Pairing: incubus!Gojo x pro hero!Hawks x succubus!reader
They always said not to play with your food. Too bad the food is so easily played.
Content Warnings: smut, MDNI/18+ only, fem!reader, porn with little plot, threesome, mind tricks, cowgirl, slight dacryphilia, whiny Gojo and Keigo, cervix fucking, creampie(s), mentions of past breeding, so much oral (m! & f! receiving), bukkake, cum eating/swapping, making out, marking, anal fingering, alternating POV's, mostly Keigo's POV WC: 11.9k
My entry for @madamechrissy's JJK Crossover Event. Happy 2 years on Tumblr! 🤍 (Let's pretend like I'm not late) Gojo art by formerly @/sheng5381 on X (if you know the artist's current account pls lmk) & Hawks fanart by @/kanton811 on X. Banner by @cafekitsune
“You’re so sensitive today, Satoru,” you purr out at the man under you. Rolling your hips again, he bucks up into you once more. A little whine forces itself from the back of his throat as his hands dig deeper into your skin, dimpling it under the pressure.
“‘M not,” he mewls, blue eyes finding yours as he tries—and ultimately fails—to compose himself. There are tears in his eyes as his hips twitch underneath you as you lift yourself up once again, only to drop down, his tip smooching your cervix.
“Sure you’re not,” you coo. Your tail swishes behind you before the pointed end gently trails over his flushed skin—trailing up from his abs that tense up at the touch, all the way up to his nipples, circling them slightly.
Throwing his head back, a tear finally slips down the apple of his cheek. It glints in the light spilling into the bedroom, enunciating the pretty sight. “Stop teasing.”
“But you look soooo pretty like this.” You wipe the tear away with your thumb before sucking on the pad of your finger, forked tongue swirling around it—a sight he definitely doesn’t miss by the way his cock twitches inside of you, more pre spilling from his slit, clinging to your walls. “Imagine what the others would think, seeing you like this.”
Shaking his head, little strands of hair clinging to his forehead, Gojo just whines once more. Of course he wouldn’t want others to see, and you’re not going to show anyone else what’s yours anyway, but you can’t help but tease the man a little.
Ever since the two of you had gotten into a relationship, others of your kind shot the both of you looks—some dirty, other envious. Because who wouldn’t want to be with your boyfriend? Both men and women line up for him, offering their bodies up even though it doesn’t feed him.
It almost makes you laugh, thinking about how desperate others could get, saying they would be a better fit for him, telling him they would let him pursue anyone he wanted, as long as he came back to them at the end of the day.
Not that Satoru ever took the bait, though. No, he just stayed by your side, rejecting everyone left and right. Telling them he had already found his mate for life—a thing you normally wouldn’t hear out of an incubus’ mouth. But fuck, if it wasn’t the hottest thing you’ve heard in all of your living years.
You’d given him head until his balls were empty that night, swallowing every drop he gave you with a small thank you falling from your lips every time he came.
And that sight—the one of him cumming, groaning your name, blue eyes hazed over—was for you alone to enjoy. And the humans the two of you went after, but that’s a whole different thing.
This sight, the one of him tearing up—crying, even—and pre dribbling out of him like a broken faucet, however, is yours alone.
It’s not something that happens often. Hell, in your time together it has only happened twice. The first time more than a millennia ago, when the two of you were freshly dating and couldn’t keep your hands off each other. He was constantly over you, putting you in every position imaginable, pounding your poor cunt until the both of you were exhausted—and that was a feat in itself.
The second time was a few years ago, after he had somehow gotten baby fever—a demon, getting baby fever! Truly something unimaginable—proceeding to keep you locked in your room until you were filled to the brim, his cum spilling out of you even days later.
That was truly the first time you also got that sensitive. The both of you not having fed in weeks—yes, that little psycho kept you locked (and filled) in your shared bedroom for weeks on end—resulting in getting more sensitive.
And now here you two are again today, Satoru not having fed enough the last time. It’s not like you can blame him, you did have most of the fun with the human he had chosen for the two of you, while he was stuck fucking you for majority of the time.
While it was fun, these were the consequences of those actions—having him writhe beneath you as his poor overstimulated cock gets milked by your snug walls once again.
Warmth floods your cunt for the nth time that night, Gojo’s abs and balls contracting as he cums once more. His back arches from the bed, lifting you from the bed—along with his own hips—slightly.
That was another thing that was different between the two of you right now. Normally Gojo could easily overpower you, throwing you around like you were merely a rag-doll he was playing with (and you absolutely loved it when he did). But right now his energy was depleted enough that he had difficulty doing what he normally does.
“Love you, love you, love you,” he babbles. His blue eyes shining a little brighter when he looks at you with that half-lidded gaze of his. If he could, he would have hearts in his eyes right now.
Leaning forward, you press your lips to his, nipping at his bottom lip slightly, before snaking your tongue into his mouth. The kiss is more teeth and tongue than anything else.
When he finally comes down from his high, you lean back slightly. “Ready for one more?” you whisper, nail grazing his jaw slightly as you look down at your boyfriend. Nodding his head, you smile slightly before giving him a quick peck.
Planting your feet, you finally begin chasing your own high, hips lifting before dropping them down onto him again and again, tip hitting your cervix every time. A small ring of white begins to froth at the base of his length, visible every time you lift your hips.
Sweat is finally starting to bead down your own forehead, trailing down until it drips down your chin. It mixes with Gojo’s own sweat, his entire body glinting in the low light of the room, making him seem even prettier.
His white hair sticks up at odd angles where you ran your hands through earlier, and it makes him look all the more adorable.
“Found someone we can feed on,” you begin, hips never once stopping their motion. It takes a while before Satoru focuses on you again, blinking away the haze he was just in. “Yeah? She pretty?”
“He is very pretty. I think you’ll like him. And from what I could gather, I think he would also like you.” Another roll of your hips has his eyes roll to the back of his skull, a small moan falling from his lips as he starts fucking up into you, the blue end of his tail pressing down onto your clit, having you keen out.
“G-give me the details later, first gotta get you to cum again,” he grunts. His balls slap against your ass as you lean forward with a slight squeal, hands planted on his chest.
He applies more pressure to your clit. At the same time he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, sucking and twirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. “Cum with me, my love. Please. Please?”
“Yes, yes, I will, baby.”
And you do, coming undone at the same time as him. His warm seed fills you to the womb, the feeling never failing to make you feel good. Your snug walls contract around him, milking him for everything he’s worth as you shudder on top of him, tail moving wildly behind you.
As the two of you come down from your high, you finally lift yourself off him. His cum bubbles out of you, dripping onto his abs as you maneuver yourself off him.
“So… what was this about that ‘pretty’ human of yours?”
If he gets called out of bed one more time, he swears he’s going to snap. His wing joints ache, back muscles burning from all the flying he’s been doing, and the eyebags are getting harder and harder to hide by the day.
The HPSC has been calling him non-stop since the last mission. All the calls are for minor inconveniences, but considering there has been an uprise of criminal activity lately, they can’t be too careful.
It’s not like he doesn’t get it, trust me, he does. But it still annoys him to no end that it’s just him, and not anyone else that’s getting called out of bed only forty minutes after laying down for some rest—he can’t even call it sleep with the hours he’s getting.
And fuck, if it isn’t starting to take a toll on him—both physically as emotionally.
His feathers are all crooked and bent, stress keeping him from quickly regrow his feathers. Hell, he hasn’t even gotten the time to properly preen them lately. And that certainly didn’t go unnoticed by the public.
If he has to believe the headlines, people are starting to wonder if he can even keep up the hero life he has chosen for himself. Only, he didn’t choose it for himself, the Hero Commission did. Picking him from the literal streets at six years old, promising his mother that he would be in good hands in exchange for some money and a roof above her head.
Well, he can’t really blame her for accepting the deal. She was trying to survive after all. But some part, deep down in his heart, he sometimes wonders if she couldn’t have tried a little harder.
Still, he can’t blame her. Not for selling him off, not for not protecting him from his father—hell, not even for staying with him for as long as she did. She covered for his crime, after all. The two of them were felons.
And to make matters worse, he has lost the last thing he had of her; the Endeavor plushy she bought him when he was younger.
It was a small thing, something he could clutch to his chest at night as his father would drunkenly yell and smash things downstairs. But it was at least something he had, a small beacon of hope, of proof that his mother, despite not outwardly showing it much, did love him.
Of course the little plush also held symbolic power to it. Endeavor was the one who arrested his father, got him out of the hell-hole that was home. Or well… it was supposed to be called home, but he never felt like it was one.
The feathers on his back twitch yet again. They’re all irritating the wing bone, heavy on his back as he drags himself to bed once more. Hopefully this time he could get at least three hours of sleep in before he had to start patrol again.
Wishful thinking.
Dropping his visor on his nightstand, he toes off his uniform boots before face planting onto bed, not bothering to even get under the duvet.
He’ll take a quick shower in the morning—or the dead of night, considering how you look at it. That’s the last thing he thinks about before sleep takes him under. Blond eyelashes fluttering shut as he fully relaxes the crimson feathers along his back.
“You look tired, pretty bird.” a soft voice from behind him speaks out, catching his attention. Turning around, he looks at the girl that’s standing in his living room. It’s not someone he’s familiar with—fortunately, or unfortunately for him, he remembers most if not every criminal face.
Letting his shoulders sag, he drops down onto the couch. The cushion sags a bit beneath his weight, and it almost feels unreal.
He looks at the girl once more. She takes a few tentative steps toward him, before stopping just shy of the edge of the couch. She’s… pretty, he supposes. A certain allure you don’t just find in anyone else. He thinks Uwabami would be very happy to model a few shoots with her. Or maybe Mt. Lady would be jealous if she were a hero.
That thought almost makes him chuckle. The rookie hero, recently debuted, immediately caught the attention of the cameras. Some say her heroic actions made her debut so attention-worthy (of which Hawks is pretty sure was actually Kamui Wood’s arrest), while others say it’s because she’s pretty,
Just like the girl that’s standing in front of him. She tilts her head to the side, hair swaying with the motion, as she fiddles with her thumbs a little. “Have you eaten today?”
Her voice is sweet, drifting through the air like the smell of chicken—something that catches his attention completely.
Hawks hums a little, letting his head fall back onto the couch. A golden curl bounces off his forehead, nearly poking him in the eye. He should probably get a haircut soon— not that he has the time for any of that, though.
“I’ve had a chicken sandwich,” he replies. Voice a little lower than normal, a small rumble from the back of his throat that he would never let the public hear. Tired. Even from his words he sounds tired. But he can’t keep pretending like everything is fine.
There’s a vague recognition in the back of his mind where he realises he’s asleep. One of those dreams that feel like he isn’t really dreaming, aware of everything that’s going on around him. He can even move his own arms, look around the room, as if he were awake.
Letting his head loll to the side, he eyes the girl. She’s frowning now, a small pout forming as she slowly sits down on the couch beside him—too close for his liking, but not close enough for him to actually voice it.
If he were awake, he would retract his wings, make sure no one would be able to touch his oh-so sensitive feathers. The red little plumes look sad, even from his own view. Dull where they once were glossy. Brittle and dirty. Yeah, he really should take a shower to scrub his feathers clean.
“You can’t keep going like this.” That makes him snap his attention back to her, eyes finding her form immediately. And it’s not like she’s lying, he can’t keep going like this. The amount of caffeine he consumes just to stay awake has been through the roof lately—which says a lot considering he normally already chugs coffees back like they’re energy drinks.
It’s almost like his subconscious has made a human just to tell him he’s slowly starting to kill himself with his sleep and work-schedule.
“I made a promise to keep people safe,” he says, not fully knowing if he’s trying to convince himself or her. But from the way her eyes soften, it is working, even if slightly. “But you also need to keep yourself safe. You almost flew into a building today,” she whispers back.
He almost cringes at the thought. Because, yeah, he did almost do that. His eyes having fluttered shut for just a second—a second too long, because by the time he opened the again, his nose nearly kissed the glass of one of the high-rises.
It’s not like he’s never flown into a building before. He has, just not in his adult years. Back when he was a little kid and was still learning how to fly under the watchful gaze of his handler, he had flown into many obstacles.
They weren’t all too happy to see the little control he had whilst flying. But over time it luckily had gotten better, veering right before banking straight down. His control nowadays was immaculate, being able to dodge buildings at speeds of hundreds of kilometers an hour.
Which is why it made it all the more embarrassing to almost fly head-first into a building. A building where people resided no less.
Would you imagine that. The number Two hero flying straight through your window and crashing into your living room, just because he’s so tired. Fuck, the headlines would have a field day if that ever were to happen to him.
