✧.* taking requests for characters from media i am the most familiar with (the o.c., attack on titan, the vampire diaries, the originals, teen wolf, supernatural, true blood, game of thrones, a knight of the 7 kingdoms, house of the dragon, outer banks, the walking dead, shameless)
✧.* taking requests for any and all genders, races, ethnicities, etc. please be mindful of what themes and plots you incorporate! i'll gladly include nsfw themes, as long as the person requesting is 18 and over. with that being said, don't request some freak shit ik damn well i'm not gonna write abt jon snow pissing in ur ass!!
ѕυммαяу： ♡ having a sex dream about your best friend is incredibly embarrassing but when he drags the information out of you and delivers something better than your dreams, it's hard to remember why you were feeling that way. . .
Having a sex dream about your best friend—Gojo Satoru—was not on your bingo card for this year but it happened and the result of it is you avoiding any and all eye contact with him. This would be significantly easier if he wasn’t always hanging around you, it would also be easier if his favourite pastime wasn’t invading your personal space.
Your odd behaviour must’ve reached a breaking point for him because he’s sat next to you on your couch, pouting out, “Why are you being so weird?”
“I’m not,” you deny despite your very obvious weird behaviour, still not properly looking at him.
Suddenly, his head is on your lap, eyes analysing your reaction to him, “You’re a bad liar.”
“Wha– What are you doing?” He has you fumbling and it only embarrasses you further. “Get off me.”
“Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me or I’ll literally never get off you, in fact… I will only get closer,” one of his hands moves to grab at your waist but you slap him away.
His head weighted on your thighs has you remembering your explicit dream of him and you can’t help but grow a few degrees warmer in temperature. “I can’t tell you.”
Gojo frowns at that and you hate how you’re noticing just how attractive he is even though he’s growing annoyed, “It involves me directly, but you can’t tell me?”
“That’s right,” you cement, like it shouldn’t even be an issue.
He sits up again and stares at you dead on, “Tell me or I’ll tell all our friends about… the incident.”
A small breath of disbelief leaving you, “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me,” his eyes stern, he’s completely serious.
You try bargaining, “It’s not that deep, Satoru… give me another week or two and I’ll be completely over it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So, you’re blackmailing me?!”
“I wouldn’t call it that, that’s such an ugly word,” he shakes his head.
Your brow raises at him, “What would you call it then?”
“I don’t know but not that,” he shrugs easily.
“You’re so annoying, I can’t believe I even—” you cut yourself off, realising you were about to freely give away that you couldn’t believe you had a sex dream about him. It’s frustrating that it was such a good dream too because he’s so annoying in real life.
Despite you stopping yourself, he clings to your words, “‘You can’t believe you even’ what?”
Playing dumb is your only defence but to be fair, you aren’t entirely convinced you’re playing anymore, “I don’t know.”
He stares at you for a moment before speaking again, “Okay, well, I’m calling it blackmail now, I’m officially blackmailing you.”
“Evil, evil man,” you accuse.
He motions at himself with his hands, dismissing your words, “Mhm, now tell ‘Toru all your problems.”
“Ew,” you grimace at him, “that was almost as bad as when you referred to yourself as ‘daddy’.”
Smirk on his face at your response, “Would you prefer that? I didn’t know you were into—”
“—I said almost as bad!”
“Sure, whatever,” he rolls his eyes, “now tell me what’s going on, I won’t let you wiggle your way out of the main issue at hand.”
“Fine,” you groan, giving in, “but you have to promise to not be weird or make it a big deal.”
His head tilts at you, “What? Like you mean how you’ve been doing?”
“Just promise, stupid,” you grumble at him.
“I promise,” he pauses, “sort of.”
“Seriously?”
“I said I promise, now come on,” he leans in, ready to listen, “lay it on me.”
Ignoring his giddy attitude, you take in a deep breath before carefully letting it out, “Well… the other night, I was sleeping—”
“—Truly groundbreaking stuff.”
“Don’t interrupt me or I will never tell you,” you glare at him.
“My bad,” he raises his hands in surrender.
“Anyways,” your heart is hammering in your chest because it’s so embarrassing to be looking at him as you try to confess. It feels like you’re being crushed under his intense gaze, it’s making you even more nervous.
He must be able to tell you’re working yourself up, “Geez, calm down, sweetheart, whatever it is it’s not that big of a deal.” He moves to pat your head as a means to comfort you, but you flinch away.
And before you can control it, you’re suddenly blurting out, “I had a sex dream about you the other night and now I feel really funny around you.”
The reaction from him isn’t immediate, only blinking back at you for a moment before suddenly turning his head to the side as he tries to hide his laugh but the snort he lets out gives it away. Your lips are downturned as you suffer through the agonising moments of mostly silence, the embarrassment you’d already been feeling growing tenfold at his reaction.
Wordlessly, you rise from the couch and go to walk away, to go away to anywhere but here in this moment. Gojo stops you though, his hand on your wrist pulling you back to the sofa. Now closer to him than you had been before, something you’re overly conscious over. Keeping your head turned from him, annoyed at his reaction and also your lack of tact.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”
“You need to get out of my apartment.”
“Don’t be so harsh,” he whines, “I have follow up questions.”
You pull your wrist from his grasp, still refusing to look at him, “I don’t wanna answer them, you only want to torture me.”
“Not true!”
He tries to get back in your line of sight, but you keep turning your head away. Your arms cross over your chest, almost like you’re trying to shrink in on yourself.
“I’m curious about a few things now though,” he hums at you, “since your reaction to having sex with me has been so cute.”
His phrasing is so poor that it has your head whipping to look at him and his overly pleased expression, “I did not have sex with you.”
“Right, right,” he waves off, “you dreamt about having sex with me.”
“I dislike you so deeply right now.”
“If you agree to answer my questions, I will literally never bring up the fact that you had a wet dream about me ever again.”
You point at him angrily, “It was not a wet dream! What the hell is wrong with your phrasing of things?!”
He smiles sweetly as he grabs your finger, using the hold he has on you to unfurl your hand and loop your fingers together to hold hands, “Are you gonna answer my questions or not?”
“If I do… you’ll never speak about this again, right?” You try pulling your hand from his but his hold on you is firm.
“Sure,” he agrees all too easily.
You glance down and away from him, “Fine.”
“Perfect!”
And at his incredibly joyful tone, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made a misstep somewhere along the way. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him… or maybe you should’ve concealed your reactions more effectively… or better yet, your stupid brain shouldn’t have conjured the image of you and him having sex to begin with.
Glancing at your interlocked fingers, you ask, “Can you let go of my hand now?”
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?” His tone isn’t upset or accusatory, only curious.
Sighing at him in response, “I’m embarrassed to even look at you right now, of course it’s making me uncomfortable.”
He, thankfully, releases his grip on you. Choosing not to taunt you any further but you have a feeling it’s only a small reprieve. Just as your heartrate is finally calming, he asks, “Was I good?”
You’re completely taken aback, knowing what he’s asking but still confused by his bluntness, “What?”
“Was I good?” He repeats shamelessly. “I’d be a little offended if I weren’t.”
If you have to answer his ridiculous questions then you’re going to be purposefully vague, “You were… fine.”
He hums thoughtfully, “You won’t even look me in my eyes, and you said you’re feeling funny around me so I was either horrendously bad or really great, which is it?”
“I don’t like your questions,” you grumble at him.
“I wanna know though,” he whines, “It’s your fault for being so weird about it.”
Your body droops into the couch, head resting against the back of it, “A normal person and good friend would take this information at face value and let me live quietly with my shame.”
“I disagree,” you can feel his eyes on you, but you still won’t look at him, your own eyes closed. He continues on, “I’ll let you live quietly after you tell me everything I want to know… probably.”
You squint your eyes open at him, “There is literally nothing in this for me, you’re blackmailing this information out of me.”
He grins at you, “Are you saying you’d respond better to positive reinforcement?”
“I’m saying I’m still reluctant to answer your embarrassing questions and it’s starting to feel like if I do, I’m only giving you future blackmail material.”
“This is untrue, I’m blackmailing you, yes but I also agreed to never bring it up again if you answer my questions.”
“Oh my god!” this is getting annoying, steeling your nerves, you decide you’re just going to answer everything so you can end this quickly, “You were good, it was a good dream.”
A stupid and happy smile takes over his face, you don’t bother reading too far into it. “You said you were feeling ‘funny’, what do you mean by that?”
“Huh?”
“Funny could mean any number of things, I’m asking for specifics here,” he’s still too happy and it’s annoying you because you don’t really understand why.
“Hmm, like…” you look at him intently to better think about how you feel, your heart fluttering as you do, causing you to close your eyes as if you’re in thought, “…I feel embarrassed to have had a dream like that about you.”
He pushes back on your answer, “That’s all?”
Cracking an eye open at him as you chirp, “Yep.”
His gaze is already trained on you, apparently never having stopped looking at you, “You’re such a bad liar.”
You deflate at your failed deception, “I think we’ve just known each other too long…”
“You’ve always been a bad liar though?” He claps his hands together suddenly and it makes your heart skip a beat, “Now, out with it.”
Quiet as you start your explanation, “Every time I look at you…” he nods his head as if to encourage you, “…I think about the dream and it makes me feel funny, that’s all, can you leave me alone now?”
His lips purse as he mulls over what you’ve just said, “You sure you’re not just horny?”
“Satoru!” you chastise him, shocked and also frustrated that he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head. Ever since your dream you can’t help but look at him differently. Mind feeding you images of what having sex with him might be like—what having sex with him was like.
“I’m being genuine.”
“That makes it worse,” kicking your legs a little about it all.
He starts giggling, “You had a dream about getting fucked by me so good that just being around me turns you on.”
“Stop!” you move to sit in front of him properly, face clearly unhappy, “I did not say that.”
“You basically did,” he dismisses, “So… what did I do to you?”
It’s a bit ridiculous that he’s going in this direction, but you should’ve known he was going to do this. You need to shut him down because just his words alone are affecting you more than you care to admit, “I’m done answering your questions.”
It’s his turn to groan and grumble, “Aww, but it was just getting good.”
Rolling your eyes at him, you say with the intention of ending this interaction, “Satoru… It doesn’t matter what you did in my dream because there’s no way you’d be that good in real life.”
The smile on his face drops, “I can’t help but take that personally.”
“Take it how you will,” you shrug, “there’s no way you could live up to the dream version of you, it’s not logical.”
“Wanna find out?”
“Don’t be childish,” you brush him off, overlooking the way those words send a shock through you.
He pushes, “Treat it like an experiment, I wanna know what’s better.”
Blinking back at him, “You’re so weird.”
Quickly pointing out, “Maybe, but you’re the one who dreamt about fucking this weirdo.”
“Yeah, dreamt, it was a dream.” You shake your head in disbelief at him, “Why are you acting like you’re jealous of dream you?”
“Maybe I am jealous of dream me.”
“That’d be stupid.”
“You’re always telling me I’m stupid.”
Gojo’s eyes keep flitting to your lips every time you speak, the look in them suddenly much darker than the glee that was held in them when he was teasing you earlier. Trying to be stern but not entirely convincing when you state, “I’m not going to have sex with you for a reason as stupid as that, grow up.”
“But you’ll have sex with me for a good reason?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” you tilt your head at him in exasperation, “why are you even acting like this?”
Ignoring your question and instead posing his own, “You sure you’re not curious, not even a little bit?” His hand cups the side of your face, his thumb pulling down on your lower lip, “I know I am.”
That simple touch has your heart leaping bounds, suddenly so hyper aware of how deep the effect he has on you is. It scares you, how much you want him, how much you want to say yes. You shouldn’t get carried away, he’s being ridiculous, this is all so ridiculous. Your years long and best friendship could be ruined because of this moment.
All things you’re worried about, all valid concerns, all thoughts that slip from you so quickly when he leans in and licks teasingly at your lower lip. The gasp you let out is his entrance into your mouth, his lips plush and demanding against yours. Eyes falling shut as you let yourself get lost in his kiss, full and delightful and something you’ve never felt before.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, like he’s not really focusing on how to kiss you and more on the fact that he gets to kiss you. You’re getting dizzy, body buzzing pleasantly at how he sucks on your tongue. String of saliva keeping your lips connected when he pulls back, snapping as he wipes his lower lip with his thumb, only to then push it into your mouth. Your immediate response to suck, feeling depraved but enjoying the look on his face you get when you do.
He speaks under his breath, eyes a little dazed, “Fuck.”
As soon as your tongue licks against the tip of his thumb, he’s pulling it from your mouth and hurriedly slotting his mouth over yours again. Barely giving you a moment to think before he’s kissing you so completely, consumed by his need and the delicious way he partakes in your lips.
It’s so overwhelming, to be desired like this is foreign and has your thighs clenching together. Gaining confidence when you finally wrap your arms around his neck, a move he appreciates if his groan and grabby hands are anything to go off of.
The way he parts from you is full of huffed and short breaths that only ends in him kissing you again, like he’s fighting with himself to say something, to do something more but ending up not strong enough to move on from your lips.
A pathetic moan that you don’t even recognise as your own leaving you, the sound only spurring Gojo on. Using his body to push against yours until your back is on the couch, not bothering to explain what he’s doing, far too busy and far too fixated on how you taste.
Filled to the brim with thoughts about how good his kiss is, how kissing can’t possibly be this good, how you’d let him do more. Fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that pulls a shudder from him.
What feels like far too soon he’s properly pulling back, quickly putting distance between you both so he’s not immediately gravitating back. Arms holding himself up, hovering over you, taking his sweet time to appreciate the look on your face. Pride exuding from him at what he’s reduced you to with a few kisses.
“Stop staring, Satoru,” your voice comes out more whinged and unfortunate than you were hoping.
