this is the first time i've written smut in AGES so dont go all gordon ramsey on me :)
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