“Temporary lapse of judgment,” he mumbles, too tired to clearly form a counter argument against the girl. Or rather his subconscious mind? Whatever, he doesn’t want to think about that for too long, he’s supposed to be asleep, and by the way this dream is going, he doubts he’ll feel rested when he has to wake up again. “Won’t happen again.”
“It better not, birdie. I need you alive and well,” she whispers back, letting herself relax a little more into the couch. From the corner of his eye, he can see the way she is careful not to brush against any of his wings, staying clear of the odd feathers that are sticking out.
Alive and well. The first one he can do, though not guarantee with his job. The second one, however, is much harder. He hasn’t been well in a long time if he were to be honest. Not that he would ever voice that out loud, though. He’s a hero, the Number Two Hero, the HPSC’s perfect weapon. No one is supposed to know that he isn’t doing well.
Before he can think further about it, movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. The girl has leaned forward, more into his space now. She’s still careful not to sit on any feathers, or even brush against them with her leg. But her hand is hovering in front of his face now.
The crimson plumes along his back sharpen the moment he sees how close she is to touching him. Her hand immediately stops, eyes tracking the way the once-soft feathers are now as sharp as knives.
“You- I-” her fingers twitch where they’re in front of his face. Swallowing, she finally moves her arm again in a slow, careful movement. Her thumb brushes his forehead slightly, before it presses down between his eyebrows. “Just relax a little,” she murmurs, smoothing over the pinch between his brows he didn’t even know was there.
Once Hawks realises there is no threat, he forces his feathers to go back into their resting state. From sharp to soft, brushing against the couch.
He does as she says—letting himself fully relax. Something he hasn’t done in ages, evident by the frown lines between his brows and the strain in his muscles.
The touch is soft, soothing. There are no words spoken anymore, just a thumb that rubs relaxing circles into his skin. It makes him close his eyes, letting himself get lost in the soft touch he hasn’t felt in… maybe ever.
That isn’t something he wishes to think about, though. Right now he just wants to let himself feel this, not think about anything—the HPSC, villains, civilians, weird billboard rankings, the way he must look to her.
“Go to sleep, birdbrain. We’ll meet again soon,” she whispers into his ear, just before a feather-soft kiss is placed upon his forehead.
This time, when he opens his eyes again, he’s met with his ceiling. No longer sitting on the couch, but rather laying on the bed—where he fell asleep. Because it was a dream. Just a dream, nothing more, nothing less.
Looking over at his bedside table, he sees the glaring red numbers of his alarm clock blink back at him. 3:57 AM. An hour before he was supposed to wake up for patrol. Which also means he still has an hour of sleep left.
But his brain is running hundreds of miles an hour, thinking about the pretty girl of his dreams. It was… unusual. Normally he doesn’t even dream about things at all; going to sleep and waking up straight away, or well… what feels like straight away anyway.
Running a hand through his wind-tousled locks, he groans. He knows he should get some more sleep, but he also knows that he can’t go out looking like this. So with much reluctance, he pushes himself from the bed and goes to his bathroom to finally scrub himself clean.
If he can’t sleep, the least he can do is make himself look like the presentable hero he has to be.
Not that it matters much, grime and blood cover him at the end of the day once again. It had been a long day, fighting crime and keeping civilians safe.
The HPSC is right to send him out all the time. Crime rates haven’t been this high in forever, but he can’t help but wonder if there’s anything more to it. Not that he has time to wonder. Taking a quick shower, he almost falls asleep under the spray of warm water, relaxing his over-used muscles just slightly.
When was the last time he was this tired?
Gosh, it must’ve been ages ago, when he was just a little boy. The HPSC has trained him for as long as he can remember, but never once did he feel like this—like he would keen over if someone so much as blew on him. Like a little feather in the wind.
Collapsing onto the bed, he lets himself stare up at the ceiling for a little while. The day was long, having saved loads of people, using a lot of his feathers in the process. His wings are starting to look a little bare, some gaps visible.
But fuck, if it doesn’t make him feel good. He signed up for this. Signed up to be the protector of those who can’t protect themselves—whether legally or just because they can’t in general, just like he couldn’t all those years ago.
Closing his eyes, he lets himself relax, body moulding to the bed. Wings finally relaxing a little, their weight no longer dragging on his back as he’s laid down.
It’s only when he tries to empty his mind that he gets reminded of last night. Or well, of his dream. The one where that pretty lady visited him. That is if she’s real, and not something his mind completely made up to warn him that he’s slowly killing himself with the way he’s going right now.
He’s seen it before, of course. Hero’s who burn out, both rookie as veteran heroes who try to take on too much work. Destroying their minds and body at the same time, not taking enough breaks.
Fuck, when’s the last time he’s had a break? Two, three months ago?
That seems about right.
Food is another thing. With the constant quirk usage, he should be eating more—way more. The constant use of his wings and feathers means he burns a lot of calories. The intake, however, isn’t something he’s proud of.
Earlier in the shower he noticed how lean he’s starting to look. Sure, he’s always been on the leaner side compared to some of the other heroes—he needs to be, otherwise he can’t comfortably fly anymore—but he was never this lean.
It’s also noticeable that he can’t comfortably get to the speeds he once could. Flying at three hundred kilometers an hour should be easily doable for him—hell, he’s hit eight-hundred before, though that wasn’t in a city, but rather when flying to the other side of the country. But he just… has to exert more energy to hit his normal speed.
For a moment he wonders how long it’s going to take the HPSC to notice it. Notice the fact that their perfect weapon is slowly starting to fall apart right in front of their noses. Notice that their constant demands are starting to eat away at him.
Then again, they would do anything to use him. And he gets it. He’s been trained for this after all, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
Yes, he wants to help people. Yes, he would do anything to protect them. But then he thinks back on last night, on how that girl was telling him he should take better care of himself. At least eat a little more.
Will she be there again tonight? Stand in the same room as him, looking him over, assessing his state. Would she notice that he looks cleaner now, more presentable—more hero-like. Or would he not dream of her again.
The only way to find out is fall asleep. And even though he would love to, he just can’t shut his mind off. It’s racing at a hundred miles an hour, thinking back on villains and the information they all accidentally dropped without even realising.
Is there a connection between them? A small group of villains acting, or is it just individual people who think they can get away with it—as if they can outrun him, the fastest hero in all of Japan.
Stupid, honestly.
By the time he finally falls asleep, it’s almost a whole hour later. His eyes slipping shut as he was still thinking about everything that has happened over the past few weeks.
“I thought you were gonna skip out on me.” Is the first thing he’s greeted with when he opens his eyes again, this time still in his bed. It makes him freak out a little, because is she really in his bedroom, or is this a dream again?
Turning his head, he can see her sit on the floor at the end of the bed, head propped up on her fist as she cocks her head to the side. Hair cascading down her face, making a makeshift curtain. The moonlight from outside slipping in, illuminating her figure.
For a second, just one, he swears there’s something waving behind her—almost tail-like. Thin and black. But it’s gone as soon as he saw it.
She grins when his eyes find hers again. Blinking a few times, he sits upright. “You were waiting for me?”
“Of course I was. I told you I would, didn’t I?” She easily replies, a little teasing lilt to her voice. Her eyes crinkle as she grins a little wider, almost as if he said something funny.
And it’s true, she did say that she would meet him again soon, but he didn’t realise soon meant the literal next day. “Soon isn’t the same as ‘tomorrow’”
There’s a glint of amusement in her eyes now. Something so different from yesterday, he has to blink a few times to really see if this is the same person.
Her eyes rake down his body, stopping slightly at his bare waist. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, before she looks back up at him again. “Did’ya eat today?”
Ah, there it is again. That concern she had for him yesterday. The grin gone, replaced with a slight frown as she sits upright—still at the end of the bed. Not sitting next to him this time.
“Had a few chicken skewers from a little vendor down,” he admits, rubbing his nape as he looks away. There’s something about her gaze that makes him a little nervous. Him, Hawks, the one who eyes people like they’re mere prey, feeling nervous from a pretty girl just looking at him as if he doesn’t have a whole fan base that thirsts after him.
Her eyebrows twitch a little at the confession, not a full scowl, but clearly not fully happy, either. “That’s the only thing you ate the entire day?”
Hawks has to look away for a second, suddenly feeling much more conscience about the fact that he hasn’t been eating much, especially lately. Yes, his days are hectic, but some proper nutritions should be the least he gets in a day. “Mhmm.”
“I thought I told you to eat more. Need you alive and well and all that.” She pouts, lower lip pushing out as she finally goes to sit on the bed, still not next to him, but at least a little closer than she was before. “At least you cleaned up a little.”
She’s referring to his wings, no longer dirty but rather a pretty, shiny red. Sure, they’re a bit dirty from the fact that he’s been flying around all day, fighting crime and all that, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was yesterday.
“Mhmm, found some time before patrol to clean them,” he mumbles back, watching the way her fingers are twitching beside her, almost as if she wants to reach out to touch one. Still, she doesn’t. Fingers staying clear of the red plumes, just like yesterday.
“Good, that’s good. Mean you’re at least taking a bit more care of yourself.” She nods to herself, hair swaying with the motion as she finally looks up at him with a small smile. “Now you just have to get more sleep and eat more.”
It’s not so much a statement as it is a request. Almost like she’s trying to force him to eat and sleep more. Well, she did tell him that he couldn’t continue living like this, and that part is true.
The fact that the HPSC doesn’t even see it is quite alarming to be completely honest. But he’d rather be the one they call on—despite the fact that he wants to snap whenever they do call him out of bed—than that they try to raise some just like him.
He knows what it’s like to be raised between those walls, and he wouldn’t want to wish that upon anyone. So he has to endure this.
But maybe, just maybe, there is a solution to his problems. He isn’t sure what, but he’s going to figure it out. And he voices as much out loud. “I’ll figure something out.”
He isn’t sure if it’s to assure the girl that’s sitting on the bed with him, or himself. Not that it matters much, he knows she’s right. He should eat more. His back absolutely burning from all the flying he’s been doing lately.
“Good, because you’re way too young to burn out like this. Now go to sleep, you clearly need it.”
And he does, closing his eyes again, this time no pretty girl sitting next to him on the bed, but just a static black feed behind his eyes all the way until he wakes up.
The next few weeks continue like that—falling asleep and finding her sitting next to him. And each and every time she comes a little closer to him, getting out of her shell a little bit. Telling him about herself, sitting closer to him.
Of course he can’t forget the most important thing of all—she told him her name. A name he wasn’t familiar with, but sounded so pretty when she said it.
She still asks him if he’s eaten, and much to his credit, he has been eating more again lately. Something that’s definitely noticeable by the way he’s bulking up a little—not getting fat, but actually gaining back some of his muscles that he lost over the past few months.
She’d smiled when she saw the difference, though it was still a work in progress, it was at least something.
The eyebags under his eyes also definitely lessened. Getting more rest—not more hours of sleep, but just rest in general—than he ever has. No longer having to use a tube of concealer a week just to keep the bags away from the people.
They would probably be so worried when they saw the state he was in when he left the house. But with the constant reminder from the pretty lady in his dreams, he ate and slept more. Getting healthier by the day, even if the HPSC was still on his ass.
It’s not like crime had stopped in the meantime, petty criminals and actual drug rings popping up left and right. But with some of his strength being restored, those also got handled much quicker than before—something that definitely showed in his rating.
Not that he looks much at those ratings, knowing that the HPSC is skewing the percentages behind the scenes a lot. He’s good, he knows he’s good, but he isn’t number two good if he would look at the actual numbers.
Oh well, not something he really minds.
All he really cares about is you—the pretty lady in his dreams that tells him he’s doing so good lately. Telling him that he looks good, and not just in the way that his fans tell him he looks good; no, she means that he looks healthy again.
Fuck, the way you were running your hands through his shorter hair—because yes, he finally got that haircut as well—telling him you were so proud of him for doing good, almost has his feathers fucking tremble.
Without realising it, he has started to look forward to get into bed—to see you. Wishing the day would fly by faster so he could just close his eyes and see your beautiful figure standing in the same room as him.
The problem is that others have started to notice as well. Not his fans or the press necessarily, but rather his handler from the HPSC. They came up to him earlier today, asking him if he had someone waiting for him at home.
Technically he doesn’t, but the fact that they could even notice that he was more eager to return home after a long day of work is a problem. (How they can see that, but not see that they’re working him to the point of almost falling asleep whilst still flying astounds him.)
Getting cornered like that really didn’t sit right with him. His wings almost puffing up in defense, before he controlled them enough to not be noticeable.
Those same feathers your fingers ran through just last night, his brain working overtime as you oh-so gently ran your fingers along his wing bone, down his big, soft primaries. It almost makes him hard yet again.
But how would he tell his handlers that he technically doesn’t have someone waiting at home for him, but rather in his dreams.
Fuck, they would call him delusional, run scans on him to see if it’s someone’s quirk affecting him—as if he hasn’t tried to research that himself. Spending nights to see if there was any entry of your name in the system with a matching description, only to come up empty.