“No.”
It’s a simple response, one that’s weighted with meaning and intention. Maybe if you weren’t only concerned with how good of a kisser he is, of how you want more, of how he looks indescribably good over you, you’d ask him why he’s acting this way. Maybe you’d even ask what this means for your friendship but when you’re in this deep and enjoying it this much, thinking that deep slips from you all too easily.
“I’m gonna touch you,” his gaze wanders over your body before looking back to you, “okay?”
Already nodding back at him, “Okay.”
And only when you verbally affirm him does he let his greedy hands travel your body, sitting back on his knees so he can grope at your thighs and hips. You can tell he’s enjoying your squirming immensely, eyes simultaneously lidded low and lit up.
Quickly glancing to meet your eyes when he asks, “What did I do to you?”
It takes your brain a second to catch up to his words, stuck on his big hands resting against your hips, his fingers digging into your plush skin. “You mean…”
“In your dream,” he slips into your waistband and starts to slowly pull your pants off, “what did I do to you in your dream, sweetheart?”
You feel your skin heat, his fingers tickling against your thighs. “I’m not answering that.”
A low hum sounds from him as your pants are finally removed and tossed to the side, “Why not?”
Keeping your legs together, self-conscious of the fact you’re in your underwear below him. Though he’s not bothered at all, groping and massaging at your thighs, “What happened in that dream is private.”
“That hardly seems fair,” his eyes bore into your own, “since I was there and all.” Paying no mind to your small protests as he manoeuvres one of your legs to rest against his side, feeling much more exposed now that he’s spread your legs.
“Satoru, you can’t just!– mmph—”
Further protesting cut off abruptly when he places his palm on your lower stomach, thumb drawing over your covered slit. His touch there was unexpected but not unwelcome, small shocks of pleasure thrumming through you.
“Did I use my fingers?” he keeps stroking your cunt, touch light and nowhere near enough to satisfy. “How about my mouth?” pausing to blatantly stare at your pussy, not even really addressing you when he adds, “please tell me I used my mouth,” his last words come out pitchy, almost like he’s begging for it to be true.
“I don’t know why you keep bothering to lie to me,” he murmurs low, using both thumbs to pull apart your folds, pressing into your hole only to be stopped by the material of your panties.
His action has you shooting up, face to his chest, your hands grab onto his shirt and all he does is chuckle at you. “Stop playing with me,” you huff at him.
Leaning down, he drags his lips over your skin gently. Leaving behind soft kisses all over your neck and chest, blowing air by your ear just to make you twitch. Voice almost a whisper when he asks again, “What did I do to you?”
“You’re embarrassing me,” you look through your lashes at him.
His smile is pleased, “Yeah, well, you’re turning me on.” Grabbing you by your hips and pulling you into his lap, your cunt pressing right into his erection, “Feel that?” He can’t help the way he gives small grinds into you, your warmth too enticing, “All your fault, so tell me what I did to you.”
The grinds he’s giving you feel too good, he’s big and so hard and couldn’t he just, “Can’t you just put it in?”
He laughs airily, surprised by your need and shifted focus, “I think you can feel enough to know that I can’t.”
“You were nicer to me in my dream,” you pout at him.
“Somehow, I doubt that—” his head drops back and a soft groan leaves him, getting lost in how you’ve started to rut down into him.
Thinking back to your dream, you decide to mention, “You did.”
Distracted reply coming from him, “Hmm?”
“Use your mouth, I mean—”
Just as you’d gotten the words out, he’s pushing you flat on your back again, not even pausing to think as he pulls your panties off in one movement. Settling between your thighs impatiently, eyeing up your cunt, “You been holding out on me.”
Your legs thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders, “Wait just a sec—”
“—Why?” Tongue already hanging from his mouth and hovering over your pussy, just about drooling onto it.
The sight of him has your brain rebooting, “No– nothing.”
Keeping his eyes intently on you when he licks your whole pussy, smiling at how your mouth drops opens and hips squirm, “You’re cute.”
“You– you’re– hnn—” you don’t get to retort properly, his tongue flicking at your clit each time you try to say something.
“Mhm,” he’s enjoying this, you can tell, his tone too amused. “You’re so wet, practically begging for me to put my mouth on you.”
And then he shoves his tongue inside you, holding your hips down so he can fuck you with it. Delighting in the moans tumbling from your lips, cunt syrupy sweet and begging for him to stuff it full. Swallowing down all you have to give him, shudders running down his spine as his cock jerks in his pants. He’s been horny ever since you admitted to having had a sex dream about him. And if he’s being completely honest, maybe since he had his head in your lap.
It feels a little cruel that you kept it from him for so long, he would’ve gotten on his knees for you the second you asked him to. Groaning into your pussy when your hole tightens around his tongue, pressing his face closer to you. Nose stimulating your clit with how desperate he is to taste your cunt.
He’s messy in how he’s devouring you, sloppily making out with your pussy. Small groans leaving him as he relishes in it, like he’s getting just as much out of this as you are. It’s too good, back arching and thighs fighting to close, held open by his wide frame between your legs. This is the first time someone has gotten you so close so quickly, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he’s about to make you cum.
Gojo knows you’re close, it excites him, he wants your cum in his mouth, he wants to feel how you shake underneath him. But there’s something wicked inside him that wants to tease you a little more. Choosing instead to wait until you’re just about to finish before suddenly pulling back.
You whine at him, eyes wet when you look at him in confusion. He only smiles back at you, tongue licking his lower lip before he asks innocently, “I forgot to ask, did you cum like this?”
Brain taking a moment to catch up before realising he’s still asking about that damn dream, “I don’t– I think so?”
Pressing open mouthed and wet kisses over your inner thighs, remarking, “Not very memorable, was it?”
Somehow, it feels like he’s trying to compete with his dream counterpart, and the thought is just ridiculous. “It was very memorable,” you’re only hoping to be a little teasing but by the look in his eyes he takes it personally. Opening his mouth wide and chomping down onto your thigh, biting you enough to nearly break skin. You jump at the shock, “Hey!”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your skin, licking over the impression of his teeth before pressing a kiss to it, “try remembering this instead, yeah?”
It’s a little bit cute of him to be so jealous of your dream, “You’re stupid.”
He knows he’s stupid, he’s all too aware of it but that changes nothing to him, “I’d be more careful with your words if you wanna cum,” blowing air onto your clit, reminding you of how close you were.
“Satoru…” you don’t really like how he’s got you backed into a corner right now.
He hums in acknowledgement at you, “Need something?” Head leaning against your thigh as he smiles smugly up at you.
How frustrating of him, to know exactly what you want but choosing not to give it to you for his own enjoyment. “You’re a tease,” you huff at him.
“Hmm… not usually,” his hand slides up your inner thigh, single digit slipping inside your hole, “I think that’s something you bring out of me,” pleased with the small sounds you let out at his finger stuffing you.
Gasped moan leaving your lungs, trying to tell him how unbearable he is, “You’re– hnn!—”
A sound of awe leaving him as he drags his finger out, “How obscene, you really are so fucking wet.” He says it like you should be ashamed of yourself but he’s smiling too big, eyes full of loving obsession. Clearly incredibly happy with how dripping and soaked your cunt is, “Basically drooling for it, sweetie. How embarrassing~”
You might have to kill him because he really is embarrassing you. Hell, it was already embarrassing doing this with your best friend and now he’s teasing you for his own sick pleasure, “Stop…” not able to help the completely pathetic look on your face, “…stop being so mean to me.”
Gojo feels his heart drop and then start beating a million miles an hour, you’re so cute that he can’t help but breathlessly laugh, “My bad, will making you cum make up for it?”
“Yes,” you assert.
Ah, his head is spinning, you might be too much for his poor heart to handle. He can’t bear having you upset with him though, pressing soft kisses to your pussy lovingly. It’s as if he’s apologising for being so cruel to you, deepening his kiss to your cunt by stuffing you full of his tongue again.
The way you twitch and moan under him really does drive him wild, how he’s going to stay sane while fucking you is beyond him. Lapping at your sopping cunt so devotedly, eyes dazed and pussy drunk as he watches how your eyes roll and brows pinch. Giggling to himself at how surreal it is to be tongue deep inside you, to have you this needy for him.
When he suddenly pushes your legs back, you squeak. Damn near folded in half and bent for him, “Satoru, you can’t just– mmph!—”
He doesn’t grace you with the kindess of listening properly, simply going back to eating your pussy like it’s his last meal. The way he’s holding you is pornographic in nature, a position you’ve never even thought to be in, and he’s easily manhandled you into it. Lower back no longer even touching the couch, held up by Gojo.
With how he’s positioned you now, all your dewy slick and his saliva slides from your cunt and drips crudely onto your poor couch. Head dizzied as he gets you closer and closer to finishing, building you up so much faster after the loss of your last orgasm.
“I– ah!– so close– mmph—” you don’t want him to stop, hand holding onto one of his on your hip tightly, begging that he doesn’t pull away again.
Lucky for you, he desperately wants you cumming for him. He barely brought himself to deny you the first time, there’s no way he could do it a second. Completely and whole heartedly dedicated to making your pussy cream for him, salivating at the thought alone.
Moans you don’t even register pulling from your lungs as he finally pushes you over the edge, hips shaking as you try to ride out your own high with little success. The position you’re folded in keeping you at his mercy. Orgasm feeling oh so sweet after he denied you, lashes fluttering as it washes over you.
Gojo hums happily into your pussy, drinking down all your creamy slick and then still not parting from you. Too addicted to your scent, to your taste, ignoring all rationality as he keeps licking and sucking at your cunt. Whining when your weak fingers dig into his hair and pull him back by force, shaking underneath him from how he’s nearly forced you into overstimulation.
“Too much,” your voice trembles with your words.
His lower face is a complete mess of you and you’d feel bad but the stupid smile and dazed look he’s wearing tells you that you don’t have to. “You got a great pussy,” he compliments, moving his thumbs so he can lewdly pull your cunt wider for his greedy eyes.
“Ah!– stop staring, have you no shame?”
Eyes flicking to yours when he states seriously, “None.”
You’re feeling far too exposed in this position, “Can you let me move—”
Ignoring you and instead musing aloud, “—How many fingers do you think you could take?”
“What?”
“Your hole was tight around my tongue so maybe only one?” Slipping a single finger inside you and stroking against your walls. Your back fights to arch and a soft mewl sounds from you, “ahh, that’s a nice reaction. Let’s stretch you out yeah?”
“You’re so– hnn!—” barely biting out, “You’re such a pervert.”
His head tilts at you, “Did you expect anything else?”
Managing to babble out, “Weren’t so– hah– perverted– hnn– in my dream– mmph—”
“I take pride in that,” his chest vibrates with his words. Of course he takes pride in it, why wouldn’t he? Stuffing another finger inside your snug cunt and scissoring them, trying to open you up enough to be able take him, “This sweet pussy might fucking kill me, I don’t know how you’re gonna take me.”
Could he have a bigger ego? “Don’t be ridiculous– hah!—”
“I’m not just being cocky, sweetie.” Fingers brushing up against so many spots you can never quite reach on your own, “You might actually struggle to take it all.”
Eventually giving you a third finger, spread wide around his digits and leaking into the palm of his hand. He’s got you a squirming and moaning mess under him, mind melting from the mouth-wateringly sinful way he’s playing with you.
“Satoru– hnn!—”
“Something wrong?”
Now he knows damn well… “Please, just– hah—”
He laughs at your whimpered neediness, completely aware of how bad you want him inside of you. “Being real cute right now.”
“Don’t—”
“—Don’t what?” Using his fingers to tease your most intimate spots.
“‘Toru– hnn– please,” lower lip wobbling as you pout at him, “I want you…”
That’s not fair, you’re not playing fair at all. “You’re evil,” he mumbles at you, cheeks and tips of his ears flushing red with how turned on he is, “but I’ll give you what you want, since you’re so adorable.”
Thick fingers drawing from your cunt, the loss of him pulling a whine from you; it makes him smile. You’re genuinely so pathetic right now and aside from how horny it’s got him; it’s also got his heart stuttering in his chest.
“Take your shirt off,” he points at you, letting you finally lower your bottom half to the couch.
Grumpily following his instruction, feeling especially docile right now, “You’re being too bossy.”
His words come out a little muffled as he pulls his own shirt off, “Your pouting would have more effect if you weren’t also listening so well.”
“Maybe I’ll stop listening then.”
He stands from the couch to tug down his pants and boxers, brows drawn together and head tilting, “When you’re this close to finally taking it all?” Holding the base of his hard cock, tone smug.
Embarrassed for yourself at how your cunt throbs for him, desperate in a pitiful way that you’ve never imagined yourself being over him or anyone. “Are you in any position to be this big of a tease?”
“For you? Always,” he taps your thigh and leans onto the couch again, “now spread your legs for me.”
Already opening up to give him room before really thinking twice on it, hating that you’re this willing to follow his instruction. His hands on you are gentle, almost reverent in how they trail along your inner thighs.
Gojo can’t help himself, touching you as much as he can, wanting to prolong this whole experience. Your skin so soft and delicate under his touch, fingers digging into your flesh just to see proof of him touching you. Completely bare and willing under him, heart hammering in his chest at this fact.
Dragging his cock through your sopping wet pussy, shivering at just how gooey your cunt is. Not intentionally trying to torture you but doing so anyways, squirming and impatient under him the more he plays with you.
“Satoru,” voice pitchy, “please.”
Not moving immediately, only cursing as he gazes at you all lost.
You wrap a single leg around his waist and pull him forward, encouraging, “C’mon.”
Smug expression suddenly back on his face, “Alright, here we go,” tapping at your entrance a few times first. “Ohh, biiig stretch,” word drawn out and provocative as his cock head slowly slips inside you.