His not-so-real girlfriend turned real inside of his dreams.
Maybe they would give him some days off, saying he’s hallucinating or something like that. But he knows somewhere deep inside his brain that you are real, just not in the world where he’s awake.
Quite frankly, he doesn’t really care about the logistics anymore. Not after that one night where you ran him a bath and carefully preened his crooked feathers, massaging the knots out of his back from the long hours of flight he has been doing.
To trust someone like that—the President would have his head if she ever found out he’s been getting ‘lax’, even in his dreams.
For just once in his life, he wants to have something of his own, even if there is a possibility that all of this is fake—his mind making up things as he’s asleep; something he wants but can’t have in the real world.
Still, he knows that he’s fucked. …Just not fucked enough to not almost pounce onto the bed, pulling his blanket over him and fall asleep almost immediately.
He’s expecting to hear your voice, that pretty lilt in your voice as you tell him he did good today—having eaten much more than the first time the two of you met a few weeks ago, keeping himself clean, and actually getting a nap in during his supposed patrol (don’t tell the President that, though).
Instead, he’s greeted by a mop of white hair. A mop of white hair that belongs to a guy—not you—with the prettiest blue eyes he’s ever seen. If he had to even try to compare them, he thinks Endeavor’s eye colour would come closest to it—and even then, it’s not even close.
Still, he wasn’t expecting this. The fact that there’s a man in the living room with him, instead of his the pretty girlfriend.
Looks like the stranger notices, tilting his head to the side, bangs brushing his forehead with the motion. “Expecting someone else?”
That… is not what Hawks thought would come out of the guy’s mouth. Is this his subconscious trying to fuck with him once again? Could you not make it, and did his brain know, trying to make up for the fact that you’re not here.
Without even realising it, a small pout forms on his face. Thinking about how, after a long day of work, all he could think about was to pull your body against his, hold you close as you ramble about your day instead.
Now he can’t even do that, considering you’re not even here.
“Don’t look so sad. You have me here now,” the white-haired guy speaks up once again, trying to gain Keigo’s attention.
The hero looks over to where the guy is perched on the couch—much too close for his liking, but juuust far away enough that he doesn’t have to calm his feathers down. “You’re not her.”
That makes the guy smile, a certain glint of amusement passing through his eyes as he looks over the crimson-winged hero. “Astute observation. Though, I can take care of you, too, y’know.” There’s a slight pause before the white-haired guy adds: “In whatever way you want.”
The smug cadence in the guy’s voice makes Hawks stop for a second. Sure, he’s thought about wanting to kiss you and definitely more than just kiss you, but never did he think about actually doing those things. When he still doesn’t answer, the white-haired guy tries again.
“Look, if you wanted her here so bad, then why am I the one that’s here instead? This is your dream, so clearly you wanted me to be here.”
Right, because whatever way he looks at it, Keigo is still asleep. Not actually meeting up with a girl he likes. It’s just him, lucid dreaming about a girl his mind made up and do stuff with. And now apparently there is a guy in his dreams. A very handsome guy.
It’s not that Keigo doesn’t have eyes! The guy in front of him is objectively fucking attractive, but he still can’t help but feel disappointed that you’re not here with him.
“Just let me rest for the night,” he manages to mumble out, golden eyes slipping close already as he relaxes himself on the couch, wings actually tucked in for the first time in forever when he’s asleep.
Much to his surprise, the white-haired guy doesn’t actually say anything further, just lets out a little hum, but actually does let him sleep. Not disturbing him—though very clearly eyeing him with those pretty blue eyes of his, considering Keigo can almost feel them on his skin—until his alarm goes off.
The rest of the day has him feeling rather odd. His mind not completely in the game when he has to catch more villains—of course he still gets his job done, he is Hawks, the Number Two hero after all. But it isn’t quite as smooth as normal.
His mind still back at the pretty guy who showed up in his dreams instead of you. But then again, the guy did have a point about it being his dream, so somewhere in the back of that stupid brain of his, he conjured up that tall, handsome man.
Would you be there tonight, or is it the same guy again?
Well, he doesn’t have to wait long for that answer; going to sleep and opening his eyes to see bright blue eyes staring back at him, a small smirk tugging on the guy’s face. It has Keigo groan out, having hoped to spend some time with you again.
“Oh come onnn,” the guy whines, moving closer to where the hero is sat. “What’s so bad about me, hmmm? Is it because I’m a guy?”
“I just wanna see my girlfriend,” the words slip out before he even realises it. It’s not like you’re his girlfriend, but this guy doesn’t have to know that. Plus, this is inside of his damn mind! He can say whatever he wants to.
Seems like that was the wrong thing to say, though. The white-haired guy tilts his head, blue eyes blinking down at him as he grins. “I can be your boyfriend in the meanwhile.”
That’s how this weird dynamic begins. Keigo doesn’t really trust Gojo—as he said his name was—the same way he trusts you, but much to the guy’s credit, he does actually do a decent job at filling the gaps where you normally were.
Gojo asks him about his days, if he’d eaten today, all while playing with Keigo’s hair or sometimes massaging his shoulders—all things you also do.
So when days blur into weeks, and the blond hasn’t seen you ever since Gojo showed up, he doesn’t think much of it. Feeling more and more relaxed with the tall man around. But then there you are again, sitting on the couch with a pretty smile on your face like you haven’t been gone for weeks.
It makes his mind buffer for a little while, this time having expected Gojo here instead of you. Which is quite ironic when you think about it, considering he didn’t want anything to do with the white-haired guy before, and now he’s almost expecting him to be here.
But it doesn’t matter much, not when you coo at how pretty he looks added with a small kiss on his cheek.. Ushering him to the couch to ask him about his day.
So sometimes you’re there in his dreams, and other times it’s Gojo. He never knows when his mind decides to set him up with you or Gojo, but it doesn’t matter all that much to him anymore. All he knows is that he can feel comfortable around the two of you, no matter which one it is.
“Poor thing, losing most of your feathers in battle like that,” he hears you purr from behind him. Delicate fingers tracing over his lower back as you walk in front of him, staring at his face. Cupping his cheek, he lets himself bask in the warmth for a little, not sure when the next time ’s gonna be he sees you again.
But it isn’t until he feels another hand—bigger, a bit more rough—splayed along his back that he realises it isn’t just you in the room with him. He distantly recognizes the fact that you’re letting go of his face, but all he can think about is how a white mop of hair and blue eyes are looking at him.
It makes his mind buffer a little, having both his boy- and girlfriend in the room (he has long since disregarded anything that makes sense, in his mind the two of you are? Were? The same entity, something his mind conjured up because he’s so fucking lonely. But there was also something real about it.)
Not that it matters much when Gojo pushes out that plump bottom-lip of his, already glinting with some saliva. The thing looking almost kiss-bitten already, red where they’re normally a lighter shade of pink. “What happened to your wings, pretty boy?”
Hawks opens his mouth a few times, wanting to tell the two of you what exactly happened, but his mind is still buffering from the fact that you’re both here—at the same time.
“I just- battle gone wrong. What… what’s happening?” He breathes out, confused. Golden eyes tracking the way Gojo now is also standing in front of him. But instead of those pretty blue eyes looking at his own golden ones, they’re completely focused on you.
You, who smile up at the white-haired man. A smile so devious, Keigo isn’t sure he’s ever seen it before—it was much more in character for Gojo to smile at him like that, not you. Especially when you’re looking at someone who’s supposed to be a stranger, or that’s what Keigo thought anyway. But from the way you two are looking at each other, it certainly does look like you two have known each other for a while.
And as if he wasn’t confused enough already, Gojo surges forward, crashing his lips upon yours. There is no sweetness in it, not the way he has kissed him before, with those tender kisses being placed upon Keigo’s scarred, suntanned skin. No, this is all heat and passion—teeth and tongue.
Your hands move to Gojo’s hair, tugging on it so harshly, it gains a groan from the white-haired man. That same groan that does something to Keigo he isn’t sure how to admit.
Gojo pulls your body further against his, chest to chest, him having to bend down a bit to fully reach you as your tongues clash. And all Keigo can do is watch the two of you just blatantly make out in front of him.
That should be him …right? So why does he feel so turned on when watching his whatever-the-fuck the two of you were of his, make out with each other?
A low, needy noise escapes his lips without even realising it. But it seems like, despite being so preoccupied, both you and Gojo could hear it loud and clear. Disconnecting your lips from one another, a thin string of saliva connects the two of you. It glistens in the low bedroom light, gaining Keigo’s full attention before it snaps.
Your eyes are half-lidded as you look at the hero, chest heaving up and down with each ragged breath you take. Your hands slooowly sliding from Gojo’s hair to his chest. “I think someone wants in on the kiss,” you comment to Gojo before cocking your head to the side. “Don’t you, baby?”
Keigo can only stand there, hands clenching and unclenching as his heart beats against his chest. A small nod is all it takes for the two of you to move.
Gojo moves to his back, one big hand gripping his waist as the other perches on his hip. They move up and down slightly as you position yourself in front of the blond. One hand trails from his chest all the way up to his jaw. Your fingers leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on his scarred skin. “Need you to use your words for me.”
“Yes please, wanna kiss you.” Keigo swallows, blown-out pupils looking you over as you smile up at him. “Attaboy,” you whisper, before your lips meet to move his.
It isn’t as rough as the kiss between you and Gojo, not with the way you’re trying to coax his lips open with your tongue. Nor with the way you keep the speed down a little, letting it drag out a little.
Keigo’s hands find your hips, pulling you further into him. Feeling the way your breasts are squished against the hard planes of his body. At the same time, he can feel Gojo’s hand squeeze his own hip. Lips ghosting Keigo’s ear. “Doing so good for us.”
That makes the blond moan out into your mouth, the praise traveling directly south—something you can definitely feel. Especially when you disconnect your lips from his, lips swollen from the kisses as you look at Gojo. “Seems like he’s enjoying this, a lot.”
The white-haired man raises a brow before he looks over the shorter man’s shoulder, looking at the obvious tent in Keigo’s trousers. “How cute, getting that hard over a couple of kisses. And you haven’t even kissed me yet,” Gojo grabs the blond’s chin, turning his head to face him. “Don’t worry, I also get hard embarrassingly fast when she kisses me.”
Before he can even ask what Gojo means, said man already crashes his lips upon his own, muffling the sound. Keigo has to stand on his tippy toes a little to kiss the taller man back, twisting his torso around awkwardly—not wanting to have his sensitive wings squished to his body.
Your sweet giggles fill his ears. “So eager. Knew you’d be perfect for us,” you purr out, one hand cupping the bulge as you pepper open-mouthed kisses along his exposed neck, suckling on the skin.
Keigo groans out into Gojo’s mouth, the feeling of your fingers tracing his hard-on through his pants has him bucking up into your hand, hips moving on its own as he’s completely lost in the way the white-haired man is kissing him. It’s so different from the way you kissed him—sweet whereas the other man is a bit more mean, saliva getting swapped in a filthy exchange.
Fuck, he’s not sure he can keep up with the both of you touching him like this.
There’s a gasp of air when Gojo finally pulls back, blue eyes almost completely disappearing to the black of his irises, only a thin ring of blue remaining. The two of them breathing heavy as they just look at each other for a couple of seconds, before a small thud! finally grabs both their attention.
Snapping his gaze to the sound, he sees the way you’ve dropped to your knees now—not even realising that you stopped touching him—an innocent smile on your face as you look up at the two men in front of you.
Gojo just chuckles, moving to stand beside the shorter man now. Running a hand through your hair, you lean into his hand, eyes flicking between the two of them. Your hands find themselves on Keigo’s thighs that flex under the touch. Your head moving to lay itself on there too, nose brushing against his bulge as you look up at the blond.
“Wanna suck you off,” you place a few teasing kisses on his covered cock. “Please?”
“Y-yeah. Fuck yeah, of course you can, dove,” he stammers out, completely entranced by the way your eyes are so doe-like right now. A complete opposite to how they looked just a few second ago.
A smile stretches across your lips as you unbuckle his belt, trying to get the useless fabric out of the way as fast as possible. And who is Keigo to deny such a pretty girl his cock? Moving his own hands to help you get rid of the garments quicker, his cock springs up the moment the clothes pool around his ankles.
There’s pre beading down his slit, shaft already glistening with it. A prominent vein pulsing on the left side of his cock as the hairs at the base are trimmed at best. It twitches a few times under your gaze, before you spit into your hand and finally wrap it around his girth.
A groan immediately punches from the back of his throat when he feels your delicate fingers tug on him. The little stubs on his back twitch with the touch, a small tingle going down his spine at the feeling. He has to hold himself back from cumming right then and there—already embarrassingly close from just a few kisses and touches.