Big stretch is fucking right, chest squeezing as you struggle to adjust. Hands gripping onto his biceps for dear life, needing to be grounded.
One of his hands reach out and strokes against your head, you keen into his touch and he chuckles. Leaning down to whisper, “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”
His hips have stopped moving forward but it hardly seems like it, already feeling obscenely full. “H–how much– hnn– more?”
Gojo dips his head down to look at where your cunt is bulging around him, teeth digging into his lower lip as he stifles a strained laugh, “Not much at all.”
“Are you lying?” Unable to help the way your lip wobbles a bit with your question.
“Yeah,” he thrusts just a little bit more into you, “but you’re doing so well, feel fffucking fantastic.”
You’re clawing at his shoulders, feeling like you’re being stretched to your limits, “Why– ah!– why is it so big?” Somehow, you feel annoyed at him for it.
“I’m God’s favourite,” is how he chooses to reply, ego growing tenfold at how you’re falling apart just from the shallow thrusts he’s delivering.
How the hell are you meant to take all of him, “How– hah– how much?”
He can’t take his eyes off how you’re sucking him in, hands gripping your hips and thumbs drawing circles into your skin soothingly, “Why don’t you just watch for yourself?”
You shake your head at him, eyes scrunched shut, “No.”
“And why not?” Still, he’s feeding you more of his cock, your pussy pulsing around him making him dizzy, “It’s a good fuckin view.”
“Don’t– hnn– don’t torment me.”
Blinking your eyes open to give your best glare, it only comes across half hearted. Completely taken with the look on Gojo’s face, flushed pink with his pupils blown wide, teeth digging into his lower lip again to stop from whining. Eyes flicking to yours and he’s completely melting when seeing just how pathetic you are under him, moan stumbling from his lips so suddenly that it takes him by surprise.
He's just as big of a mess as you and it has your cunt positively creaming around him, turned on by the fucked out horny look on your best friends’ face. Gojo shudders at your pussy getting slicker around him, his dick jerking inside you.
“Getting this– hah– wet over your best friend…” fucking his hips quickly, pelvis now flush to yours, “…how shameless of you.”
You’re quivering around him and writhing under him, the feeling of being completely stuffed full overwhelming on its own. His taunting cruel and mocking and unfortunately turning you on that much more, upset that you’re letting him get away with it.
Lips downturned when you fire back, “You’re more shameless– hnn– pervert.”
Gojo can only be charmed by your weak insult, especially since he’s pretty sure you’re unaware of how your hips are twitching under the weight of his hold. Fighting upwards for the hope of getting fucked but kept frustratingly still by him. Your neediness has piqued his interest, now wondering how long he can stay still until you’re shedding tears out of pure frustration. Quickly growing addicted to the idea of teasing you like this.
He's so still it’s driving you crazy, able to feel his dick twitching inside you, veins throbbing against your sensitive walls. Obviously wanting it just as bad as you but still not moving, shifting one of your hands to tap at his on your hip, gaining his attention.
Eyes on his, “What are you waiting– mmph– for?”
God, the look on your face is killing him, so sweet under him. It’s almost like you’re coming apart already, his hands dig into your thighs and it has you keening under him. Pitiful whine leaving you as your hips start grinding into him quickly, trying to alleviate some of the desire you’re feeling.
“Now why on earth…” he straightens his back up more, pulling your lower half up with him, not giving the chance for his cock to slip from you, “…are you this touch starved?”
“Huh?” it’s the only response you’re capable of giving, having finally seen just how he’s shoved inside you. Cunt stretched obscene around his fat dick, dripping happily and syrupy sweet around him. Chest fluttering at the shock and excitement.
“I’m so sorry for not noticing, sweetie,” he coos at you, “I would’ve helped you if you’d told me.”
Complaining back at him, “I am not touch starved.”
“You definitely are,” he trails his hand from your hip, up your side, just to show you how you twitch into it, “it’s okay though, I’ll take good care of you.”
Pussy shivering involuntarily around him, giving away that you’re lying. How he managed to know you were deprived, you have no idea but the fact he did is embarrassing to you. He doesn’t need to be aware of how long it’s been since you were last touched so intimately.
“I—”
“—Don’t bother lying again,” he keeps caressing you where he can reach, “I’d much rather hear about how much you like when I touch you.”
Maybe he’ll start moving if you’re honest, “I like when– hah– you touch me,” pouting slightly and barely fighting off the shudder running down your spine at his touch.
“Good,” he smiles at you, all glib, “‘Cause I’m gonna touch you. Lots.”
Eyes sparkling at him, hoping, “Does that mean you’re– ah– hnn– actually going to fuck me now?”
“Why?” his head tilts at you, “Do you want it?”
Giving your best glare back at him, he’s proven to you sufficiently by now that he can read you incredibly well, much to your dismay. Muttering out, “Dream you was– hah– much more indulgent of me.”
“Ouch,” though he says that, he doesn’t seem hurt at all, “Dream me was a fool then ‘cause you’re much more fun to play with like this.”
He’s being so evil, “Can’t you just give me what I want?”
“I might,” his gaze is lecherous as his eyes rake over your body, “if you ask for it properly.”
“Satoru…” you try to call out to him as sweetly as possible, “…please fuck me?” lip quivering slightly as your neediness bleeds through your façade of togetherness, “please?”
Gojo’s heart squeezes in his chest, he’d planned on tormenting you a little more but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity any longer. Already he feels like he’s a second away from cumming, caught between wanting to give you everything you want and teasing you until you cry. He guesses he’ll just have to settle for fucking you until you cry this time, next time, he promises himself he’ll tease you properly next time.
“Satoru?”
Your voice breaks him out of his reverie, grin back on his face, “I heard you, pretty. I’ll give you what you want.”
Dragging his cock from you slowly, so slowly, the heavy weight of him pulling out driving you up a wall, insides shuddering. Broken and gasped moans leaving you, rushing out quick, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh—”
The laugh that leaves him is too attractive, amused by your gratitude for something like this. It’s cute how the thank-yous just keep tumbling from your lips over and over as he keeps pulling back to the tip of him.
“Don’t thank me for that…” his hands dig into your hips more, “…thank me for this,” slamming into you all at once with his last word.
The wind is completely knocked from your lungs, shocked whine louder than you’d want it to be. Desperately clawing at any part of him you can reach, struggling to take it and keep it together. Feeling like you’re completely melting, head spinning as pleasure thumps through your veins.
“Mmph– I– ahh—” barely coherent as your eyes fight to not roll to the back of your head, “thank hnn– you.”
Small giggle leaving him at just how adorable you’re being, heart hammering in his chest as he sets a consistently mind ruining pace. He can’t wipe the fucked out smile off his face as he keeps pounding into you, giddy with how he gets to have you under him like this.
Babbling varied compliments, “You’re so adorable,” he huffs out a whimper, “hnn– and you’re so fucking tight around me,” less coherent as he carries on, “God, and so fffucking wet– hah– what the– so hot– I—”
He feels insane, how you’re this warm and perfect around him has him at a loss. Almost like you were made just for his cock, something he’ll let himself believe because the idea of you being with anyone but him breaks his heart a little bit.
Hypnotised by how you’re sucking him back in, clinging onto his dick desperately. It’s almost like every time he pulls out, you’re begging him to fuck right back in, and of course he’ll comply. The idea of pulling out before he’s finished with you a painful thought, not willing to give up this moment even if someone walked in on the two of you.
Such a genuine thought, he’s completely certain that someone could walk in on you both and his thrusts wouldn’t even slow down. If anything, they’d speed up, finally he’d get to show off how you’re his. Possessiveness tumbling around restlessly in his head, his dick only getting harder.
All you can do is take it, take all of the jaw slacking and toe-curling pleasure he’s delivering you. Your pussy making obscene sounds as he fucks into you, skin hot from how depraved it all feels. Gojo looks so completely wrecked, eyes glazed over, lips still moving as he continues to mutter out sweet praise. Praise that would probably have your insides flipping and body growing hotter, but you can’t hear anything but your heart thumping in your own ears.
Delirious grin making its way onto his face as he’s struck with a wicked realisation, large hand sliding its way from your thigh to your stomach. Pressing down the littlest bit and watching how you squirm and shudder under him, gasping for breath and hands slapping at him, trying to speak.
“Don’t– hnn– don’t do that– ah!– too much– it feels too—”
“What? Good?” He hisses out, still managing to be taunting.
“It’s too much– hah– mmph– I’m too sensitive,” your eyelashes feel wet, like you might’ve started crying but you can’t even be sure of that right now.
His hand presses down more into your tummy, “I know you are~” he giggles a little, “it’s turning me on.”
“Seriously– hnn– don’t– I’m gonna– ah!—”
He’d completely ignored your pleas causing you to cut yourself off with a moan, orgasm suddenly washing over you. Spasming hot and snug around him, so sinful that he’s shocked by his own high, cumming deep inside you as you shake and shiver around him.
“Ohh, you’re– haah– you’re killing me sweetly,” Gojo’s head feels like it’s spinning, swimming in so much euphoria as he grinds into you.
You’ve slumped under him, trusting him to keep a hold of you, not even thinking to chew him out for making a mess of both your cunt and sofa. Brain feeling all fuzzy and melted in your skull, blissed out from how good you’re currently feeling.
Busy basking in the afterglow when your world is suddenly spinning, Gojo’s taken advantage of your rag-dolled state and flipped you over onto your stomach. Quickly realising that he’s still hard when your hips are being pulled up and his cock is sliding through your folds.
“You gotta stay with me, pretty,” he groans, positioning his tip at your hole, “we’re– hnn– not done yet.”
“Satoru– ah!—”
Both your moans are debauched and loud as he stuffs you so fucking full all at once, lungs seizing in your chest. If he weren’t holding your hips so tight, you would’ve collapsed to the couch. Your fingers dig into the cushions below you, biting back pitiful sounds that so desperately want to leave you.
“Don’t– don’t do that,” he shoves inside you somehow that little bit more, “let me hear you, sweetie.”
Sulking back, “Noo– hah– it’s embarrassing—”
“—It’s arousing,” he counters, skin on fire with how badly he wants to hear you moan for him.
He supposes it’s fine though, he’ll just have to drag those sweet sounds from you himself. Giving sharp and angled thrusts, purposefully driving right into all those delicious spots he found earlier while playing with you. Grinning wide, overly pleased with himself when you squeak out the cutest moan he’s ever heard.
He’s falling apart inside you, wrapped around your little finger and you don’t even realise it. He didn’t even intend to cum earlier, you just felt too good. All sticky cum and clingy walls, he couldn’t help himself.
Able to feel how his cum leaks out around his shaft, hear how your pussy gushes with his cock inside you. He feels borderline feral, something deeply possessive dancing around in his heart at how your cunt squelches around him, stuffed full of his hot semen.
The desire to see his face hits you, remembering just how good he looked as he got lost in how pleasurable everything felt. Whining pitifully below him into the couch, feeling far too shy to tell him how much you enjoy looking at him while he fucks you stupid.
“Satoru– hnn– it’s—” drooling onto the couch as you moan out to him, “it’s good– hah– it’s too good– it’s good~” nearly sobbing with just how damn good it feels.
“I bet,” he chuckles, loving your reaction.
Biting at him, “Hnn– shuddup—”
Easily ignoring you, “Now be honest… what’s better?”
Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head; you can’t focus on whatever the hell he’s saying when he’s fucking your gooey sweet spot so perfectly that you’re in bliss.
“Focus,” he fills you completely and stills his hips, refusing to move, “what’s better? This or your dream.”
Cunt so creamy and cock drunk for him, throbbing and pulsing so lovingly on him. He’s a little bit annoyed that he has to stop but he needs your answer. Hips twitching back into him, small noises of frustrated and deprived pleasure slipping from your lips.
He purrs low at you, “If you want me to move then you gotta answer me,” hand smoothing down your back, “you know I will torment you until you do.”
If you weren’t so turned on and delirious you’d recognise it as the bluff it is, he may have been able to torment you earlier, but his patience is barely hanging on by a fucking thread at this point. But you are that turned on and delirious, so instead you answer earnestly, “This, this is better. It’s lots better, now please. Move.”
“There ya go,” he pats your ass a couple times, “such a sweet little thing when you’re fucked full of my fat dick.”
Words meant as a warning but failing to hold any weight, “‘Toru– don’t—”
“—Don’t stress, pretty,” giving you a single thrust, “I’ll give you what you and your pussy are begging me for.”
Your response is smothered into the couch cushions, “Please.”
Groaning a giggle at how you reply, finding it cute that you’re displaying manners you don’t usually bother to with him. You must have it bad for him right now because otherwise you would not be so docile under him.
Fucking into you so you can feel it, really feel it. Intending to pull you apart so perfectly, wanting you to feel this just as much he is. Pelvis smacking into your ass obscenely, admiring the way your back arches for him, damn near presenting yourself to him.
“More– hah—” you stutter out at him, trying to explain what you need, “I want– hnn– I want you to touch me more.”
His eyes close and he intakes a deep breath, controlling himself as he registers your words. Arm reaching around you to pull you up, his chest to your back. He’s pressed so close to you, warm and comforting. You’re keening into him again, relishing how close he is to you, how much of him you can feel. Butterflies dancing in your stomach at how intimate it is and how it’s so much better because of it.
His hands grope at you, your hips, stomach, tits, anywhere he can grab, “Someone’s being greedy.”
Huffing back at him, “Hah– I am not.”
“I wasn’t talking about you,” amused with himself as he breathes into your ear, thrusting desperately into your dripping cunt.
You grab hold of his hands and tug, encouraging him to wrap his arms around you properly. All too easily, he gives into your will, holding you tight. His face tucked into your neck and breathing in your scent, lips delicate as they trace your skin.
Brain hazy and muddled as you babble out your feelings to him, “It’s good– I like your dick– hnn– I like– hah– I like you.” Head turning to the side to press a small kiss to his head.
He’s quick to move so he can capture your lips with his, groaning into it. His dick grows impossibly larger inside you at your small confession, throbbing and leaking inside your tight heat.
Pulling back with a last suck to your lower lip, “Don’t say such sweet things to me, pretty,” tongue licking your ear, teeth nipping you, “or I’ll never leave you alone.”
“You– hah– you– hnn– do that anyways– ah!—”
“I’m about to become much worse,” it’s more of a promise than anything else, you thought of him as clingy before but he’s about to become so so much more worse.
The idea of that alone should probably be less appealing but while stuffed full of his aching cock, you can’t find it in yourself to feel anything other than pathetically whipped for him. Pussy weeping around him, begging for more, for it to never stop.
His dick so deep it feels like he’s in your lungs, spasming around him as your high gets closer and closer. Pleasure climbing up your spine as you melt around him, loving his touch on your body, his breath by your ear.
Gojo moans, head tipping back before he leans forwards again, “You’ve got me obsessed with you, sweetheart,” voice cracking with a whine, “both you– hnn– and this sopping wet pussy of yours.”
Sobbing out your warning, “‘Toru– hah– ah!– I’m gonna cum—”
“Hmm?” his chest vibrates against your back, “Gonna cum because I told you I’m obsessed with you? That’s pretty lewd of you.”
Cheeks wet with your shed tears, “Don’t– hng– don’t tease.”
“Just let yourself enjoy it,” hand pressing into your stomach like he had earlier, “your cunt sure does.”
Long and pitchy moan leaving you, orgasm knocking into you like a tonne of bricks. Trying to curl forward but unable to, Gojo’s arms are firm around you, not letting you go anywhere as he keeps fucking into you. His pace suddenly much quicker as he doubles his efforts from behind, chasing his own high.
It doesn’t take him long at all to follow behind you, face burying into your neck, teeth biting into you as he shudders. Muffled whimpers vibrating against your skin, his hips jerking shallowly, he can’t bring himself to stop fucking into you. You’re too stupid to think about telling him off, not even sure you’re able to process thoughts let alone talk coherently.
Eventually he stills to a complete stop, planting kisses over his bite mark. He doesn’t want to let you go, content to hold you up like this but you’re on the verge of passing out. Gentle in how he lowers you down onto the couch, the pair of you groaning when his cock slips from you. Shared cum connecting his dick to your stuffed hole obscenely, he has to bite his lip to stifle the most pathetic sound at the sight.
While you gather yourself, he kneads your back, his large hands digging into the knots there. The massage nice and calming, helping to soothe your aching muscles after the way he manhandled you to his hearts content. Almost feeling like you could fall asleep like this, feeling so safe and warm under his ministrations.
He leans over to check you, “Stay awake,” fingers brushing against your cheek, “you’re gonna need a shower.”
“No moving,” you protest.
“Yes moving, I know if you fall asleep like this you will be pissed when you wake up,” he brushes down your spine delicately, “and you’ll be pissed at me… which I’d personally like to prevent.”
“Can’t do it.”
“I’ll help you,” he hops off the couch, “Come on.”
Groaning dramatically the whole time as you sit up, standing in front of him with the help of his hands on you. Legs wobbling under you, balance precarious. As soon as you’re on your feet, his cum leaks from your cunt and down your inner thighs. It catches Gojo’s attention who crouches down to get a better look.
“Wooow,” he comments.
Shy at his reaction, “Wh– what?”
He glances up at you and looks deep into your eyes, “I came a lot inside you,” eyes dropping to stare at your pussy obviously, “sorry but this is really turning me on…”
Barely finishing his sentence before his tongue is lolling out of his mouth, head tipping forward to lick up the mess. Mouth swapping sides to travel up each of your thighs, eyes locked onto yours as he does. It’s overwhelming you, feeling beyond embarrassed at the lewd display. His grip the only thing keeping your wobbly legs from completely giving out from under you.
Gojo’s actions are ravenous and simultaneously dazed, somehow both feral and on autopilot. Moaning into your pussy as he licks and sucks your cunt clean, tongue hitting so many over-sensitive places. Your hands dig into his hair to pull him back only to see the completely pussy drunk look in his eyes. If it had been possible, he’d probably have hearts in his eyes, so far gone.
“Stop– hnn– you need to stop,” legs shaking much more now, “too sensitive,” grip more forceful with your last tug.
He pouts back at you, “But you’re so cute when you’re overstimulated.”
Pulling back from you to stand to his full height, smirking down at you. All self-satisfied and also blissed out on the taste of your shared cum. Your tummy is full of butterflies from how he’s been treating you today, legs still weak under you as your knees cave. Thankfully, he’s quick and catches you, effortlessly picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to wash the both of you up.
Letting yourself be wiped down by him in the bathroom, sitting on the sink as he uses a warm cloth to clean you up better than his tongue could. “I was serious you know,” he says unprompted.
Head fuzzy and a little lost on what he means, “About?”
“I’m obsessed with you.”
α.η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
a-knee-wayssss .. i hope you liked it ! i didn't change much about this one since it was basically just pure smut and also i still fucked with it teehee (๑•̀ <๑) ✧
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
i’m starting to think some of you people are the antichrist because every time nanami’s written as a mean and aggressive power dom who’s kind of an asshole and lowkey kinky abusive toward his s/o an angel loses its wings before it can reach malaysia
i genuinely cannot believe the lack of empathy and common sense post-obsession. the amount of people sympathizing with bear and swearing up and down that he isn’t the villain is genuinely concerning. and yeah, this applies to the people who stopped sympathizing with him only after the “what’s so bad about being with me?” scene. that man kept pills around his cat, threw his dead cat in the trash, was fine with taking nikki’s autonomy away from her, raping her, cheating on her, and ignoring all of the signs that something was up so as long as he could keep having her all to himself and rationalizing his own expedient delusion, and inceluprising69 or moidraper555 will still tell you that he was just a poor, awkward guy who had no idea what he was getting into. his choices tell you he’s the villain. the script tells you he’s the villain. johnston tells you he’s the villain. barker tells you he’s the villain. and you still deny him being the villain! this movie is a litmus test and a concerning amount of men have failed because they can’t wrap their heads around a concept as simple as consent.
omg i would hate it if someone wrote a witch!reader x gojo fic where they’ve been dating since high school and she defies her ancestors by resurrecting him from the dead a week after shinjuku after refusing to let them cremate his stitched-up body post-funeral and keeping it in shoko’s infirmary because reader’s just incapable of letting go but the price for bringing him back is absolute amnesia and zero recollection of who he is so he has to fall in love with her all over again while she helps him craft his identity based on the kind of person he is and not based on how strong of a sorcerer he is so that he can truly know happiness instead of performing as a weapon to be used by everyone else I SAID OMG I WOULD HATE IT IF SOMEONE WROTE
just been reading an article about a woman in Gaza who's been collecting burnt cooking oil and hunting markets for sodium hydroxide so she can turn it into soap, to reduce the skin diseases the children in neighbouring tents are suffering from. so anyway, death to Israel and don't tolerate Zionists. which includes anyone who thinks Israel should exist
sometimes i forget that liking the ending of aot is lowkey a hot take... i be assuming everyone agrees that it’s a top 5 work of fiction oat like shi mb
in which gotham is in the middle of one of the coldest winters in recent years, and your boyfriend has you freezing your ass off in a garage. he warms you back up though, fogging the car windows in the process. MDNI it unnerves me u will be blocked
CW | jason & fem!reader, smut w plot, exhibitionism: car edition, bickering which leads to sex, condom usage (user enviedear promotes safe sex), name calling in good faith, winter (yes that’s a warning), and established relationship, 3.5k words 🎧ྀི
“baby it’s cold.” you whine, for probably the hundredth time. eyes dead set on your boyfriend.
said boyfriend, a red-nosed jason todd, grunts as answer. gloved hands still working a wrench, trying not to strip a bolt on his bike.
you roll your eyes at him—or rather—the entire situation. gotham has been bound by winter. cloaked in freezing temperatures, grey snow, and black ice. it’s absolute hell. frozen hell. and, since you’re blessed with a man who actually enjoys this weather…you’re stuck in an open garage with no heater while he works on his bike.
a bike he can’t even drive for the time being.
you let out a groan, breath turning into fog.
finally, jason peers over at you. his stare could be equated to that of tired acknowledgement, but acknowledgement nonetheless. he drops the wrench down with his other tools, “what?”
your scowl is immediate, “wrong tone, asshole.”
his gaze drops, you can almost see a hint of an eye roll, but he must decide against it. opting instead to change his tone that the saccharine (mildly perturbed) inflection you expect of him, “sorry, sweetheart.” a breath, “what’s wrong?”
“it’s fuckin’ cold!” you whine, yet again. “it’s cold and you have me out here with no heat, no entertainment, and putrid bike oil. can’t we do something else?”
jason has the gall to chuckle. the brat. “babe, i’m almost done. you can endure for fifteen more minutes, can’t you?” his gall expands, face contorting into that boyish expression you usually cave in for.
not this time, “fuck no.” you’re already turning away from him and making your way to his car. absolutely not. you will not sit in the cold for fifteen more minutes while he fucks with his brake pads. you’d rather be lonely in the car.
you can hear somewhat of a clank and shuffle behind you, but you don’t look back. you’re too busy weighing how long it’ll take a stagnant car to heat up. it’s only when you grab for the passenger handle that you realize jason’s followed you to the street.
“babe.” he starts, hand blocking your own from opening the door. “c’mon i’m not being mean. s’just…i never have time to fix that damn bike. i’m not trying to be an ass, i just thought i could knock this out while you kept me company.”
you slap his hand, grabbing the handle and opening the door. “well you are an ass.” and with that, you’re slipping into the passenger side and cranking the ignition. the air is ice…but you’re too stubborn to wait for the damn car to heat up. like hell you’ll willingly stand in that damn garage for a minute more. no, you’ve made your stubborn—and slightly moronic—decision.
from outside the car you can hear jason curse and, petty as you are, you smile.
you take to rubbing your hands together, already plotting how long it’ll take before the heater stops feeling like an arctic blast, when the driver door yanks open and cold air floods in all over again.
“oh my god.” you groan. “are you kidding me?”
jason slides in, bringing with him the smell of winter and motor oil…and that stupid, unfair warmth that seems to cling to him no matter how cold it gets. he slams the door shut and just…sits there for a second, staring forward. jaw tight.
“you are so dramatic.” he huffs finally.
you gape at him, jaw slack, “i am literally freezing.”
“yeah, and the solution was the car? shit will take ages to heat up in idle, sweetheart.” he shoots back, and then glances at you. at the way you’re hunched into yourself, sleeves swallowed over your hands, teeth chattering. something in his expression shifts. irritation softens into something else.
he reaches over without asking and cranks the heat all the way up. the vents cough out a weak, lukewarm blast.
“stupid heat takes forever.” you mutter.
“i know.” his voice is lower now.
the car is quiet except for the engine sputtering and the wind scraping against the windows. your breath still fogs faintly in front of you.
jason keeps looking at you, “…c’mere.”
you blink, lips scowling, “what?”
he arches a brow, “tone.” and then, opens his arms, beckoning you toward him, “you heard me.”
you narrow your eyes, “if this is some half baked trick to get me back into that freezer you call a garage, you can shove it right up your—”
he cuts you off by reaching over and grabbing your wrist, tugging gently but insistently. not toward the door. toward him.
you stumble a little over the center console, landing half in his space, half in your seat. he’s warm. infuriatingly warm.
“jason.” you start.
“you’re cold.” he says simply, like that absolves everything.
his hands slide to your waist, steadying you. big, gloved, solid. the heat difference is brutal. your body reacts before your pride does, leaning in without permission. fingers escaping your sleeves to nestle by his throat, warm from his hoodie.
you’re close enough now to see the little red tint on his nose, the way his lashes are still damp from the cold. close enough to feel his breath hit your cheek.
“whatever. just until the heat kicks on.” you say, weakly.
“mhm, till then.” he says, equally unconvincing.
his hands don’t move away, and yours don’t either.
the air is still blowing uselessly. the windows are still fogging up.
jason’s thumb shifts against your side. slow. deliberate.
you look at his mouth. he notices.
“…you still mad at me?” he asks.
“very.” you reply, eyes narrowing.
he pulls his best feigned sorrowful expression, “wanna take it out on me?”
you should say no.
you don’t. of course you don’t.
you lean in just enough that your noses almost brush.
“you’re gonna regret asking me that.” you tell him.
his smile is crooked, “yeah,” he hums quietly. “probably.”
and then he tilts his head, slightly and slowly, like he’s giving you every chance in the world to stop him. you don’t.
instead you lean down, wrapping your fingers in his hoodie and pulling him close. when his lips find yours, it almost feels like you’ve won a prize. he’s warm, he’s putty in your hands, and he’s entirely yours.
you try to stay at least slightly annoyed while you kiss your idiotic boyfriend. brain reminding you that he kept you in a cold garage for over an hour. that he pulled the, fifteen more minutes, bullshit. that he’s…shifting his hips up to meet your own in this cramped car.
despite your best efforts, you let out a soft moan. and of course he hears it, it echoes right through him. your sound seems to be enough for him to break one hand free and fumble for the recline trigger of his seat. lips leaving yours to kiss down your jaw and neck. before you know it, you’re laid out on him and sighing into every peck.
damn him.
he’s terrible, really. eyes a mess of want and unscrupulous arrogance as he pulls away just to use his teeth to tear off his gloves. using his free hands to unzip your overcoat and fumble under your two top layers. happy to rest his hands at the underwire of your bra.
you’re better at hiding your deep-seated need to get him undressed, merely staring at his exposed v-line from his raised up layers. by the time your eyes find his again, he’s barely taking a breath before crashing his lips back onto yours.
the car is cramped, even with the seat laid back, so your hips keep moving together. at least, you’re blaming the cramped car. jason’s probably blaming human nature.