Placing a few kisses to the underside of his shaft, you let your tongue loll out of your mouth, giving it a teasing lick before wrapping your lips around the swollen head. Your hand still moving uuup and down his shaft, pulling moans and groans from the blond like they’re free candies.
“Look so pretty for us like this,” Gojo murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to you or Keigo. Not that it matters much to the shorter man, words only fueling him more. Eyes fluttering shut as you suuckk on his tip, tongue swirling around as you start bobbing your head up and down his shaft.
“O-oh shit,” Keigo moans when your nose meets his pelvis. His hand shoots down to your head, fingers hovering just over your hair as they flex, not sure if he’s allowed to grab your head like that.
Seems like you notice, though. Pulling yourself off him, lips shiny with saliva and pre, hand still jerking him off as you smile up at him—all innocent, like you didn’t just have him down your slutty throat. “Go on, you can do whatever you want.”
With that, you take him in your mouth again, throat bulging slightly as you deep throat him once more.
This time Keigo’s hand threads through your hair, fingers digging into the back of your skull as his own eyes roll back, only the whites visible. Abs flexing as he oh so desperately tries not to buck his hips forward, burying his cock down your throat like he wants.
“Taking me so good,” he whimpers—fucking whimpers out. Completely lost in you that he’s forgotten that there’s another presence in the room.
“You can be rougher than that, she takes cock like a champ. Don’t you, babe?” Keigo startles, eyes opening to see the other man completely bare. When did he even take his clothes off? Cock standing proud, tip a pretty blush colour as pre gathers along his slit. The sight makes the hero absolutely salivate.
The words don’t even process in his mind until you pull yourself off Keigo’s cock with a wet little pop! some saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth, despite the blond not being as big as your boyfriend. A whine escapes him as your warm, wet throat leaves him. The cool, chilly air of his bedroom making his ever-sensitive dick twitch a few times.
Luckily for him, your hand wraps itself around the blond’s cock, keeping him stimulated as you give teasing kitten licks to the neglected cockhead of your boyfriend’s cock.
Groaning, Gojo puts his hand on the back of your head, guiding your mouth until it’s wrapped around him. The tip grazing the roof of your mouth as you steady yourself with one hand on his big thigh.
Gojo starts fucking into your mouth with deep, harsh trusts. And fuck, the sight has Keigo buck his hips into your hand. It was clear that you could take a lot, especially with the way you were sloppily making out with his tip before sinking down to the base, his tip reaching the back of your throat. But seeing you swallow Gojo’s dick that is at least an inch and a half bigger than his own, yeah, taking cock like a champ is exactly right.
The room fills with the wet sounds of your gurgles, Gojo’s balls hitting your chin over and over again, and the sound of the white-haired man whining out your name between praises.
Gojo doesn’t let you come up for air even once. Not that you want it, from your expression. Literal hearts in your eyes as you look up at the man who’s currently rutting into your mouth like there’s no tomorrow, head thrown back, eyes closed.
You haven’t forgotten about the blond, though. Hand still moving up and down his shaft as you get absolutely used by the other man, your fingers digging into his thigh.
Keigo can feel himself get closer by the second, already having trouble not cumming right now—watching the way you’re taking all of Gojo like it’s your job. Even when the white-haired man’s hips buck uncontrollably, little whines leaving his lips as you keep sucking him off.
Pulling you off his girth, Gojo groans. “F-fuck sweetheart, let us cum on your face, hmm? You’re close too, right, handsome?” Keigo just nods his head, golden curls bouncing with the motion. “Of course you are, such a good boy.”
That does it, sending Keigo right over the edge. Hot white spurts landing on your face as you close your eyes and open your mouth.
Gojo is not far behind, cumming with a groan. Their release mixing on your face, painting you in white.
You scoop some of the cum from your cheeks, lips closing around your fingers as you lick it all up. A moan ripping itself from the back of your throat when the mixed cum hits your taste buds.
Keigo can’t even properly come down from his high—dick still twitching a few times, wing stubs moving on his back—before Gojo helps you stand, and licks some of the release from your face. His tongue lapping over your cheek, before sharing a filthy kiss with you, swapping the cum around in your mouths.
If Keigo’s dick wasn’t twitching before, it certainly is now. Getting half-hard again already, watching the way you two are just drinking each other up—and the cum, of course.
It’s only when Gojo scoops some of it from your cheek onto his fingers, that the blond comes to his senses a bit more. “C’mon pretty boy, you don’t wanna know how sweet we taste together?”
Gojo taps his cum-covered fingers on Keigo’s bottom lip, smearing some of it on there. For one second, just one, those golden eyes find yours—seeing the way you’re biting your lip, rubbing your thighs together where you’re still sat on your knees, eyes half-lidded—and he’s done for.
Opening his mouth, he sucks on Gojo’s fingers. The taste of both him and the other man filling his taste buds, and he can’t help but let his eyes flutter shut.
“Fuck, he looks so pretty like that. Almost makes me regret not asking him to suck me off with you,” Gojo whispers, blue eyes looking down at the other guy that’s currently sucking on his fingers like it’s his dick.
“We can always do that another time,” you reply. Having stood up from the ground, only to discard your own clothes. Not that Keigo notices that detail, eyes opening to directly stare up into those pretty blue orbs, tongue still swirling around those thick digits.
It’s only when you move to stand behind him, breath ghosting the shell of his ear as you lean forward, one finger tracing his spine, going especially slow when you’re close to his wings, that he snaps out of whatever trance he was in.
His wing stubs move erratically on his back, the sensitive skin your finger is currently grazing making him so fucking sensitive. A small whine leaving his throat when your finger comes down on what’s left of his wing bone.
“Maybe we can also play with those feathers of his next time.” The thought makes a shiver go down his spine, already thinking about how the two of you would use his feathers.
Fuck, would Gojo put him on his lap, back against his chest, those red feathers getting squished between bodies as he cards his fingers through the crimson feathers? All while you jerk him off, that devious throat of yours taking all of him in when he’s already sensitive.
Multiple scenarios flash through his head at once. You, on your back, fingers clinging to his biceps and shoulders, leaving behind angry marks he can admire for the rest of the day when he wakes up again.
Him, sinking down on Gojo’s ridiculously large cock, wings twitching as he tries to fit all of him in. All while Gojo whispers condescendingly praise into his ears, telling him how pretty he is when he’s struggling to take some cock.
Fuck, now is not the time to think about it, but rather to act it all out. And it seems like the two of you agree with that sentiment, especially when you try to take his shirt off, leaving him just as bare as you and Gojo already were.
“Think you can take me?” Gojo asks the blond, giving his own cock a few tugs.
Can he? He honestly has never even tried something this large before, only having a handful of experiences with other guys, where he topped most of the time. The few times he bottomed wasn’t with guys who were this big.
Keigo looks down once again, and he can swear Gojo has gotten even bigger somehow between fucking your throat and now. Surely a trick of his mind, getting a bit overwhelmed at the thought of all of that trying to fit inside of him.
“‘S okay if you can’t, baby,” you, still stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders a bit, say. “You two can fuck me instead if you don‘t think you can take it.”
Gulping, he looks at you for a few seconds, golden eyes completely blown out when he feels the way you’re pressing against him. Then looks back at where the taller man is standing, cock hanging from how heavy it is, glistening in the low bedroom lighting, making it all the more inviting.
“I can take it,” he responds, even though the thought of fucking you also weighs heavy on his mind. Thinking about how your walls would be clamping around him as he fucks into you the same time Gojo does.
But he can’t deny that he also wants Gojo, having daydreamed about what the tall man would do to him if he ever let it.
“Attaboy. We’ll take such good care of you,” Gojo whispers, sealing his promise with a filthy kiss. “Go on, lay down for me.”
He does as told, leaning back on the bed, propping himself up with his elbows so his wings don’t touch the bed.
At the same time you go to lay down beside him, legs spread. There’s slick along your inner thighs, glistening in the light. Of course Keigo can’t help but look at it, eyes immediately snapping towards your puffy folds.
Not that he has a view of it for long, because there’s a groan from the other man before he’s on you—eating you out like a man starved. There’s sweet moans falling from your lips as you fist some of the white hair, bringing Gojo closer toward you.
Speaking of, it’s not like they completely forget about him. One of your hands creeps over to where Keigo lay, wrapping around his base and giving him a few pumps, thumbing the slit with each pass of your hand.
Leaning over, he captures your mouth. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow. The sound of the wet shlick shlick shlick along with the wet squelch of Gojo’s fingers moving in and out of you fills the room.
Before he knows it, you cum with a cry. Back arching as you moan out into Keigo’s mouth. “That’s it, sweetheart. Cum all over my tongue,” the white-haired man mumbles from between your legs. Before he finally lets up, removing his fingers from your dripping core, only to lap them clean. Shufflinf over to seat himself between Keigo’s legs now.
For a second, looking down at the man that’s currently looking at him like he wants to absolutely devour him, Keigo swears he sees something on his chest. A small marking that wasn’t there before. Tilting his chin further down, he can see it more clearly now, and it has his heart and mind absolutely racing.
It almost looks like a tattoo, in the most beautiful shade of blue he can even think of—almost the same shade as the man’s eyes who is currently between his legs, sucking hickeys into his skin he definitely has to cover up when he’s cleared to go on patrol again. (God forbid someone somehow saw one of the markings, he doesn’t have the time to explain to everyone that he’s a human being with needs.)
But the tattoo holds his attention, a small little heart with swirls all around them. It almost looks like it’s glowing, and his fingers can’t help but creep towards the mark.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Keigo startles when he hears your voice, much closer than he had anticipated it to be. Turning his head to the side, he’s met with you. Perched on your knees as you sit right beside him now, no longer laying on your back. Eyes wide, he can’t help but look you over for a few seconds.
His eyes go to the swell of your breasts, looking at the way they look so inviting to suck. Then travel down, all the way until he sees a similar mark on your own lower stomach—the same pretty shade of blue, a little heart with markings all around. A fucking womb tattoo.
How didn’t he notice it when Gojo was absolutely lapping you up? When your back was arched so pretty, eyes fluttering close.
“Since when…?” He can’t really find the words he’s looking for, golden eyes still trained on your womb while Gojo has finally stopped his ministrations, instead laying his head on Keigo’s thigh.
“Back when I made her my girlfriend—made her mine,” the taller man replies, blue eyes flitting between the two marks; eyes lingering on your tattoo a bit longer than on Keigo’s one. “As for yours… the first time we met.”
Keigo furrows his brows. The day they met? Surely he would’ve known if someone gave him a tattoo, especially on his chest. Plus, he’s never seen it before in his life. Sure, he was tired all the time, but not tired enough to miss a whole ass tattoo on his chest.
When the blond stays silent for longer than expected, Gojo pouts a little, glossy lip pushed out as he playfully bites the blond’s thigh. “Do you not like it?”
“I do! I do! It’s just… How did I miss this before?” He mutters more to himself than to either of you, but you perk up a bit. “Because we’re only showing it to you now, pretty boy.”
“What does that even mean— O-oh fuck!” He gets cut off when a warm mouth wraps around the tip of his blushing cock, tongue lapping up all the pre that was dripping already. One of his scarred hands flies down to tangle into the short, white locks of Gojo’s hair. Who is currently looking up with an amused glint in those pretty blue eyes.
Pulling himself off, a small pop! echoing through the room. “Sorry, did you want to ask something?”
“N-not really,” Keigo rasps, his hand trying to guide Gojo back to his swollen cock head. Gojo just chuckles, giving the blond a small wink, before he places small kisses all over the shaft—from his glossy tip to his frenulum, a small moan escaping the hero’s lips when he feels the teasing kitten lick over the thing, all the way down until his lips find the delicate skin of Keigo’s balls.
Wrapping his lips around them, Keigo has to focus on not bucking into the lager man’s hands. Small moans escaping his lips as Gojo plays with his balls, all whilst still jerking him off. The sight of such a pretty guy sucking on his balls while his hand is pumping him, has him positively twitching in the white-haired man’s hands.
“Didn’t forget about me, did you?” you purr at the blonde, one finger trailing from his throat down to his chest, where you circle one of his nipples. Shaking his head, curls bouncing with the motion, he cups your jaw to bring you in for a kiss.
At the exact same time, Gojo pulls away from his balls, only for two wet, cold fingers to circle his entrance. Pulling back from the kiss, he looks down to where Gojo is smearing the substance—of what he guesses is lube—in a messy circle around his hole, blue eyes staring up at him. “This okay?”
“Mhmm, yeah.” Keigo nods back, giving the okay for Satoru to sink one of his fingers inside of him. The foreign feeling has him hissing out, the slight stretch almost completely unfamiliar to the blond. You brush his fringe out of his face, a few golden curls stubbornly springing back into place. “Relax for him, pretty bird.”