“you warm yet? or are you still going to complain if i take your coat off?” he says it like it’s a joke. a dirty joke.
you shove at his chest, “fuck you. what kind of foreplay is nearly giving your girlfriend hypothermia?” you let your hands slip under his half ridden-up layers, “you freak.”
he has the audacity to laugh, low in his chest. “you’re the one climbing me like a tree and grinding into me. i’d hardly say i’m the freak here.”
“i was kidnapped onto this lap, todd.” then you tilt your head, playing fake sweet, “after you realized you were freezing your girlfriend for a motorcycle. like a loser.”
his jaw sets, “careful. i started playing nice. don’t ruin it.”
you huff, pulling your now unzipped coat off. still, you’re in far too many layers…but jason’s in more. you smirk to yourself as you grab the bottom of his hoodie, “play nice and take this off for me, hm?”
he rolls his eyes but still, you’re obliged. the hoodie comes off clean, fussing up his hair with it. you watch it join the pile of your coat in the backseat.
“happy?” he asks, fingers now returning under your shirts to rest at your bra. “i did what you asked. the first time.” his voice has a sardonic bite to it.
you shrug, “your obedience is proven to be faulty. if you remember, keeping me in a freezing garage five blocks from our apartment.” you smile, “but keep taking off layers and you may find yourself a forgiving lady.”
“you really know how to make a man feel like a worthless whore.” his eyes crinkle at the edges, fighting a smile.
you lean down instead of replying. your mouth peppering kisses at his jaw while your hands go to your back, undoing your bra in a minimally suave fashion. you hear him groan, and he’s grabbing at the straps to pull it off of you before you even have to ask.
left only in your sweatpants and your top layers, you let him feel your tits underneath your thermals. he rolls into you harder now, obviously annoyed by both of your bottom layers.
his hands are still on your breasts when he pulls away, gently sucking in the now hot air, “backseat?”
you sigh, nodding your head to the windows, “we’re in the middle of the street.”
“yeah?”
you look at him incredulously, “yeah, and someone could see us.”
“baby. sweetheart…i tinted these windows myself. besides…” he stops, lets his knuckles brush against the glass, “completely fogged.” then he clicks the car’s lock, “and locked. perfectly safe.”
“you say that until some asshole comes over here to see why the car is rocking.”
he grunts, “if some fuckin’ pervert tries to disrupt what i’m about to do in this car, i’ll handle it. and you. preferably you first.”
“you say that like gcpd doesn’t roam these streets too.”
he throws his head back, “gcpd owes me so many favors i think they’d block the fuckin’ street if i asked.”
you roll your eyes, “you’re going to have a solution for everything aren’t you?”
the way he looks up at you should be illegal, “i’m literally minutes away from getting you naked and putting my dick inside of you…yes, baby. a man will find solutions.”
you let out a scoff, shaking your head as your fingers slide back under his shirt, nails dragging lightly across his skin just to make him shiver, “you’re disgusting.”
“and you’re stalling.” jason smirks, “thought you were cold, baby. lemme warm you up.”
he doesn’t wait for your answer. just lets his hands slide beneath both of your tops to inch them up, and up—until they’re bunched under your arms and he can finally mouth at your tits. no bra, just the warmth of his tongue.
the way you arch into him would be embarrassing if you also didn’t feel how hard he was beneath you. he’s kissing at your breasts like it’s getting him off, leaving you to curl your fingers into his curls as retribution.
“ah, fuck, jason..” you draw out his name without meaning to, eyes screwing shut the longer he licks at you.
his reply is muffled at first, but he pulls away just enough to be understood, “mhm…look at you, real fuckin’ sweet now.”
he goes back to kissing at your chest, only this time he slips one hand toward your sweatpants waistband. and he tugs until they’re just low enough for him to slip his fingers beneath the front, cupping you through your panties. you whimper at the contact, biting hard at your bottom lip.
“and wet too?” he chuckles, “that cold garage really riled you up, huh?”
“i hate you,” you pant, rocking your hips down into his palm. “hate your stupid bike. hate this dumb car. hate your smug face.”
he laughs, full and low and dark, “hate me all you want, baby,” he says as he slips two fingers under your panties and slides them through the slick you’ve made, “still fuckin’ wet for me.”
your head drops to his shoulder, forehead pressed into the thick muscle of his neck as he starts to tease your clit in tight circles. you groan his name, body starting to tremble.
his other hand grips your hip, pulling you in tighter against him and his hand. you can feel how hard he is through his sweats, thick and straining, the pressure of him grinding against your thigh with every shift of your weight. he’s relentless with his fingers, working you open, dipping just barely inside you before retreating, teasing over and over until you’re slicking his hand and twitching in his lap.
“jason.” you whisper, needy and completely ignorant to your previous annoyance, “jesus christ…please.”
“what is it you want?” he asks, voice honey, lips brushing your temple, “tell me.”
you squeeze your eyes shut, and mimic his earlier request, “backseat?”
jason exhales, sharp and low. you’re still selfishly grinding into his hand and trembling through the teasing. but then his fingers slow, and then stop altogether.
“fuckin’ finally,” he mutters, biting at your jaw like punctuation to his curse. “i’ve been trying to get you back there since you started whining.”
you scramble off his lap with little to no grace, half in the center console, halfway in the backseat. you watch as he scrambles to open and exit the driver’s side, muffling a giggle when he nearly busts his ass on a patch of ice. your laughter dies the second he opens that back door though, his face full of absolute want. he’s almost wolfish, fully yours. and he’s quick to duck into the backseat, pulling you with him.
you land on your back against the cold leather, though only cold for a second, because then he’s over you. he’s kissing you like it’s punishment. for him and you. hot and messy and full of tongue. his hands are all over, dragging your top layers fully off, and pulling your sweatpants and panties down. both items, thrown haphazardly somewhere in the car. you kick your socked feet at him and he laughs, low and wild.
jason pushes his sweats just low enough and your eyes drop to his cock, already hard, flushed, and leaking. your mouth curls.
“condom?” you ask, breathing hard already.
he groans like you’ve stabbed him back to reality, “fuckin’…hold on. glovebox.” he mutters, leaning forward and fumbling until he finds one—snatching it without moving fully off you. then, your near neanderthal of a boyfriend rips the wrapper with his teeth. rolls it on with one hand while the other spreads your thighs open again.
you’d call him a demon if you didn’t know him better.
still…you watch all of it, too turned on to hide it. he notices, he always does.
“see something you like?”
you smirk, “not much to look at.”
his eyes narrow, “you’re gonna eat those words.”
he lines up, rubs the thick head through your folds, teasing you with it until you can’t help but press against him. you whimper, hips rolling to chase his.
“jason, don’t be a prude.” you joke, mostly impatient and growing colder the longer his body strays from you.
“teasing isn’t prudish.” he groans, shifting the head of his cock right at your entrance. sinking in as much as he can in one swift motion. not rough exactly, but firm. intentional. like he wants you to feel every inch as he deals it out. “if anything it’s romantic. let me be romantic, you brat.”
you arch up, hands scrambling for something to hold—his back, his hair, anything. your mouth falls open and you bite at his shoulders to keep from crying out at the sudden fullness. even in bliss, you refuse to cave in the most. no, that’s a task for jason and jason alone.
“fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours, his hips twitching as he bottoms out, “you feel—”
“if you say good, i’ll kill you.” your voice trembles as you wrap your legs around his waist, dragging him in deeper. “t’so lame. find better words.”
he laughs again, breath fogging the tiny space between you. “jesus, you’re mean when you’re cold.”
“no, i’m mean when i’m ignored.” you snap, nails digging into his back as he starts to move. “which—oh my god—you just did. mere minutes ago…for a fucking bike.”
jason grins against your cheek, sharp and no doubt showing each and every one of his thirty-twos, before he drags his hips back and slams into you again. harder this time. enough to jolt the entire car and knock your thoughts sideways.
“maybe i should ignore you more often,” he mutters. “you’re pretty slutty when you’re mad.”
you don’t dignify that with a response. mostly because your voice catches when he rolls his hips again, deeper this time, steadier. he finds a rhythm, some mix between grinding and rolling. in the best way possible…it’s so much worse than quick ins and outs. it’s too close, too thick, too good. his cock drags along every nerve, your chest arching up into his, legs hooked tight around him like you’re trying to trap him inside you.
you drag your nails down his spine, lips brushing his ear, “if anything, you should be sorry for it.”
“i’ll make it up to you,” he hums, rocking into you faster, making the car damn near shudder with his ministrations. “just keep letting me fuck you like this.”
your breath stutters out. one of your hands fists in his hair, the other pressed flat against the window, palm sweating the glass worse than the heat ever could.
jason lowers his mouth to your neck, tongue hot where your skin’s gone clammy from sweat. and he bites—not too hard—but enough that you cry out and clamp around him, thighs squeezing his sides like a vice.
“hell, baby.” his voice is rough and wrecked, hips stuttering, pace starting to falter. “you’re gonna make me cum.”
“don’t.” your hand fists in his hair tighter, dragging his face back up to yours, “not yet.”
his laugh is a strangled thing, but he obeys. he slows down, hips going back to grinding instead of fucking. deep, dirty, maddening strokes that make your whole body burn up.
you hate him. god, you hate him for how good he is at this—at you. how he listens even when he doesn’t want to. how he makes you forget every reason you were pissed in the first place.
you start to clench around him. that beginning to the end he makes you all too familiar with. your body gets all tight, your pulse rhythmic, your moans involuntary. and as much as you know you’re nearing the edge, so does jason.
“c’mon, baby.” he murmurs, thumbing at your jaw to make you look at him. “let go for me. you want to, i know you do. you’re so, fuck, so warm. you feel so good. just ride it out for me.”
you don’t want to. you want to make him suffer for a little longer. but you’re weak to him. and you stupidly, always have been.
you shatter under him. your legs half locking and shaking, back arching, and face twisting into something wrecked and grateful. he groans through it, watching you with an almost disbelieving expression before his mouth finds yours as you burn through your orgasm. he’s kissing you through every wave. it’s messy and wrecked. barely a kiss, more of a necessity.
and then he’s fucking into you with abandon, chasing his own high now, teeth gritted, muscles tense, cock twitching deep inside you as he spills into the condom with a weak grunt and far too many expletives. the whole car shakes from it—windows fogged even more—air thick with sweat and sex.
you lie there a second, with his heavy body over yours. you can feel his heartbeat pounding into your ribs. your legs are still wrapped around him. neither of you moves.
and then you sigh, “you’re still not off the hook.”
jason half-grins against your collarbone, “didn’t think i was. but you’re not cold anymore, are you?”
you slap the back of his head, “next time you wanna freeze me to death for company, bring a goddamn heater.”
he hums, already pressing soft kisses to your chest, “or i could just fuck you warm. worked in our favor this time.”
you groan, head hitting the seat cushion.
this man. this fucking man.
yours, and annoying about it.
WRITER’S NOTE
big shoutout to the anon that send this ask, bc my love—you inspired this. i saw that bottom idea and my mind went into autopilot. i didn’t have sentient fingers when i typed this. pure lust on the brain. was it supposed to be a blurb? yes. is it a blurb? no. again…no sentience when i typed this. what jason todd will do to a woman.
song linked to the headphone emoji at the top is best enjoyed when it has exactly 1:34 minutes left bc guitar riffs are horny and this is a horny piece of work. and if you enjoyed this horny piece of work…you better comment and reblog or comment AND reblog. i will also accept your first born. you’ve met user enviedear at a very rumplestiltskin time in her life.
When a rushed morning leads to an accidental wallet swap, a fiercely independent woman finds herself spending her husband's money for the first time. Smut
The wallet had been his idea from the start—a matched set, cognac brown for him, softer caramel for you. You'd smiled when he presented them on your first anniversary, the paper crisp and the leather smelling of luxury and intention.
"Nanami," you'd teased, running your thumb over the embossed initials, "are you marking your territory?"
He'd only adjusted his glasses, that familiar, maddeningly calm expression on his face. "Practicality," he'd said. "Matching wallets mean we can find each other's things easily."
But you'd seen the way his fingers lingered on yours when he handed it over, the way his throat worked when you immediately transferred your cards, your cash, your small treasures into its folds. He'd watched you like a man starving, and you'd known— even then— that this meant something else entirely to him.
That was three years ago.
Now, the morning light filtered through the curtains in thin, desperate strips, and you were running late. The project— that beast of a contract that had consumed six months of your life— had finally, blessedly concluded at 2 AM. You'd collapsed into bed without washing your face, without setting your alarm properly, without doing any of the things a reasonable adult should do.
And now your phone screamed at you: 8:47 AM. Your spa appointment was at 9:30. Across the city.
"Shit, shit, shit," you muttered, stumbling out of bed, yanking on the first dress your hands found— a simple navy wrap dress that didn't require thought. You didn't bother with makeup. You didn't bother with coffee. You grabbed your bag, flew to the entryway, and snatched what you assumed was your wallet from the small ceramic dish where you both kept them.
They looked identical from above, after all. The same size. The same shape. The same worn-soft leather that had molded to each of your lives.
You pressed a kiss to Nanami's cheek— he stood at the counter in his undershirt and dress pants, buttering toast, his hair still damp from the shower— and you were out the door before he could turn around.
"Have a good—" he started, but the door slammed.