He tries to do as much, just letting himself feel how Gojo is slowly moving his finger in and out of him. Finger sometimes crooking up, trying to find that spot inside of him. The white-haired man places a kiss on Keigo’s hipbone.
All while you lean over the blond, placing small kisses all on his shoulders and collarbones, sucking small marks into his skin.
The feeling of two sets of soft lips upon his skin makes him relax a bit more, enough that Gojo can sink his entire finger in. Trying to get him used to the stretch to get a second finger in. “Doing so good for me.”
Keigo’s cock twitches where it’s laying on his stomach, the soft amber lighting in the room annunciating the way his entire cock is glossy from pre and saliva. Throwing his head back, he doesn’t see the way the white-haired guy now leans up.
Grabbing the hero’s cock, Gojo wraps his lips around his shaft once more, trying to distract the smaller guy from the fact that he’s adding another finger in, slowly stretching him out more.
Keigo clenches around both digits, a small moan escaping him as he feels all too much—Gojo’s digits slowly scissoring him open while the white-haired male also lets his tongue lave over Keigo’s slit, and then there’s you.
Soft lips placing open-mouthed kisses over his skin, sometimes stopping to let your teeth sink in or suck a mark into the suntanned skin, until you stray a bit further down, your lips find the mark on his chest.
Hawks’ back arches from the bed, and Gojo has to wrap his free arm over the man’s waist, pinning him down so he doesn’t accidentally hurt the smaller guy; fingers still slowly moving inside of him, cock now buried in Satoru’s throat. Not that you’d know from the way the guy doesn’t even blink at the sudden movement, only sinks his head down further until his lips reach the base.
“Shit- fuck, what the fuck?” He groans, one hand finding the back of your head—where you’re still licking and sucking on the tattoo, and it’s almost like there are thousands of little nerve endings on the thing, making his dick twitch and pulse inside Gojo’s mouth.
Placing a small kiss on it, you look back up at Keigo, a smirk tugging on your lips. “Pretty nice, huh?”
He can’t find the words, especially not when you lick a broad stripe over the mark. His back arches, the stimulation of the mark plus the way his cock feels in Gojo’s tight throat and the three fingers currently moving inside of him, hurtles him over the edge.
It isn’t long before Gojo is pulling off and out of him, licking his lips like he was just served a meal. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he let’s himself breathe, chest heaving up and down.
“You ready for another?” The arm slides off his face to look at Gojo, who’s standing at the side of the bed, hand wrapped around his cock as he gives it a few lazy strokes. The confusion must show on his face, because both you and Gojo chuckle in unison. “I hope you ate enough to get plenty of energy, because we’re far from done with you yet.”
Back from college and staying with your dad in his shitty apartment complex, the older man... your neighbor next door has been noticing you, just as you have?
ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: non canon au :: reader is implied to be thicc :: age gaps - (reader in their early 20s, Toji is in his Mid 30s) :: older neighbour trope :: touching through clothes :: kissing :: oral f.rec :: pussyjobs :: multi-gasms :: p in v :: spitting :: different sex positions? :: anal play - (thumb) :: c-pied :: description's of sex and anatomy was meant to be more on the 'graphic side' ::
The back porch of apartment 07 was nothing special — just cracked concrete painted a faded green years ago, a single wobbly plastic chair, and a rusted railing that overlooked the narrow strip of shared yard nobody ever used. Summer heat clung to everything like wet cotton, thick and slow even now that the sun had dipped low enough to turn the sky bruised purple.
You’d been inside all day, scrolling on your phone until your eyes ached, hoodie zipped halfway over a thin tank top because the AC was barely spitting cool air anymore. Shorts riding up high on your thighs, the soft cotton clinging where sweat had gathered at the crease of your hips.
Ninety degrees and no breeze, so you finally gave up and dragged yourself outside to sprawl on the single step, legs stretched long, bare feet dangling over the edge.
That’s when you saw him.
Toji Fushiguro, in apartment 08, right next door, he stepped out the side door with a black garbage bag in one scarred hand, in the same tight black t-shirt you’d seen him in a dozen times before, sleeves stretched tight around thick biceps, fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest and stomach like it was painted on. Dark sweatpants slung low on narrow hips, the waistband showing a thin strip of tanned skin when he moved.
That scar sliced the corner of his mouth, pulling slightly when his lips twitched like he was always half a second from smirking at something only he found funny and black hair messy, damp at the temples from the heat or maybe from whatever he’d been doing inside his own place all day.
He didn’t look your way at first, he just hefts the bag into the big metal bin with one easy toss, muscles rolling under tanned skin, then wipes his forearm across his brow.
You should’ve looked away, should’ve pretended to stare at the sky or your chipped nail polish or literally anything else, but your eyes stayed glued, tracing the way his shoulders flexed when he turned, the slow roll of his neck as he cracked it side to side and maybe he felt it, because those sharp green eyes finally flicked over.
Eyes locking on yours.
Your stomach does a nasty, liquid flip. Not fear, exactly. Something hotter. Hungrier. You feel suddenly very aware of how your shorts are bunched high on your ass, how the hoodie’s ridden up to show the dip of your spine, how your thighs are parted just enough that if he looked lower he’d see the soft inner curve where skin meets cotton.
He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just stood there with one big hand still resting on the bin lid, staring like he had all night to decide what he wanted to do about the pretty little thing next door finally looking back.
Then he starts walking.
Not toward his apartment, towards you.
Each step, heavy. Bare feet on gravel and the closer he gets the more details you take in, faint sheen of sweat on his throat, the way veins stand out along his forearms and he stops at the edge of your porch slab, one foot planted on the rickety porch so he’s towering without even trying.
For a second the world narrows to just that look; heavy and unreadable, dragging down the length of your sprawled body like he was cataloging every inch. The hoodie half-open so the thin tank underneath showed the soft dip between your breasts, nipples pebbled from the sudden shift in temperature and maybe something else, your shorts bunched high enough that the plump curve where thigh met hip was on full display, cotton stretched tight across your mound.
You felt the fabric pull snug there, outlining the soft curve of your pussy in a way that made heat crawl up your neck, shifting your thighs together instinctively — only making it worse. A tiny damp spot had already started blooming at the crotch from hours of lazy daydreams and the sticky summer air.
You swallow. Throat dry. “Hi,” it comes out smaller than you meant.
Toji’s scarred mouth twitches barely. “Hey.”
Voice low and rough around the edges like gravel dragged over velvet. One word and it already felt like he’d put his palm flat on your sternum and pressed.
You sat up a little straighter, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “You’re… Toji, right? My dad said you’re the quiet one.”
He huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. “Yeah. That’s me.” He took one slow step closer. “And you’re the kid who’s been runnin’ around in those little shorts all summer.”
Your breath hitched, you're not a kid. Not really, but the way he said it with that lazy drawl, his eyes dropping to where your thighs are pressed together, made your clit throb under the cotton like he’d reached out and thumbed it.
“I’m not a kid,” you mumbled, cheeks burning. “I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”
Toji’s brows lifted just a fraction. “Almost twenty,” he echoed, like he was tasting the words. Another step forward, now he was close enough you could smell him; clean sweat, faint soap, something darker underneath like motor oil and cedar. “Old enough to know better than to sit out here lookin’ like that when it’s just you and me.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to play it cool, tugging the hem of your hoodie down like it would hide anything. “It’s hot. I just wanted air.”
“Mm.” His gaze slid lower again, shamelessly, lingering on the visible outline of your pussy lips printed through the thin shorts, plump, puffy, already so swollen from nothing but his proximity. “Looks like you’re feelin’ more than just the heat, sweetheart.”
The pet name landed like a spark on dry grass, and you squeezed your thighs tighter, but that only made the damp cotton drag against your slick folds. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out before you could catch it.
Toji’s eyes darkened. He crouched slowly, his big body folding with surprising grace, until he was eye-level with you on the step. Forearms resting on spread thighs, scarred hands dangling loose between his knees. So close you can see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his happy trail disappears under the waistband, dark and tempting.
He tilts his head, just enough that the dying sunlight cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. Moss-green eyes drag from your bare legs up up up- slowly and unapologetic. Lingers on the bare strip of stomach where your hoodie’s rucked up. On the way your shorts cling to the plump curve of your ass, aaaaall the way up to your face like he’s cataloguing every inch he’s already seen a hundred times through cracked blinds.
“Been seein’ you around,” he says. Voice quieter now and allmost intimate. “You live next door, right? Your old man’s girl.”
Not a question again.
You nod anyway. Tongue feeling too big in your mouth.
“Yeah. I’m… back for summer break.”
He hums, deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through the humid air straight into your bones.
“Didn’t figure you’d be out here lookin’ like that,” his eyes glance to your lips then back up to your eyes, “always out this late too huh, doll?”
You blink. “...You noticed?”
Another almost-laugh. “Hard not to.”
Heat floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The way your nipples have pebbled against the thin hoodie fabric from the slight breeze or maybe just from him looking at you like that.
“You been watchin’ me too, huh?” he murmured. Voice softer than you expected. Almost gentle. “Every time you come out here. Corner store. Back porch. Thought I didn’t notice?”
Your lips parted, no sound comes out at first. Then, barely a whisper,“I… I thought you didn’t.”
“Wrong.” One big hand lifts slow, carefully and the rough pad of his thumb brushed the edge of your hoodie sleeve where it had slipped down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupts across everywhere he almost touches. “Been noticin’ you since the first day you walked by in those jeans. Ass hugged so tight I could see the outline of your panties. Thought about bendin’ you over the railing right then.”
Heat floods your core so fast your vision blurs and you can feel yourself leaking now, slow, syrupy slick soaking through your innocent cotton panties, darkening the crotch of your shorts in an obvious little patch. His eyes drops to it immediately.
“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverential. “Look at that. Sweet little pussy already cryin’ for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
You whimpered again, louder this time, hips shifting forward on instinct, chasing nothing.
“You alone tonight?” he asks. Casually, like he’s asking about the weather.
You nod, throat dry. “Dad’s working late again, always is.”
Toji hums, low in his chest. The sound vibrates through the air into your palms.
He reaches out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.
You don’t.
Thick fingers catch the hem of your hoodie where it’s ridden up over your hip and he doesn’t pull it down. Just tugs it a little higher, exposing another inch of soft skin. His thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, barely a graze, but it feels like he’s touching you somewhere much more intimate.
“These are reaaaaal short,” he drawls. Voice gone darker. “You always walk around in shit like this?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. “Sometimes.”
He exhales through his nose, almost a growl.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumb presses just barely into the crease where thigh meets ass. “Lots of eyes around here.”
You’re trembling now and its not from fear, its from the sudden, vicious ache blooming low in your belly. Your thighs press together on instinct and he notices. Of course he does.
Toji’s eyes flick down to where your legs squeeze, then back up to your face, that smirk of his deepens.
“You scared of me?” he asks softly, almost sweet — if sweet could be laced with this much danger.
You shake your head, barely.
“Liar,” he says but he sounds pleased.
His hand slides higher, his fingers splaying wide across the small of your back, his palm is hot and rough as calluses drag against your skin like a promise. He doesn’t push you down. Doesn’t need to, you’re already melting into the floor boards, arching just enough that your ass lifts a fraction — offering.
He groans quietly and guttural, the first real crack in that cool exterior.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trouble.”
You lick your lips, voice barely there. “You gonna do something about it?”
His eyes snap to yours. Dark, predatory.
For one endless second neither of you moves.
Your breath hitches when his gaze drops again — straight to the damp patch you know is starting to show. The cotton’s darker there now, clinging, outlining the plump shape of your pussy lips so clearly it’s obscene. You’re soaked, have been since you noticed him watching. And he can fucking see it.
“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something dangerous-soft, “sittin’ out here all needy. Drippin’ through your shorts for the old man next door.”
Your mouth falls open on a shaky gasp. No denial. No lie. Just liquid heat, shameful heat — flooding between your legs at his words.
Toji’s eyes darken and hooks one thick finger under the hem of your shorts. Doesn’t pull them down. Just lifts the fabric the tiniest bit, letting it snap back against the crease of your thigh with a soft thwack.
“Bet these panties are fuckin’ ruined,” he says, almost conversationally. “All wet and clingy, pushin’ up against the seam, yeah?”
You whimper high and helpless, hips shifting forward before you can stop them.
He chuckles, low and mean. “Knew it.”
Toji’s hand moves again, this time cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking slow along your jaw. Calluses rough against your soft skin. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “So shy. So needy. Bet you’ve been touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about the mean neighbour next door, huh? Imaginin’ what these hands would feel like spreadin’ you open.”
Your head tipped into his palm. Eyes fluttering. “Y-yes…”
“Good girl.” Praise hits like honey dripping down your spine. He leaned in closer — close enough his breath fanned your glossed lips. “Gonna kiss you now. Wanna taste how sweet that pouty mouth is before I ruin the rest of you.”
You nodded with frantic little jerks of your head.
Then his mouth is on yours.
Soft at first, just the brush of scarred lips over your glossy ones, tasting artificial cherry and nervous salt. He groaned low in his throat the second your mouths connect, like he’d been starving for it, his big hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants so he could lick slow into the seam of your lips.
You opened for him instantly. Tongue shy and tentative, his is thicker, hotter, curling against yours with lazy confidence. He kisses like he had nowhere else to be, like he could spend hours just licking into your mouth, swallowing every tiny whimper you give him.
“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your lips between slow, wet kisses. “Taste like summer, like you’ve been waitin’ for this.”
His other hand finds your thigh, palming the plush inner meat, squeezing gently, thumb stroking higher and higher until it grazes the damp edge of your shorts, not pushing inside. Just petting. Soothing. Praising.
“Doin’ so good for me already,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Letting me kiss you like this. Letting me feel how wet you are just from my mouth. Such a good girl f'me already.”
You moan into his kiss loud and needy — hips canting up so his thumb presses firmer against the soaked outline of your pussy. He growls softly, rewarding you with another deep, filthy lick into your mouth.
The kiss turns hungrier. Wetter. His tongue fucks slow and deliberately into yours while his hand kneads your thigh, inching closer to where you ache most — never quite touching your clit, just circling, teasing, making you drip more and more until the cotton’s clinging transparently to every swollen fold.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath ragged, green eyes blown black with want.
“Tell me you want more,” he raspes. Voice wrecked. “Tell me you want my hands on you. My mouth. Everything.”
Your lips trembles, gloss smeared and eyes glassy.
“I want it,” you breathe. “Want you…please, Toji…”
He smiled then slowly, gaze darkening but still so gentle when his thumb brushes your cheek again.
“Good girl,” he purred.
And then he kissed you deeper — claiming, devouring, promising every filthy thing he's about to do to you next.
His mouth is still on yours hot, slow and filthy in the best way. Tongue sliding deep, curling lazy against yours like he's mapping every soft inch of your mouth, tasting the cherry gloss you’d slicked on earlier just because you felt pretty.
Toji kisses like a man who’s waited too long to taste something sweet and now couldn’t get enough. A big hand cradles the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under your ear while the other squeezes the plush meat of your inner thigh — fingers digging in just enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing more pressure against the soaked cotton clinging to your pussy.
You were drowning in it. Brain turning to warm syrup, every thought melting into the wet drag of his tongue, the faint scrape of his scar against your lower lip when he sucks it between his teeth. Soft little whimpers bubbling out of you every time he pulls back just to nip, just to breathe a rough “good girl” against your mouth before diving back in deeper.
Your hands found his shoulders somewhere in the haze, your fingertips digging into hard muscles under that tight black shirt, feeling the heat rolling off him like a furnace. He smells so good up close; clean sweat, faint cologne that clung to his neck, something darker and masculine underneath that made your clit throb harder every time you inhaled.
When he finally eases back — barely an inch, forehead pressing to yours, your lips swollen, gloss smeared across both your mouths, strings of spit connecting when yours part. You were panting, chest heaving under the half-zipped hoodie, nipples tight and aching against the thin tank.
Toji’s green eyes were blown black, pupils eating up the color as he stares down at you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. His thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip, spreading the mess even more.
“Fuck, look at this mouth,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and wrecked. “All glossy and puffy from just my kisses. Bet it’d look even prettier wrapped around my cock.”
The words hit you like a slap of heat. Your thighs clenching hard — slick gushing fresh against your already drenched panties, the cotton so wet now it was sticking transparently to every plump fold. You could feel the outline of your pussy lips print shamelessly through the shorts, fat and swollen… begging.
You tried to speak — tried to be smart, to play it cool, but your brain was mush, words tumbling out careless and needy.
“W-wanna… come inside?” you breathed, barely coherent. “For… for a drink. Or… something. Please.”
Toji’s scarred lips curves slow and predatory, but still so fucking gentle when his thumb strokes your cheek again.
“Yeah?” he rasps. “You invitin’ the old man next door inside while your daddy’s gone? Careful, sweetheart. I might'n wanna leave once I get my hands on you proper.”
Your head bobs, frantical little nods. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”
He groans low in his throat, like the confession physically hurt him in the best way. Then he was standing, a slow roll of his muscles as he rose to his full height, now towering over you on the step. One big hand extended down.
“C’mon then pretty girl. Show me where you live.”
You take his hand, your small fingers swallowed up in his scarred palm and you let him pull you up. Legs shaky, thighs slick where they're rubbing together. The second you're standing he tugs you closer, arm banding around your waist so your soft body presses flush to his hard one. You could feel him, thick and heavy…his cock already half-hard and straining against his sweatpants, nudging insistently against your lower belly.
“Fuck,” he mutters into your hair, inhaling deep like he was trying to memorize your scent. “Smell's so sweet. Bet you taste even better between those thighs.”
He walks you the few steps to your door like that, an arm possessive around you, free hand palming slow over the curve of your ass through your shorts, squeezing the plush flesh like he was testing how soft you really are. You fumble the key with trembling fingers and he just chuckles low against your ear.
“Easy, baby. We got all night.”
The door finally opens. You stumble inside, the dim living room lit up only by the lamp you’d left on, the cheap couch, scattered textbooks from last semester you hadn’t bothered to put away. Toji kicks the door shut behind him without looking, then spun you gently until your back hits the wall beside it.
He didn’t crowd you right away. Just stood there, close enough you could feel his heat, but giving you that one last second to back out if you wanted.
You didn’t.
Instead you tipped your head back, lips parting eyes glassy and pleading.
Toji’s hand came up and cupsyour jaw so gently it made your chest ache, his thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip again.
“Look at you,” he whispers, voice thick with something almost reverent. “So fuckin’ pretty. So young and soft and already drippin’ for a man old enough to know better. You know how filthy that is, sweetheart? How wrong?”
You whimpered, nodding your hips canting forward so the damp crotch of your shorts brushes the hard line of his cock through his sweats.
“Feels right to me,” you breathe out needy.
His eyes flutters shut for a second — like your words punched the air out of him. Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, hungrier. Tongue fucking slow into your mouth while both hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you easy like you weighed nothing. Your legs wraps around his waist on instinct; he pins you to the wall with his hips, his thick cock grinding slow against your soaked pussy through layers of fabric.
You moaned loud into his mouth, a desperate, broken sound.
“That’s it,” he praises against your lips, rocking slow and deliberately. “Grind on it, baby, let me feel how wet you are for me. Soaked right through these little shorts… fuck, I can smell you. Sweet little cunt cryin’ for cock.”
His hands kneads your ass rough, spreading you open even through your clothes, his fingertips dipping under the hem of your shorts to brush the edge of your drenched panties. You jolt at the contact and he just shushes you softly by kissing the corner of your mouth.
“Doin’ so good,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl lettin’ me touch. Gonna take care of you, yeah? Gonna make this pretty pussy feel so full… but imma take my time. Wanna savor every second of ruinin’ you.”
You were shaking, your whole body trembling with need, clit throbbing against the drag of his cock every time he rolls his hips. Slick had soaked through everything now and you could feel it smearing against him, making the fabric cling obscenely.
“Toji…” His name comes out wrecked, pleading. “Please… need you.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, tender and filthy all at once.
“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. Gonna give you everything. But first…”
His hand slid between your bodies and cups your pussy over the shorts, his palm grinds slow against your swollen clit while two thick fingers traces the soaked outline of your lips through the cotton.
“Gonna make you come like this first,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with want. “Just from my hand, m'gonna watch this sweet little thing soak my fingers before I even get inside you. You gonna be good and come for me, baby?”
Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling, your hips already chasing his palm in frantic little circles.
“Y-yes… yes, please… Toji…”
He smiles slowly, dangerous and adoring.
“That’s my girl.”
And then he kisses you again deeper and filthy, while his hand works unhurried, perfect little circles over your dripping cunt, building you up slow and sweet until you’re trembling on the edge, ready to fall apart for the quiet neighbour who’d finally let you into his world.
Toji didn’t set you down.
Not even for a second.
The second your shaky “yes” left your lips he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, his big scarred hands sliding under the plush meat of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor so your legs had no choice but to wrap tight around his narrow waist. Your soaked shorts presses right against the thick, heavy ridge of his cock straining through his sweatpants, and the friction made you whimper into his mouth — high, the needy sound swallowed by another slow, filthy kiss.
Toji doesn’t even glance at the couch, he heads straight for your bedroom door instead. “Wanna take this where I can spread you out proper. Where I can watch every little thing that pretty face does when I make you come apart.”
Your arms loops around his neck — fingers digging into the short black hair at his nape, clinging like he's the only solid thing left in your world. He carries you down the short hallway like that, feet heavy on the cheap laminate, every step grinding his cock against your dripping pussy through the thin layers. You could feel how hard he is — thick, hot and pulsing, already leaking enough that a damp spot had started blooming on his sweats where your slick had soaked through everything.
Your bedroom door was half-open already. Small room — nothing fancy. Twin bed pushed against one wall with rumpled pastel sheets you hadn’t bothered making, fairy lights strung lazy across the headboard from last semester, a cluttered desk with half-finished college notes and empty energy drink cans. Window cracked, letting in the thick summer night air. It smells faintly like your vanilla body spray and the faint laundry detergent on your sheets.
Toji kicks the door shut behind him, a soft click of the latch sealing you both in and crosses the small space in three strides, he didn’t bother with the light. The glow from a dim lamp on your table and those soft fairy lights was enough — warm, hazy, turning his sharp features golden and making the scar on his mouth look even more wicked when he smirked down at you.
He lowered you slow onto the edge of the mattress carefully, almost worshipful, until your ass hit the comforter and your legs dangles off. But he didn’t step back. Just stayed between your spread thighs, towering, broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something soft and hungry all at once. Big hands sliding up your sides, under the hem of your hoodie this time, his palms rough and warm dragging slow over the soft curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits through the thin tank. “So fuckin’ soft everywhere. Plush little body just beggin’ to be touched.”
You shiver, your whole body trembling as his hands keep roaming. Up your ribs, over the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently through fabric until your nipples peaks hard against his palms. Then back down, his fingertips tracing the gentle pooch of your tummy, dipping into the soft dip of your navel, spreading wide to span the width of your lower belly like he was measuring how perfectly you’d fit under him.
His eyes drop lower, locking on the obscene wet spot darkening your shorts. The cotton plastered to your pussy now, every plump, fattened lip outlined clear as day, swollen clit peeking through like a needy little button begging for attention. Slick soaked all the way through your innocent panties underneath, making the fabric sheer and clinging, showing the glossy sheen of your arousal coating every fold.
“Jesus,” he breathes, almost dazed. “Can’t even hide it, can you? Fat little cunt just printin’ out for me, drippin’ right through everything. Been leakin’ like this since I kissed you on the porch, huh?”
You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, your hips shifting forward on instinct so the soaked crotch of your shorts brushes his thigh.
Toji groans low, a deep rumble in his chest, then leans down, caging you with his arms braced on either side of your hips. His mouth finds your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing slow from under your ear down the column of your throat. He sucks gently at first, his lips sealing over soft skin, tongue flicking — then harder. Teeth grazing just enough to sting before he soothes it with slow laps, blooming dark purple bruises one after another like he was marking territory.
“Good girl,” he whispers between sucks, voice muffled against your skin. “Lettin’ me mark you up like this. Gonna look so pretty tomorrow, little love bites all over this sweet neck so everyone knows who’s been takin’ care of you.”
His hands never stops moving, he slides them under your hoodie again, pushing the fabric up slowly until it bunches under your tits. Callused palms dragging over bare skin now, the rough texture making you arch, you let out a faint gasp, as his fingers splays wide over your soft tummy, kneading gently like he couldn’t get enough of how plush you were there.
“Love this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “This soft little belly. Gonna watch it bounce when I’m fuckin’ you deep later. Gonna feel it quiver when you come all over my cock.”
You were whimpering nonstop now, your brain goopy, thoughts reduced to nothing but the heat of his mouth, the weight of his hands, the slow grind of his hips every time he shifts closer. He was still fully clothed, his tight black shirt stretching over thick pecs and sharp-cut abs, sweatpants slung low but you could feel every ridge of muscle flexing against you when he moved. Solid. Unyielding. Cutting through the thin layers like he was already inside you.
Toji pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes dark, tender and filthy with want. Thumb brushing over one of the fresh bruises on your throat, a gentle stroke that made you shiver.
“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he praises, voice low and steady. “Look how pretty you are.” Your eyes were all glassy, lips swollen, pussy so wet he could hear it every time you shift. “Gonna take my time with you, m'gonna touch every inch, talk you through it nice and slow till you’re shakin’ and beggin’.”