The taxi ride was torture. Traffic crawled. You checked your phone every thirty seconds, watching the minutes slip away, calculating whether you could still make it, whether they'd still take you if you were ten minutes late, fifteen. Your heart hammered against your ribs. Your skin felt too tight, still carrying the stress of the project, the lack of sleep, the persistent ache between your shoulder blades that had become your constant companion over the past month.
When the taxi finally stopped outside the spa— a sleek, minimalist building with bamboo accents and the kind of reputation that required bookings three months in advance— you fumbled in your bag for your wallet, ready to pay and run.
Your fingers closed around leather. You pulled it out.
And you froze.
The smell hit you first— sandalwood, something him. The weight was wrong. Too heavy. When you flipped it open, there was his ID photo staring back at you, Nanami Kento, 31 years old, with that severe expression and the little furrow between his brows that you knew softened when he looked at you, when he thought you weren't watching.
"Shit," you whispered.
The taxi driver cleared his throat. You looked up, panicked, then back down at the wallet. You could see your own, presumably, sitting in the ceramic dish at home. You could see Nanami finding it, realizing the mistake, maybe bringing it to you at lunch.
But you were here. And the cancellation policy was draconian— you'd lose the deposit, lose the appointment, lose the one thing you'd been looking forward to for ninety days.
And god, you needed it. You could feel it in your bones, in the tension headache pulsing behind your eyes, in the way your hands shook slightly as you held his wallet. You'd aged five years in six months. You deserved this.
"I'll pay him back," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone. "Every yen. I'll transfer it the second I get home."
You pulled out his black credit card— the one he never used, the one he'd told you was for "emergencies" though you both knew he had enough in checking to buy a small apartment outright— and handed it to the driver.
The charge was ¥2,400. You watched the driver's machine print the receipt, your stomach twisting with something that wasn't quite guilt, wasn't quite excitement, but lived somewhere deliciously in between.
"Keep the change," you said, because Nanami always tipped well, and you were using his money, so you should use it properly.
Inside, the spa enveloped you in scent— eucalyptus, lavender, something expensive and clean. The receptionist smiled, professional and serene.
"Welcome back," she said. "I see we have you for the standard package today?"
You opened your mouth to confirm. Then you looked down at the wallet in your hands, at the cards inside, at the small fortune sitting in Nanami's accounts that he never touched, that grew and grew while he wore the same suits, ate the same lunches, lived with the same careful restraint that had defined his entire adult life.
"Actually," you heard yourself say, "I'd like to upgrade. To the premium package."
The receptionist's smile didn't waver. "Of course. That's an additional ¥25,000."
"And the hot stone therapy," you added, emboldened by the way she simply nodded, entered numbers, didn't judge. "And the caviar facial. And the private steam room extension."
"Excellent choices," she said, and swiped Nanami's card.
The machine beeped approvingly. Somewhere across the city, Nanami's phone buzzed in his pocket, and you had no idea.
Nanami realized the mistake at 8:52 AM, standing on the platform at Shibuya Station, reaching for his train pass.
His fingers closed around soft leather. Wrong leather. When he pulled it out, the caramel color glowed in the fluorescent lights, and he knew immediately.
"Damn it," he said, softly.
He turned the wallet over in his hands. He should go back. It would make him late— very late— for the budget meeting with the higher-ups, but he should go back. You needed your cards, your cash, your identification. What if something happened? What if you needed to buy something, to prove who you were, to—
He opened it.
Just to check. Just to make sure you had what you needed. Just to see if there was emergency cash he could take out and leave for you, somehow.
The first thing he saw was the photo booth strip, tucked into the clear plastic window where most people kept their ID. But his wallet had his ID there. Yours had this— four frames of memory from the arcade in Harajuku, six months ago. Frame one: you making a peace sign, tongue out, while he stared stoically ahead. Frame two: you trying to make him laugh, hands on his cheeks, pulling his face into a ridiculous expression, his eyes wide with surprised offense. Frame three: him finally breaking, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, you triumphant beside him. Frame four: him kissing your temple, his eyes closed, you grinning at the camera like you'd won something precious.
Nanami's chest tightened.
He flipped past it. The pressed lavender— from their first date, the botanical garden in Kyoto, the flower you'd tucked behind your ear and he'd stolen when you weren't looking, pressing it later in one of his heavy law books. The small stone from Okinawa, smooth and gray, that you'd found on the beach and declared your "lucky stone," carrying it everywhere since. A receipt from the café in Shinjuku where he'd told you he wanted to marry you, the ink faded to gray but the date still legible, the total still showing the two coffees he'd barely tasted because he'd been so nervous.
A fortune from Meiji Shrine, folded and unfolded so many times the creases were soft as fabric. A hair tie, black and elastic, that had probably been in your hair a hundred times. A sample of your perfume, sprayed on a tester strip, still faintly floral after weeks.
You were everywhere in this small space. Your scent. Your memories. Your life, folded and tucked and carried close to his heart even when you weren't there.
He was hard before he even understood why.
His phone buzzed.
He pulled it out with shaking hands, expecting a message from you, some explanation, some apology for the mix-up.
Instead: Premium Spa Package - ¥45,000. Card ending in 4821.
His card. His money. You were spending it.
He should have been concerned. Should have called you, checked that everything was alright, made sure you knew what you were doing, that you weren't confused, that you hadn't—
Another buzz. Hot Stone Therapy Add-on - ¥12,000.
Nanami's breath left him in a rush. He leaned back against the station pillar, suddenly dizzy, his cock throbbing against his zipper with an intensity that made him lightheaded. You were spending his money. Willingly. Taking what he'd wanted so desperately to give you.
He thought of you at the spa, naked on a table, someone's hands on your skin, working out the tension he knew lived in your shoulders. His money paying for it. His card buying your relaxation, your pleasure, your peace.
Another buzz. Luxury Facial Treatment - ¥28,000.
"Sir?" A station attendant paused, concerned. "Are you alright? You look pale."
"Fine," Nanami managed, his voice rough. "Just— fine. Thank you."
He needed to sit down. He needed to— god, he needed to touch himself, needed release, needed something to take the edge off this sudden, overwhelming arousal that was making it hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything but stare at his phone and will more notifications to come.
He made it to the office on autopilot. Sat through the budget meeting in a daze, your wallet open on his lap beneath the conference table, his thumb running over the worn leather, over the photo booth strip, over the small treasures you'd collected. His phone sat face-down on the table, but he could feel every vibration like a physical touch, each one sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin.
At 12:45 PM, during the lunch break he couldn't eat, the notification came: Boutique Purchase - ¥86,000.
Clothes. You were buying clothes with his money. Trying them on, looking at yourself in mirrors, deciding what you deserved, what you wanted, and using his card to get it.
He excused himself to the bathroom— the single stall on the seventh floor that no one used because it was out of the way— and locked the door. He leaned against it, shaking, and freed himself from his trousers with trembling hands.
He came in thirty seconds, biting his fist to keep from crying out, spilling over his fingers while he thought of you in a dressing room, sliding fabric over your skin, spending his money with every swipe of the card. It was the fastest, most intense orgasm he'd had in years, and he was still hard, still wanting, still desperate.
He cleaned himself up with shaking hands, straightened his tie, looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were wild. His face was flushed. He looked like a man who had been thoroughly, completely undone.
And he couldn't stay here. Couldn't sit through another meeting, another discussion of fiscal quarters and resource allocation, when you were out there spending his money, taking what was his to give, finally— finally— letting him provide for you in the way he'd always dreamed.
He found his assistant, a young woman named Mori who had worked for him long enough to know he never took sick days.
"Mori," he said, and his voice sounded strange even to himself, too low, too rough. "I'm not feeling well. Migraine. I need to go home."
"Of course, Nanami-san," she said, her eyes widening slightly at his appearance. "Should I reschedule your afternoon?"
"Please. And—" he paused, considering. "Cancel tomorrow as well. I think I'll need the rest."
He didn't wait for her response. He was already moving toward the elevator, toward the train, toward you.
You were floating.
The spa had been transcendent— every knot in your shoulders worked out by skilled hands, every worry steamed away in the private room, your face glowing from treatments that used ingredients you couldn't pronounce and didn't care to. You'd emerged loose-limbed and hazy, wrapped in the silk robe you'd bought (¥12,000, added to the growing total), carrying the overnight bag (¥8,500) because it was soft and the color suited you.
The boutique next door had called to you like a siren. You'd told yourself you'd just look. Just browse. You weren't really going to buy anything.
But the dress— navy silk that caught the light like water, cut to skim your curves in a way that made you look expensive, sophisticated, like someone who deserved to be taken care of— had been impossible to resist. And when you'd tried it on, and the saleswoman had gasped, had said "Your husband is a lucky man," and you'd thought of Nanami seeing you in it, paying for it, knowing that you were wearing something he'd bought—
You'd bought the shoes too. Cream leather pumps that made your legs look endless. The handbag, structured and elegant, that replaced the worn tote you'd been carrying for three years.
Your phone had buzzed constantly. You'd stopped checking after the first hour, the guilt giving way to something headier, something that felt like power and indulgence and the delicious wrongness of taking what you never allowed yourself to want.
You caught a matinee— a romance, something with beautiful people and sweeping music and a happy ending that made you cry in the dark theater. You bought the wine, the overpriced popcorn, because you could, because it was his money and he had so much of it and for once you weren't going to be the responsible one, the independent one, the woman who never needed anything from anyone.
By the time you stepped out of the taxi in front of your building, the sun was setting, painting the sky in strokes of orange and pink. You carried three shopping bags. Your skin still smelled of lavender oil. You felt, for the first time in months, like yourself again.
And then you saw him through the window.
Nanami sat on the couch in the dark, still in his work clothes though he'd loosened his tie, undone his collar. Your wallet sat open on the coffee table in front of him like an altar. His hands were clasped between his knees, and he was looking at the door with an expression you'd never seen before— hungry, desperate, almost feral.
You froze, your hand on the doorknob, suddenly aware of every purchase, every yen, every notification that had buzzed across his phone while you indulged yourself.
"Nanami," you started, pushing the door open, "I can explain—"
He moved.
You'd never seen him move like that— fast, predatory, crossing the space between. He didn't speak. He just reached for you, his large hands framing your face, and then his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding and nothing like his usual careful kisses.
"Nanami—" you tried again, but he swallowed the word, licked into your mouth with a groan that vibrated through your chest.
"Do you know," he breathed against your lips, his voice wrecked, unrecognizable, "how many notifications I received today?"
"I was going to pay you back," you gasped, stumbling as he walked you backward, his body pressing against yours, solid and warm and trembling. "I swear, every yen, I just didn't want to cancel the appointment—"
"I don't want you to pay me back." His hands were at your coat, yanking it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "I want you to tell me. Every. Single. Thing."
He pushed you back onto the couch, following you down, pinning you with his weight in a way that made your breath catch. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his usual composure shattered into something raw and needy.
"Tell me," he commanded, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing the silk of your new dress higher, "what you bought. How much it cost. Who paid for it."
"I—" you started, but his fingers found the edge of your underwear— also new, also expensive, lace that you'd bought because the saleswoman had said they matched the dress— and he made a sound like a wounded animal.
"These too?" he asked, his voice rough. "Did you buy these with my money?"
"Yes," you whispered, and the admission sent a thrill through you, hot and shameful and electric.
He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand moving to tear at the buttons of your dress. "Tell me everything. Start at the beginning. Don't leave anything out."
"The spa," you started, your voice shaking as he ripped the dress open, buttons scattering across the hardwood with small, sharp sounds. "The premium package—"
"How much?" He was kissing your throat now, your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin with just enough pressure to make you arch.
"Forty-five thousand," you gasped. "And the hot stones— twelve thousand more—"
He made a sound against your breast, his hand palming you through the lace of your bra. "Keep going."
"The facial!" You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he set a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours. "Twenty-eight thousand— caviar— oh god—"
"Expensive." He bit your jaw, your neck, leaving marks. "You're so expensive. My expensive girl."
"The dress—" you choked out as he hit something deep, something that made stars burst behind your eyes. "Eighty-six thousand—"
"More." He pulled out and slammed back in, making you see white. "What else?"
"Shoes— forty-two— handbag— sixty—" You were babbling now, lost in the stretch of him, the filthy satisfaction in his eyes. "Chocolates— wine—"
"All mine." He hooked your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, harder. "My money. My girl. Spending what's mine."
"Yours," you agreed, voice breaking. "All yours."
"Louder." He slowed, cruelly, until you were whining, trying to grind against him. "Tell me whose money you spent."
"Yours!" You shouted it, desperate, clawing at his back. "Nanami's money— my husband's— please—"
He rewarded you with a thrust that rattled your teeth, and another, and another, fucking you into the couch cushions with abandon, the leather creaking beneath you.
"Again," he demanded, hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, claiming. "Tell me what you are."
"Expensive," you sobbed, the pleasure building to a breaking point. "I'm so expensive—"
"My expensive wife." He was losing rhythm, getting sloppy, chasing his own release. "Spending all my money— taking everything—"
He snarled and drove into you one final time, grinding against you as he came, hot and endless, and you followed, screaming his name, your vision going black at the edges.
After, when you were both trembling and sweat-cooled on the ruined couch, he gathered you close, pressing kisses to your temple, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth.
"I'll transfer it all back," you mumbled, half-asleep against his chest.
He laughed, low and dark, and you felt him stir against your hip again.
"Don't you dare," he whispered. "Tomorrow, we're going back. You're buying the other dress. The one you didn't get."
"Nanami—"
"And then," he continued, hand sliding down your stomach with intent, "you're going to tell me about every single thing you try on. In detail."
You shivered, already nodding, and he smiled against your hair, happier than he'd been in years.