One hand slides down, cupping your soaked mound over the shorts, his palm grinding slow against your clit while thick fingers traces the plump outline of your lips through the fabric. Not pushing inside yet. Just petting. Soothing. Building.
“Feel that?” he whispers, pressing firmer so you could feel how your slick squelches against his palm. “That’s all for me. Sweet little thing gettin’ this messy just from my kisses and my hands. Such a good girl. My good girl.”
You moan, loud and broken, your head tipping back as your hips rolls up into his touch.
He kisses you again, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand keeps that lazy rhythm between your thighs. The other stays on your tummy, rubbing slow circles over the soft pudge, possessive and adoring all at once.
“Gonna watch you fall apart, sweetheart,” he promised against your mouth. “Gonna make this pretty pussy come so hard you see stars. And then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Till you’re too fucked-out to think about anything but me.”
His fingers hooks under the waistband of your shorts slowly tugging it downward, just enough to bare the top of your drenched panties.
“Ready for more?” he murmurs, nipping your bottom lip. “Gonna strip you and kiss every bruise I leave, spread these plush thighs and taste how sweet you are.”
Your answer was a shaky nod, eyes locked on his and pleading.
Toji smiles slow, dangerous and so fucking gentle.
“That’s my girl.”
And then he starts peeling your hoodie off slowly, his hands worshipping every new inch of bare skin he uncovers, mouth following right behind with more soft kisses and praise, ready to unravel you piece by trembling piece on your little twin bed while the summer night presses warm against the window.
Toji pulls back from your neck, his lips shiny with spit, a fresh bruise blooming dark and pretty under your jaw and his eyes drops to your face. You were a wreck already, cheeks flushing hot, eyes glassy and half-lidded, mouth hanging open in soft little pants. A thin string of drool had slipped from the corner of your lips, trailing slow down your chin like you’d forgotten how to swallow. Fuck. The sight punches straight through him, making his cock twitch hard against the damp front of his sweats, thickening even more until the fat head was outlined clear as day through the gray cotton.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Look at you droolin’ for me already. Can’t even keep that pretty mouth closed.”
He leans in slow, his big hand cupping the side of your face, thumb sweeping under your lower lip to catch the mess. But instead of wiping it away he just smears it wider and then dips down and licks it up himself, tongue flat and hot dragging slowly from your chin to the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweet-salty mix of your spit and his earlier kisses. You whimper the sound coming out high and broken as he seals his scarred lips over yours again in one sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Tongues sliding messy and wet, no rhythm left. Just hunger. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth with a gentle tug and then plunges back in, licking deep into your mouth like he was trying to drink every drop of you. Drool spilling between your lips, stringing down your chin again, soaking into the collar of your tank. You're making the filthiest little noises, soft, wet glucks every time his tongue licks into you and he groans low against your mouth, swallowing them all down.
“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs between kisses, nipping your tongue. “Doin’ so good though. Lettin’ me lick it all up. My sweet, sloppy baby.”
He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting your mouths for a second before it snaps and he sits back on his heels between your spread thighs. His eyes raking down your body slowly, like he was memorizing every inch. Hoodie shoved up to your tits, tank rucked under them so the soft undersides spilled out. Shorts still on but soaked dark at the crotch, clinging transparently to the plump mound of your pussy. The fat lips were printed perfect through the cotton — swollen, puffy, glossy with thick gluey slick that had leaked through your panties and was now starting to drip down the crease of your thighs, making shiny wet trails on your sheets.
Toji’s mouth waters so hard he has to swallow. His cock was rock-hard now — veined, fattened, throbbing painfully against his sweats. He palmed it once, roughly squeezed it through the fabric, just to take the edge off. The head leaking more, darkening the gray in a fat wet spot right at the tip. But he didn’t care about himself yet. Not when your pretty soaked pussy was right there, begging for his mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “Look at this messy little thing.” So sticky. So sappy. “Drippin’ all over your bed like you can’t help it.”
He hooks two thick fingers under the waistband of your shorts, slowly tugging it down your hips. You lifted for him on instinct, — a shaky little arch and he peels them off along with your drenched panties in one go. The fabric stuck for a second — clinging to your slick folds before coming free with a wet schlick. Strings of thick, glossy arousal stretching between the cotton and your pussy, snapping slow as he tosses them aside.
Your legs fell open wider, your knees bent, feet planted on the mattress and there it was; your pussymound all shiny and swollen, lips puffy and parted just enough to show the sticky pretty inside. Slick coating everything — thick, gluey strands webbing between your folds, dripping slow down to your tight little hole that clenched on nothing. Your clit was begging — fattened, flushed dark, peeking out from its hood like it was throbbing for attention. The whole thing glistened under the fairy lights — sappy, cummy, so fucking wet it looked obscene.
Toji groaned deeply, a guttural sound coming from his chest. His hands slid up your plush thighs, spreading you wider, thumbs hooking under the meat where thigh met hip so he could hold you open. Your pussy lips parted more, the sticky strings stretching, then breaking, revealing the creamy mess inside.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen. All swollen and leaking for me. Gonna taste every drop, baby. Gonna lick this sweet cunt clean till you’re shakin’.”
You whimper high and desperate, your hips twitching up toward his face.
He leaned in slow, his hot breath fanning over your clit first, making it jump. Then his tongue, flat and wide dragged up the entire length of your slit in one long, slow lick. From your dripping hole to the tip of your clit. Thick gluey slick coated his tongue instantly, sweet, tangy, so fucking much of it he had to swallow hard. He groaned against you, the vibration rumbling straight through your core.
“So sweet,” he praised, voice muffled as he licked again — slower this time, savoring it. “Taste like fuckin’ heaven. My good girl’s pussy all creamy and ready. Doin’ so perfect for me.”
His tongue circled your clit, with gentle flicks at first, then slower, broad laps that made your hips buck. One big hand slid up to your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plush curve, holding you down gentle while his mouth worked. The other kept your thigh spread, thumb stroking soothing circles on the inner meat while he sucked your clit between his lips, a soft pull, then releasing, then pulling again.
You were moaning nonstop loud and wrecked, the sounds filling the small room. Slick gushing fresh with every lick — thick ropes of it coating his chin, dripping down his neck. He didn’t stop, just kept on lapping messy and hungry, his tongue dipping into your tight hole to scoop out more of that gluey cream, then dragging back up to suckle your clit like it was candy.
“Look at her clenchin’,” he murmured between licks, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “So tight and needy. Gonna come for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me drink all this pretty mess while you fall apart?”
His tongue plunged deeper, fucking slow into your hole, then he pulled out to circle your clit again, the hand on your tummy pressed firmer, feeling the way your muscles quivered under his palm.
“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, voice thick with praise. “Doin’ so good. Such a sweet girl lettin’ me eat this pussy. Gonna make you come so hard you soak my face. Then I’m gonna do it again. Gonna keep goin’ till you’re cryin’ my name.”
He sucked harder, his lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking faster now and your whole body arched, your thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, drool slipping from your open mouth again as the pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly.
Toji didn’t let up, he just kept licking slow and filthy, worshipfully talking you through every tremor, every gush of slick, every broken whimper.
“My perfect girl,” he rasped against your dripping cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”
And with one more long, slow drag of his tongue — circling your begging clit just right — you shattered.
You came hard, harder than you ever had alone in this little bed with your fingers or with that cheap little vibe tucked in your drawer. Your whole body seized up like lightning hit your spine, thighs clamping around Toji’s head on instinct, plush hips bucking wild against his mouth while thick ropes of slick gushed straight onto his tongue. Your clit throbbing against his lips — fat, swollen, pulsing like a second heartbeat — and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. Just groaned deep into your cunt like the taste of your orgasm was the only thing he’d been starving for all summer.
“Thaaat’s it,” he rasped, voice muffled and wrecked against your dripping folds. “Come all over my face, sweetheart. Fuck, look at her spillin’ for me. So sweet. So fuckin’ messy.”
He kept licking slow, greedy — greedy laps through the aftermath — cleaning up every fresh gush like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop. Your pussy lips were puffy and flushed dark now, glossy with spit and cum, parting easy every time his tongue nudged between them. Slick coated his chin, dripping down his scarred neck in shiny trails, soaked into the collar of his black shirt. The fairy lights caught it all — turning the mess iridescent, obscene, beautiful.
You were shaking, overstimulated already, clit so sensitive it hurt in the best way, but Toji wasn’t done. Not even close. Man-starved didn’t even cover it, he ate like he’d been denied pussy his whole life and yours was the first real meal he’d ever had. Toji after a moment hooked his fingers into the underside of his shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion.
Then his big hands shoved your thighs wider, thumbs hooking under the crease where thigh met hip, spreading you so open your tight little hole winked at him with every clench. He pulled back just enough to look, eyes black with hunger, pupils blown wide watching the way your fattened lips trembled, the way thick gluey strings of your arousal stretched between them like spider silk every time you fluttered.
“Goddamn,” he breathed softly. “This pretty cunt’s still cryin’ for more. Look how she’s clenchin’… all tight and needy even after comin’ that hard. Fuck, baby… you’re killin’ me.”
He dove back in — lips sealing over your clit again, sucking soft at first, then harder. Wet, filthy pulls that made your hips jerk, made your back arch off the mattress until your tits spilled free from under the rucked-up tank. His tongue flicked fast over the swollen bud — quick little lashes — then slowed to broad, dragging circles that had you sobbing.
“Toj i— f-fuck — too much — s’too much — ”
“Shhh,” he soothed without stopping, voice vibrating straight through your core. “You can take it. Doin’ so good for me. My perfect girl. Just lemme taste a little more. Gotta drink every drop this sweet pussy’s givin’ me.”
He licked lower, his tongue plunging slow into your tight hole, fucking in and out with lazy thrusts that made obscene wet squelches fill the room. Your walls fluttered around him greedily, sucking at his tongue like they wanted to keep him inside forever. He groaned — deep, guttural — then pulled out just to spit right onto your clit. A thick glob of his saliva landed hot and heavy, mixing with your slick, running down your folds in slow rivulets.
You whimpered, high and broken when he blew a soft puff of air over the mess, his cool breath hitting your overheated, spit-slick clit like ice on fire. Your whole pussy jolted — clit jumping, hole clenching hard enough to push out another bead of thick cream that dripped slow down your ass.
“Fuck yeah,” he growled, watching it with dark, fascinated eyes. “Look at her twitch. Sensitive little thing. Love how she jumps when I blow on her. Gonna make her come again just like this.” You were overstimulated and shaking.
He sucked your clit back into his mouth, gently this time, lips soft around the swollen bud while his tongue lapped slow, soothing circles. One hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the soft give of skin, fingers splaying to feel every quiver of your muscles. The other kept your thigh pinned, thumb stroking slow, reassuring circles on the inner skin like he was petting you through the overstimulation.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured between sucks, pulling off just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Lettin’ me eat this messy cunt even when it’s too much. Takin’ everything I give you. So pretty when you cry for me like this.”
He licked into you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling to scoop out the thickest parts of your cream, feeding it back to your pussy with slow, filthy thrusts. Then he pulled out, lips shiny, chin dripping and spat again. Right onto your hole this time. Watching it slide in, mixing with your slick until everything was glossy and obscene.
“Breathe, baby,” he cooed, blowing another soft puff over your clit, watching it throb, watching your hips buck helplessly. “Just breathe. M'gonna make you come again. Gonna suck this pretty clit till you’re soakin’ the sheets even more. Wanna see how many times I can make her gush before you’re beggin’ me to fuck you.”
Your hands flew to his hair — fingers tangling in the black strands, pulling hard enough to make him growl against you. But he loved it, loved the way you were falling apart and drooling again, spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as another wave built fast and brutal in your belly.
He sucked harder — lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing — tongue flicking relentless over your clit while he hummed low, vibrations rumbling straight through you. His free hand pressed firmer on your tummy, feeling the way your muscles clenched, the way your whole body trembled on the edge.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he praised, voice thick and wrecked. “Give it to me. Come all over my tongue again. Let me taste how overstimulated this sweet pussy gets for me. My good girl, my perfect, messy, drippin’ girl.”
One more long, slow drag of his tongue, circling your clit just right, then plunging back into your clenching hole and you shattered again. Harder. Louder, your whole body convulsing, thighs shaking around his head, slick gushing in thick spurts that coated his mouth, his chin and the sheets beneath you.
Toji drank it all — groaning like a man possessed — licking slow through the aftershocks, soothing your twitching clit with soft kitten licks while you sobbed his name, overstimulated and wrecked and still so fucking needy for more.
He finally pulled back — lips swollen, face a mess of spit and cum, his eyes locking on yours with that dark, adoring hunger.