Finally, he thought, pulling you closer. Finally, she was letting him spend.
though one of the sexiest things about him is his mind. how much he knew, like random facts that would win you a grand prize in a game show about books or historical events. or even about you and what makes you tick. where you liked to eat and how you’d crack your knuckles. he always knew.
his attention to detail was unmatched because he is an amazing observer.
he knew you so deeply that it was like he studied you in the same way he searched for information. kept your image close to his heart and burned it to memory like a brand.
but you hadn’t yet gotten further with jason other than making out hard and panting even harder, you knew he was the type to prioritize your pleasure over his. when you started touching more intimately, he saw how much you liked him and felt more confident in how heavily he felt for you. he’d hold those moments with the same tenderness he held your hand with on your first date, devotion leaking from his pores.
but jason wasn’t prepared to see how he could completely ruin you when it translated to bed. he didn’t even know he was capable of it, though once he got a taste, he knew he was unconditionally yours. mapping out roads around your body and marking the spot that made you make the most noises. memorizing the map that led to what he really wanted.
the first time was after a week that was horribly cold and you clung to jason like a second skin. overtime, his warm hands fell to between your thighs and when you didn’t stop him, he continued. shakily, more afraid of hurting you than anything else. though entirely skilled, he knew exactly what makes you tick. every single button he pressed made the experience all the more memorable. every touch and every praise, jason made it comfortable and safe like it was his priority because it is.
now its getting hot and heavy. he’s got you pinned under him hand running up your side while he just barely restrained himself. taking your panties off of you so slowly, unwrapping you like a gift he is oh so grateful to receive.
as though he’s afraid of hurting you somehow.
dragging his heavy, weeping tip through your folds. letting the weight rest against you after prepping for what felt like eternity. the resistance is hardly there at this point, but even now, jason’s bigger than anyone could gauge. what you’d imagined in your mind was ten times fold with him and the girth he harboured was a little daunting.
“i got you princess.” he breathes. “will you let me in?”
eyes staring into his as heart shapes form in the thin air, you nod breathlessly.
you’re not one to back down from a challenge, right?
then he presses forward and kisses you at the same time, swallowing down the gasp that took your breath. only an inch inside and he’s the one shaking already, cupping your face with one hand and fisting the bedsheet by your head with the other.
the stretch is incredible. the sheer size of him both unwarranted and ridiculously impressive. but when you consider his soft spoken voice and the gentle rasp that shook you to your core, it only made your arousal greater.
he drops his head to your cheek and kisses your face gently. then he lets his lips trail down your jaw, licking down then he could tuck his head in your neck and breathe you in. rocking into you slow like he was afraid to fully seat himself inside.
jason whimpers your name softly when you tense. “ease up ma.” before letting a hand circle your clit.
“i’m sorry,” breath shakily as you wrap your ankles around his back. “you’re really big.”
something in his perfect face melts and his lips upturn. he stops his hips from moving any further.“don’t apologize to me, i should be doing that. god, please don’t tell me i’m hurting you.”
but the wait was eating you up. the feeling of him there and not giving you it all was building and the ache was defeaning.
you needed all of him.
you shake your head and try to buck into him further, but jason’s hand shifts to your hip and holds you firm. still holding himself back for some reason unknown to you. a whine slips from your lips when you try to get closer and he groans like the action was ruining him.
this time, you decide to plead. “i want it all jay”
blinking down at you, he shifts his gaze from eye to eye. needing the reassurance as though he truly believed you were saving his feelings.
“are you sure?”
you nod and part your lips, biting your lip softly as the pressure rests there. “please.”
then jason leans down and you think he’s going to kiss you. plump lips pink and swollen with tension as he washes his eyes over your face. resting his forehead on yours before closing his eyes and still not moving his hips yet. just letting the weight of what would fill you stay just in reach but out of touch.
like a threat that’s more like a promise.
“i love you so much.” he admits before pressing his lips to yours, muffling any response you could’ve had.
you moan into his mouth then, half surprise and pleasure. the feeling was unreal. the stretch around him stole the air from your lungs even though he was moving so slowly.
he pressed forward and despite the pleasureful pain it caused, letting your ankles dig into his back and pull him deeper until he was fully seated inside you. a tear slips down your face just as he parts from you to breathe and a cry escapes past your lips.
the sound is enough to startle jason. he pulls back as the tear is enough to make him second guess himself. fear echoes across on his face.
“shit—did i hurt you?”
taking a moment to compose yourself, you shake your head warily. “no,” the sound another muffled cry as he stayed impossibly still, unsure what to do.
“sweetheart, you’re crying,” leaning back trying to pull his weight off of you.
though you don’t let him move far, tightening your hold on him and locking your ankles.
“stay,” gripping him close for dear life.
his eyes stay unwavering and his hips stay still. he reaches up for your face again and brushes his thumb over your cheek before he nods at your determination.
“okay,” shakily he says. “but if it hurts—”
“it doesn’t.” you quickly interrupt. “i promise, it feels good.”
a slow smile creeps up his face. “yeah? you feel good?”
you nod again and stare straight at his lips, urging him on. slowly his resolve crumbles and he lands closer to your face to kiss you once again. pressing his perfect lips to yours like a seal and a lock.
just then he adjusts his hips, shifting them forward and rocking into you. he watches as your breath hitches and your fingernails dig into your palms. head drawing back to drown into the pillow beneath it. he groans at the slight resistance created in the friction but eases up until you let him in so easily. hands on your hips tight but not hurting, just enough to remind you where he was.
he takes your hands and pries your fingers up, interlocking them with his to distract you from the sensation. slowly inching his way inside until the tears in your eyes were accompanied by gentle moans.
then you drag him closer once again and he lets you interlock your ankles behind him.
“let me do the work,” panting by your ear. “let me show you how i love you.”
wiping your tears, his teeth shine brightly as he smiles and soothingly strokes your face. impossible gentleness from his calloused hands. when the words die, he converses with his eyes you could drown inside of.
finally he bottoms out with a soft sputter on his tongue, completely unable to mask his weight behind his heavy hips, touching your cervix from this angle. nailing dig into his hand, needing to be grounded and feel him completely, jason pants heavily. he brings your hands up higher until they rested just above your head. the loving frame he posed you in was so evident you could cry. instead, you paint him in the same light.
the ministrations resume and he moves with less restraint than you’d started with. watching how your expressions changed and the sounds escaped your lips quicker with every movement.
his deep thrusts could’ve knocked the air from your lungs but he was doing it so slowly as he inched himself further, it melted away. pleasureful bliss blooms across your skin as he kisses your neck. leaving open mouthed smooches up to your face and worked back down, surely leaving marks in their wake.
“please jay,” moaning out as though he wasn’t already fucking you. “more.”
jason fucks you like he was about to lose you then, when he looks up and sees your eyes rolling and the tear streaks on your face. letting go of your arms to lift you up and over him. he rolls onto his back and seats you in his lap, never pulling completely out, just enough that you feel what you’d need to retake.
“okay princess,” he coos. “i’ll help, yeah?”
already exhausted but willingly to please him, you grip his shoulders and start to grind down into him. he cups your ass and lifts you up, letting your weight back onto him over and over. the mix of your arousal making it easier to fuck up into you as he holds you effortlessly. shifting your hips against him weakly, jason decides to take up the task entirely but not until he really sees you struggle to fit him inside you.
a couple more whines escape you as you attempt to move, taking an inch deeper just to grind against his pelvis. minutes go by like this, when he tries to tell you it’s okay and he can do it, you shake your head like you’re already gone. then you tell him you can handle it.
both of you know you can’t.
another roll of your hips against his where a broken moan pulls him out his head causes jason’s brain to flip. he doesn’t just hold you anymore, no, he starts to get meaner. not like he wants to hurt you, but he wanted to give you what he’s wanted all night—to fuck you full.
thrusting up again and again while he watches your face contort, slowly melting onto his chest while he sits up further. moving you up and down onto him, biting his lips to control his moans when you whimper his name. then he can’t even hide that. groans and moans, gasps and sighs—they fill your ears like sinful symphony as he works himself up further. he listens to the praises you say in his ear while he does the work you should’ve, fucking up into you as though on a mission. his pace picks up as he feels you moving back into him, matching his thrusts with your own.
the peak sneaks up on you when he tangles his hand in your hair to get a look at your face. pulling just enough to see your expression and gasp when he continues his ministrations.
“i wanna watch you let go for me.” nearly whining when he admits. “you gonna let me come inside you? please?” his breathy voice coaxing you.
vigorously you nod as his pace begins to falter and his thrusts only become deeper as though he wanted to get closer.
it’s enough to spur you on. enough to push you right over the edge as you see his pink, bitten lips and the flush on his cheeks. the ruffle in his hair that proved how long this had been going on for. he looked so incredibly hot, you could die a happy woman tonight just from his good he’s fucked you.
through the peak, he carries you over, not stopping and not pausing his filthy promises. you’re clamping down around him when he sputters your name, groaning harshly and prolonging the feeling. you can feel him reaching his climax, bucking into you and movements stuttering. when he comes, you feel the pulses as he fills you. rope after rope painting you white from within. the waves of intense pleasure as his veins drag and he starts overstimulates himself. then he reaches between you to circle your sensitive bud, thrusting sloppily as you’re limp against him and throwing you into another orgasm.
practically screaming his name as you muffle a cry into his shoulder, barring your teeth and taking a bite of his supple skin. shaking as he fucks you through another climax and pushes his seed deeper inside. hand slipping off his shoulder as he slows his movements. groaning softly by your ear as he makes shallow bucks as though he didn’t want this to end.
but fucked out in his arms is his lover, drenched in sweat and slick that he didn’t know had even reached those places. and still, he was buried inside you with no indication of wanting to move.
minutes go by like this, both of you entirely spent and trying to catch your breath. he’s first to look at you and ensure that he hadn’t harmed you. eyes closed and lips parted, panting hard like you’d run a marathon as jason looks the same. leaning back further just to see the look on your face, jason kisses your forehead then.
“was that okay?” he twists at your heartstrings. “did i hurt you?”
still he was questioning himself and you were just coherent enough to shake your head and speak in a slur. “you’re perfect. my perfect boy.”
the breathy words only made him smile. his grin wide and toothy as he kisses the top of your head over and over. ignoring how your hair stuck to your head, hoping you’d do the same to him.
“sweet baby.” murmuring between his rough kisses that felt like cuteness aggression towards you. “i love you so, so much.”
you hum as you nuzzle into his chest. “mmhmf, i love you too.”
still cheesing, he holds you tight against him. part of him felt like he was dreaming with how much he loved you. his body shaking with restraint as he twitched inside you but he knew you were too exhausted to go again. leaning himself back onto the mattress to tuck you against him further, holding you there like something sacred. as though you would run or get taken away if he faltered his hold at all.
the hold on you only grounding as though you were floating over your body still, ghosting like he’d fucked you into the afterlife. sleep eases its way through your body and jason absorbs it.
only minutes later you’re completely asleep, snoring peacefully as jason drools on your head.
and there’s no place you’d rather be.
forgive me for this filth. i’m never a normal person when i’m ovulating…
walk with me on this one . . . DDBA!Dex has erectile dysfunction. for sure. at least a little bit. that man was on so many medications, they had him on enough benzos to drop an elephant for 8 years and then Vanessa Fisk cuts him off cold turkey, he’s suicidal, depressed, and anxious. sometimes he just can’t get it up ok?
this does not bother him so much because it gives him an excuse to finger you until you come and then curl up against you and fall asleep without worrying about performing himself. he’s inexperienced and a little insecure about it, and I headcanon him to be on the ace spectrum, so he’s more than happy to just give you three orgasms and hear you tell him how good he makes you feel. he honestly does not need you to return the favor. he just wants to be useful to you.
however. when he is in the mood to come, or when you’re in the mood to make him come, it’s a very intimate experience that almost overwhelms him. you never pressure him to perform when he can’t or doesn’t want to. you never make him feel inadequate or disappointing when he struggles to get hard. you work him up slowly, gently, letting him take as much time as he needs and showering him in praise and affection. you kiss the tears off his cheeks when he finally does tip over that edge.
satoru gojo x reader. girls night is both satoru gojo’s least and most favorite night of the month.
warnings! 18+ mdni! p in v, squirting, doggy style, missionary. gojo loves youuu. shit is filthy.
note : second (kinda) drabble. gulp.
wc : 2.7k
“angel? i’m home!” gojo’s voice was heard throughout the apartment along with the heavy sound of your front door closing.
“in the room!” you called back out from the large bathroom in your en suite. various makeup products lined the dual sink of your shared space, all an essential element in your routine to look your absolute best for girls night.
“i’m sorry i'm so late. you won’t believe how bad this goddamn mission went. ijichi’s getting exorcised after this—“ your boyfriend paused mid sentence after walking through your bedroom’s door, standing in the entrance of the bathroom. you turned to look at him once you didn’t hear his voice continue on with his rant.
piercing blue eyes not occulted by his usual headband laid heavy on you, looking up and down at you with a gaze that you distinctly recognized as hungry. you smiled at the white-haired man brightly, attempting to ignore how he was clearly checking you out with a signature starved smile he reserved only for you.
“hi, baby! i’m sorry the mission went south, tell me more about it?” you turned back to the mirror, continuing with the finishing touches to your makeup look. your lips pursed slightly in concentration as you blended out any harsh lines of your eyeliner and waterline, the smoky, sultry look you were going for seemed to be successful after hours of diligently following a tiktok tutorial.
you saw your boyfriend finally push off from the doorframe to step right behind you, his hands coming up to rest on your hips that were adorned by a lacy, black mini dress. it was perfectly tight and short, resting well above mid thigh.
”y’know what? fuck the whole mission, baby. it went amazing, no need for me to explain. you on the other hand, where’ya going all dolled up like this, hmm?” his breath ghosted your shoulder as he leaned down and into you, lips closing in to place a warm kiss on the curve. his hands began rubbing up and down the fabric of the sides of your dress, leaving a tingling trail that you fought to ignore. it was proving difficult once his lips strayed from your shoulder and journeyed into the slope of your neck.
“toru, remember i told you i was going out with the girls tonight? it’s the second weekend of the month, you know we always go out,” your voice wavered near the end of your sentence as your man’s kisses went from barely innocent to wet, open mouthed kisses. you were trying your hardest to continue applying your lip combo, finishing the look with a shiny gloss. you absolutely loved when he got like this. he’d become so attention starved and lacked the ability to focus on anything but you. although you would usually indulge satoru’s (and your own) needs, you were serious about being considerate of shoko and utahime’s time.
you gasped at the feeling of satoru’s rock hard erection pressing into the back of your thigh, the heat and print evident through the fabric of his pants, “of course, pretty girl, how could i forget? you always get ready and leave me alone with nothing but this to deal with,” he murmured, hips twitching slightly to emphasize exactly what he was referring to.
“don’t be dramatic, toru. you know i always take care of you when i get home,” you responded in a sweet voice, bringing your hand up and behind you to cup his pale cheek, looking at him with what you though was a loving look, until you heard and felt your boyfriend’s deep groan vibrate into your neck, along with his hands that had now traveled to the front of your dress, toying with the hem on your thighs.
”don’t look at me like that, angel. those fuckin’ eyes of yours are driving me crazy,” he seemed to finally snap and grab your hips tightly, turning you around quickly to face him. you didn’t have time to react before he was letting go to pluck the open gloss and applicator wand from your fingers, nice enough to properly close and seal the product before his hands came back up to cup your jaw. “so, so, beautiful, baby,” he whispered before leaning in to press a wet kiss on your glossy lips. his hands angled your face up to his, forcing you to reciprocate his love. not that you’d ever reject his kisses.
“mmph, toru—“ you tried to get the words out, but his lips pressed even harder against your own, words gasped out between smooches, “they’ll be—here—mm—a-any min—minute.”
your hands came up to close around his own that rested on your face, hoping the touch would snap him out of his hungry state. it seemed to only rile him up, however, as his thigh moved to slip between your own plush thighs, dress riding up to forcefully make room for your now slightly spread legs. you let out a small squeak as his muscular thigh pressed perfectly against your throbbing clit, covered by lacy, black fabric. although it felt like one of your toughest missions to this date, you knew if you didn’t get the situation under control, you either wouldn’t make it out tonight or you were about to traumatize your friends.
you brought your fingers to run through white strands for a moment before you tugged at them, the action causing satoru to pull away from you only enough for you to speak, “c’mon, baby. i have to fix my lips now. can you grab my new heels, pretty please?”
your hand moved to wipe your nude lipstick that had transferred onto his lips, his mouth puckering to peck your thumb as you did so. he finally and reluctantly stepped back once you finished, not before swatting your ass when you turned back to the mirror to re-apply your lip gloss. he snickered at your yelp, “toru!” before walking out and into your walk-in closet to grab the shoes he knew you were referring to. sleek, tall loboutins that he had bought you a random afternoon this week as a surprise.
you finally exited the bathroom to see him waiting already for you near the bed, his hand patting an empty space for you to take a seat. you followed his directions, sitting on the luxurious comforter. he then kneeled before you with the heels in his hands, bringing your right foot up to slide the heel on. once he was done with the first, he placed a sweet peck to your ankle, doing the exact same process with the other. before he could go any further with his affection, you heard a knock at the door, signaling your friends’ arrival.
“just a minute!” you called out, standing to your now increased height, moving around to spritz your favorite perfume and grab your purse. satoru simply sat on the bed with a pout and watched you intently. his erection hadn’t gone down for a single moment since he first laid eyes on you.
”thank you, baby. i’ll be back later, okay?” you walked back up to him and pecked his cheek innocently, pulling back giving him a sultry smile you knew he’d love, “wait up for me,” you winked and ran out of the room, leaving behind your boyfriend who let out a loud groan at your sexy expression.
the next couple hours were about to feel like an eternity.
“t-toru, right th-ere!” you moaned out loudly and shamelessly, your senses completely overwhelmed by your sorcerer boyfriend. he had you kneeling with your legs spread as wide as possible on the couch cushions, bent over the arm. your feet were up, heels locked behind his thighs to keep him pressed inside you as much as deeply as possible. his clothed chest was pressed to your back, dress pulled over your plump ass just enough for him to slip inside and be able to watch it bounce back against him. his arms were resting on either side of yours that were gripping the leather arm of the couch. your head was thrown back against his shoulder, allowing him to closely listen to any and all noises you’d let out.
“so perfect, baby. fuck, been waiting hours to feel this tight cunt around my cock. felt like you were gone forever. did you make me wait longer on purpose, angel? wanted to see just how needy i could get?” his deep, sultry voice in your ear had you keening, unable to do anything but take his sharp, hard thrusts into you. the noises you were both making were absolutely obscene, wet squelches echoing throughout the dark living room along with a combination of grunts and high pitched moans.
satoru hadn’t even waited for you to make it to the bedroom once you made it back from dinner and drinks, instantly pouncing on you and taking you right in the first room of your shared apartment.
“c’mon, baby, answer me. did you—“ he pulled his hips back enough for his thick length to almost slip completely out of your dripping hole, teasingly leaving in his weeping tip, “do it—“ he slammed back in roughly, making you let out a scream, eyes rolling back, “on purpose?” he resumed his hard, fast thrusts.
“n-no! i—fuck! wanted to come b-back to you, toru! miss—missed you so much!” you wailed, turning your head to the side to look at him. your jaw was slackened, unable to keep in any noises. not that you’d want to—you knew how much satoru loved when you were loud, confirming just how much you loved him and his cock.
“you’re such a dream, angel. missed you too, never want to let you out of my sight,” he responded, thrusts becoming somehow faster as he leaned in to kiss you sloppily, finally free to ruin your lipstick without a care in the world. your lips would connect for a moment before you were moaning into each other’s mouths, though you never separated far. it was like you were each other’s oxygen, needing to breathe each other in to survive
“m’so close, toru!” your eyebrows were furrowed as you pulled back enough to speak, a strand of saliva connecting your lips to his own, “more! n-need more, please!” you sobbed, unsure of what more you were exactly asking for. however, having the strongest as your lover meant he somehow knew exactly the push you needed to send you over the edge. his arm moved to wrap around your neck, essentially placing you in a headlock. he leaned back and pulled you with him, bringing you both into a praying position. your hands came up to dig your nails into his bicep and forearm, high pitched moans leaving your parted lips when his other arm came around to rub circles on your puffy, aching clit. you felt as if you were floating, euphoria completely transcending you into an abyss you never wanted to leave.
satoru let out a deep groan at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, signaling your impending orgasm. “s-so tight, baby. cum for me, angel. i know you want to let go. you know i’d never deny you, so do it, cum all over this cock,” he breathed out against the side of your face, placing sloppy kisses on your jaw and cheek. the words alone sent you hurdling over the edge, slack jawed and eyes crossing in pleasure as you felt your peak overtake you, gushing out clear liquid that ran down his balls that were slapping against your ass, dripping all the way down your thighs and essentially ruining the sofa.
you let out a scream of pleasure, satoru’s name barely understood through your continuous wails. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, barely able to hold back his own once he felt just how much liquid you were pouring at his thrusts. you were barely blinking back to life when you suddenly found yourself on your back, feeling the soft comforter underneath you. you knew you were now in your bedroom. your dress was completely gone, leaving your naked body to arch off the bed as you were sent into a state of overstimulation.
“t-toru? did you just t-teleport?” you stuttered out, hands coming up to now run over his bare abdomen, trailing up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to press against your front.
”needed to watch your pretty face cum with me, angel. you can give me one more, right?” he angled his hips downward to ensure his pelvis was grinding his happy trail against your clit, causing you to flinch hard.
”dunno if i can cum again, toru!” you panted out. his hand shot down to grab the back of your knee, bringing it up to open you up wider to his cock’s abuse. you whined at the combination of the stretch plus the way his hair was rubbing deliciously against your swollen nub.
“i know you can, pretty girl. tell me what you need and i’ll do it. fuck, i’d do anything you asked me to. you’re my life,” his thrusts grew sloppier as he neared his own peak.
“closer, toru!” you moaned, feeling the tightening of your lower stomach coil rapidly at his sweet words.
he grabbed your ankle to bring it over his shoulder, then wrapped his arms around your back and middle to press your entire body against him, tits pressed firmly to his hard chest, your clit rubbing all over his lower abdomen. the feeling of his hot body against yours, arms wrapped securely around you and lifting your upper body off the bed while his cockhead jabbed against your g-spot was enough to have you gripping his hair to press his mouth against yours, slanting your lips over his to press a filthy kiss on his own.
not even a moment later, you were squirting clear fluid all over his pelvis, abs, the bed, everywhere. the headboard was slamming against the wall, but it was no comparison to your high pitched scream of his name plus satoru’s loud moans as he felt your walls squeeze him impossibly tight, milking his cock entirely. the pornographic noises of your pussy squelching around him and the wet slaps of skin against skin rang throughout the room. the moment he felt the first bit of liquid hit his abdomen, he was cumming hard, unable to do anything but let his milky seed drip out of your hole and continue fucking you both through your highs. your face was a sight to behold; sultry eyes that he loved so much were scrunched shut, head thrown back with your hair splayed perfectly around you, mouth open in a perfect ‘o,’ he was hypnotized. he was unsure how long you were both letting ecstasy wash over you, but it felt like a lifetime.
he finally slowed his pace before stopping completely, hearing your whimpers of overstimulation. your eyes were locked on his, eyebrows still slightly pinched as your tongue darted out to wet your lips. your skin was glistening with sweat, chest heaving from exertion just as his did the same. satoru felt his cock twitch at the sight, unable to fathom just how perfectly angelic you were. hence, your nickname.
he allowed your leg to slip off his shoulder, the appendage shaking as he brought it down to rest. you both let out breathy laughs at the sight, looking at each other with pure devotion and adoration. you felt your chest tighten with post-coital bliss, your fingers in gojo’s hair bringing his face closer to your own, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. he instantly reciprocated, both of you in a bubble of love.
which is why, when he suddenly felt your shaky legs come up to press against his sides, suddenly flipping you both over so that you were now on top of him, he was caught off guard. he understood the moment he sensed cursed energy flow through the room that you were restoring your strength to keep going. he looked up to see your angel face turned devilishly hungry, hands gripping his own to press them next to his head and into the mattress. his cock instantly hardened at the sight.
“now, i told you i’d take care of you once i got home, didn’t i?”
streamer!jo mid-sentence, leaning back in his chair, headset slightly crooked, the soft click of the door barely registers over the sound of his stream when you walk in. he stops, just for a second. his eyes flick over you. your tight, soft pajamas, the way they hug you just right, the faint scent that follows you in. his whole expression shifts into something quieter.
“hey,” you hum softly, walking over like it’s nothing.
the chat explodes and he doesn’t even glance at it.
voidking99: BROOOOO WHO IS THAT
satorusimp420: HE GOT A GIRL??????
angelmilk: she’s so pretty what 😭
gojosleft_toe3: WHY IS SHE IN HIS LAP LIKE THAT IM SICK
“oh my fuck,” he says instantly, voice lower now, already reaching for you.
you don’t question it—you never do. you just step between his legs and sit in his lap like it’s your spot, because it is. his arms wrap around you immediately, pulling you close, one hand settling at your waist, the other resting along your thigh.
“you look so gooooood,” he murmurs, nuzzling lightly into your shoulder for a second before straightening again, like he just remembered he’s live.
his hand doesn’t move though. it drifts. slowly. absentmindedly. down your thigh, fingers brushing soft circles like he’s not even thinking about it. then back up, resting at your waist again.
the twitch chat is going insane.
you notice quickly
you’re already leaning forward slightly, eyes scanning the stream, curious. “what are they saying?”
“nothing important,” he mutters quickly, tightening his hold on you just a little.
too late.
you squint, reading out loud, confused, “I usually skip this part…?” your face still contempt, you tilt your head, genuinely puzzled. “what does that mean?” and then you shift. just a little. trying to get closer to the screen. but it makes you press back into him.
torus breath catches, just barely but enough.
you’re still focused on the chat, completely oblivious, squirming slightly again to get comfortable. “wait, there’s more—”
his arm tightens around your waist. not rough, just firm.
grounding.
his other hand stills on your thigh, fingers pressing in just a little like he’s trying to anchor himself. “hey,” he says suddenly, sharper now—directed at the screen.
the chat floods faster.
softgirlcult: she’s literally clueless this is insane
domainexpansionTHIS: “i usually skip this part” LMAOOOOOO
gojoswifeREAL: GIRL DONT READ THAT OUT LOUD
blueeyeaddickt: HE TENSED UP DID YALL SEE THAT
he exhales through his nose, jaw tightening slightly before he leans forward, voice dropping into something more commanding.
“alright, that’s enough,” he says, tone lazy. “don’t read that stuff,” he murmurs, voice softer now.
you blink, looking back at him. “I was just asking—”
“don’t worry about them,” he murmurs, softer now, eyes locked on yours. way too focused, way too intense. his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against him, chin resting lightly on your shoulder as he leans back into his chair.
chat? forgotten.
game? paused.
and satoru? completely, helplessly distracted by you.
megumislostdad: stream is over guys pack it up
sukunaIRL: move chat i’m watching this
KING.naoyazenin: embarrassing. stand up bro
LimitlessGojo banned KING.naoyazenin