“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, crawling up your body slow, caging you under his broad frame. “You taste like sin. Like every filthy thing I’ve ever wanted.”
His mouth found yours, in a slow, deep kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Thick fingers sliding between your thighs again and petting your soaked, puffy pussy gentle now, soothing the oversensitive folds.
“Still shakin’,” he murmured against your lips, smiling soft and filthy. “Still drippin’. Think you can take my cock now, sweetheart? Or you need me to eat this pretty cunt one more time first?”
Your answer was a broken whimper — hips canting up toward his hand, begging without words.
He chuckled low, dark and tenderly.
“That’s my girl.”
Toji had finally pulled his mouth off your wrecked pussy — lips swollen dark red, his chin still glistening with thick ropes of your slick and his spit that stretched and snapped every time he moved.
He gave you one more slow, sweet savouring kiss to your sweet little lips before crouching back down between your trembling thighs for a second longer, just staring at the mess he’d made; your fat pussy mound all shiny and puffy, lips parted and drooling slow streams of cream down your ass, onto the already soaked sheets. Your clit was a throbbing little pearl now — fattened up dark and glossy, peeking out like it was begging for one more touch even after two brutal orgasms. Your tight hole kept clenching on nothing — suckling air, pushing out fresh beads of gluey slick that made obscene wet sounds in the quiet room.
He groaned low, the sound ripping out from deep in his chest and he palmed his cock through his sweats again. Harder this time, giving it a rough squeeze that made the thick vein along the underside jump under his hand. The front of the gray fabric was wrecked — a dark wet patch spreading from the fat, leaking tip, glossy pre soaking through in thick globs that clinged to the cotton like honey. You saw the outline perfectly now; his fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up for you, swollen and heavy, curving slightly to the left, the round mushroom head so chubbed and probably flushed it looked angry.
“Fuck, look what you did to me, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with want. “Got me so hard it hurts. Leakin’ like a faucet just from tastin’ this pretty cunt. You see how much pre I’m givin’ you? All for this messy little pussy.”
He shoved his sweats down slow enough to free himself, then kicked it off completely. His cock sprang out heavy the thick base dusted with dark curls of hair, shaft veined and ridged, fattened tip glossy with a fat pearl of pre that beaded at the pink slit and dripping slow down the underside. It bobbed once, smacking wet against his abs, before he wrapped one scarred hand around the middle and gave himself one lazy stroke. More pre welled up — thick and clear — dribbling over his knuckles.
Your mouth watered. Your pussy clenched hard — sappy walls fluttering, clit jumping at the sight. You were so wet still — thicker now, gluey strands webbing between your lips every time your hips twitched.
Toji crawled back up your body, slow and carefully caging you in, under his broad frame. One thick forearm braced beside your head, the other hand guiding his cock down between your thighs. He didn’t push in…not yet. Just rubbing slow, filthy drags of that fattened round tip through your glossed folds.
The head was scorching hot — swelled up so big it parted your puffy lips easy, spreading them wide around the blunt crown. Your clammy, glued pussylips sucked at him, clinging wetly every time he dragged back, strings of your slick stretching from your hole to his tip like they didn’t want to let go. He nudged your clit with the slit, smearing thick pre over the aching bud — making it throb harder, making you whimper high and broken.
“Feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and mean-teasing as he rocked slow. “Fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up just for you.” Rubbin’ right through your glossy folds. “Y’er sweet little pussy’s kissin’ me back, suckin’ on the tip like she’s tryin’ to pull me in.”
You nodded — desperately, drool slipping from your open mouth again, hips canting up to chase more friction. Your clit was so achy, fattened and sensitive, every glide of his swollen head over it sent sparks shooting up your spine.
Toji chuckled, the sound breathless and dark — then pressed firmer. The round tip notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring just enough to make your hole flutter and suckle greedy around him. Not inside. Just teasing…just enough to feel how hot and wet and ready you were.
“Look how she’s grippin’,” he praised, eyes locked on where your pussy lips hugged the head of his cock — clinging, glossy, dripping. “Tight little hole sucklin’ like she’s starvin’. Fuck, baby, you’re so so wet. Drippin’ all over my dick before I even get in. Such a needy girl.”
He rocked against you slowly again, dragging that fattened tip up your slit to bump your clit, then back down to nudge your hole. Pre mixed with your slick, making everything slippery, obscene, the wet schlick, schlick, schlick filling the room every time he teased. Your clit throbbed harder, achy and begging, every time the ridge of his crown caught it just right.
“Toji…please—” Your voice cracked — high, pleading. “Need it… need you inside…”
He groaned, the deep rumble vibrating through both of you, then leaned down to kiss you lovingly, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept that mean, teasing rhythm; fat tip rubbing through your folds, bumping your clit, nudging your hole, spreading you open without giving you what you craved.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked with restraint. “Gonna tease this sweet pussy a little longer. Wanna feel how much wetter you get. Wanna watch this fat little cunt cry for my cock till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’.”
One big hand slid under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to change the angle. Now every slow drag had his swollen tip catching right on your entrance — stretching the rim, making your walls flutter desperate around nothing. Your clit dragged along the thick underside of his shaft, veins bumping the sensitive bud, sending fresh gushes of slick coating him.
“Feel how hard I am for you?” he rasped, rocking firmer. All his thick pre leakin’ “Just thinkin’ about sinkin’ into this tight, pretty cunt. You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby. So ready. But I wanna hear you beg a little more. Wanna hear how bad my good girl needs this fat cock stretchin’ her open.”
Your hands flew to his shoulders — nails digging into hard muscle, your hips rolling up frantically to chase his teasing. Slick squelching loud between you, gluey strands clinging to his shaft, dripping down his heavy balls that brushed your ass with every rock.
“Toji… please… fuck m’need you so bad —” You were babbling now, voice wrecked, drool slipping down your chin. “Want your cock… want it deep… please —”
He smiled slow, adoringly and mean, then kissed you again, deep and claiming — while his hips kept that torturous rhythm: fat fuckin’ cock rubbing slow through your glossed folds, teasing your achy clit, nudging your suckling hole, making you drip and clench and beg for the stretch you were dying for.
“Soon, baby,” he promised, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna give you every thick inch. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy so good you’ll feel me for days. But first… keep beggin’. Keep drippin’. Show me how desperate my sweet girl is for it.”
And he kept teasing, relentless — until your whole body was trembling, pussy clenching empty and greedy, clit throbbing achy and swollen, slick pooling under your ass in a sticky puddle while he watched you fall apart under his mean, loving touch.
Toji’s hips stilled for a second, his fat, glossy cockhead still notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring of your hole just enough that it fluttered desperately around him. Your clammy, slick walls were sucking greedily at the swollen tip, like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper even while fighting the stretch. He was so fuckin’ thick, the round mushroom head bloated and veined, ridged crown — catching on every soft fold as he pushed forward slowly, agonizingly slow.
You gasped high and sharp the sound cracking into a whimper — back arching off the mattress, plush thighs trembling where they were hooked over his hips. Your hole clenched hard on instinct — clammy, hot and so so tight it made his breath hitch rough in his throat.
“Fuck.. easy, sweetheart,” voice low and wrecked, one big scarred hand sliding under your ass to lift your hips just a fraction higher. “You’re grippin’ me like a vice already and I’ve barely got the tip in. So fuckin’ tight… this pretty little cunt’s never taken anything this big, huh?”
You shook your head — frantic little jerks — drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again as you stared up at him with glassy, pleading eyes. Your clit was still achy and swollen from his teasing, throbbing every time the base of his shaft dragged against it on accident. Slick poured out around his tip — thick, gluey strands coating the fat crown, dripping down his heavy balls in slow, shiny rivulets.
Toji groaned gutterally, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a second while he fought not to just slam home. His cock throbbing hard inside that tiny stretch — veins pulsing against your clenching walls, pre leaking in fat drops that mixed with your cream and made everything even messier.
“Look at you tryin’ so hard for me,” he praised, voice soft and thick with adoration even as his hips rocked in tiny, teasing nudges. “Takin’ just the tip like such a good girl. Feel how she’s suckin’ on me? Fuck…your hole’s so tight and wet, baby. Grippin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go.”
He pushed forward another fraction — barely an inch more and your pussy resisted, walls fluttering wild around the fattened ridge of his crown. The stretch burned sweet — hot, the aching fullness made your toes curl and your nails rake down his broad back. A fresh gush of slick squirted out around him, coating his shaft, dripping onto the sheets in a sticky puddle.
“Haaah —Toji ” Your voice broke, high and wrecked, hips twitching up like you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or needed a second to breathe.
“Shhh, I got you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth gently-sweet — tongue flicking out to catch the drool on your chin. “Doin’ so perfect. So so tight for me… gonna make it fit, yeah? Gonna stretch this sweet little pussy slow till she’s huggin’ every thick inch. You’re my good girl, my perfect, drippin’ girl. Just breathe for me.”
His free hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plushness there, fingers splaying to feel the way your muscles quiver under him. He rocked again — tiny, shallow thrusts that barely moved the tip in and out, just enough to let your walls flutter and adjust around the blunt head. Every nudge made obscene wet sounds, — schlick- schlick-schlick — your slick squelching loudly around him, strings of it clinging to his veined shaft like they were trying to keep him buried.
“Feel that burn, baby?” he cooed, voice low and praising as he watched your face — eyes locking on every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. “That’s me openin’ you up. So tight it’s squeezin’ the cum right outta me… fuck, you’re leakin’ all over my cock. Such a messy, needy cunt. Love how she’s fightin’ me and still beggin’ for more.”
He pushed again — slower this time — watching with dark, hungry eyes as another inch sank in. Your hole stretched wider, your puffy lips hugging the thickest part of his crown, clinging glossy and white-knuckled around him. The stretch was obscene — your clit jumping every time the ridge dragged over it on the way in, fresh cream bubbling out to coat him.
“Haaah — fuck — there we go,” he breathed, thumb stroking slow circles over your lower belly where he could feel the faint bulge starting to form just from the tip and a little more. “Look at that… already makin’ a pretty little bump and I’m not even halfway. So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Takin’ me like you were made for it.”
You were sobbing softly now, broken little sounds as your hips canted up helplessly, trying to take more even as your walls spasmed around the invasion. Slick pouring steadily, thick and gluey — drenching his balls, soaking the sheets under your ass in a warm, sticky mess.
Toji leaned down and kissed you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept those tiny, rocking thrusts. Just the tip popping in and out, stretching you open, teasing your clenching hole, making your clit throb against the veined underside every time he pulled back.
“Doin’ so good,” he whispers into your mouth between kisses. “My sweet girl takin’ just the tip so perfectly. Gonna keep goin’ slow, gonna make it fit inch by inch till this fat cock’s buried deep where you need it. You feel how hard I am for you? How much I’m leakin’? All ‘cause this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she never wants me to leave.”
One more gentle push and another thick inch goes sliding in and your back bows, a moan ripping out loud and raw as your walls flutter wild around him. He stills again, letting you adjust, his forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged.
“Almost there, baby,” he praises, voice thick with restraint and adoration. “So so tight… but you’re takin’ me so good. My perfect girl. Gonna fill you up soon, m’gonna stretch this sticky hole till it’s huggin’ every veiny inch. Ahh — Just a little more… just breathe and let me make it fit.”
His thumb finds your clit, and circles over the swollen bud slow and gently while he rocks another inch in shallow, keeping you on that razor edge of stretch and pleasure. Slick gushing fresh with every tiny thrust — coating him, dripping down, making the slide just a little easier even as your pussy fights to keep him right where he is.
“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your tear-streaked cheek. “Tell me how full you are already… how much you need the rest.”
Your answer is a broken whimper, your hips rolling up desperately, pussy clenching hard around just the tip and a little more now.
“Need… need all of you… please, Toji —”
He smiles slow, filthy but so fucking tender, then kisses you again, deep and claiming while his hips started that slow, relentless push forward again.
“That’s my girl,” he rasps against your lips. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna make this tight little cunt take every thick inch till you’re cryin’ and comin’ all over me.”
And inch by torturous inch he keeps making it fit. Slow. Sweet. Praising you through every clench, every gush, every trembling stretch until your pussy finally starts to yield — walls fluttering open, sucking him deeper, greedily and wrecked and so so ready for the rest.
Then Toji’s patience snapped like a thin wire, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as his big scarred hands clamped around your soft waist. No warning. No gentle coaxing. Just raw, starving need. He grabs your little body like it was his to manhandle, his rough palms digging into your plush hips, flipping you onto your side in one swift yank that made the mattress springs squeak protest.
“Fuck ah I-I can’t take it anymore,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Need to go deeper. Need this tight cunt stuffed full, m’gonna make her take every fuckin’ inch now.”
He drags you down the bed, the sheets tangling around your ankles, until your ass hangs off the edge just enough, cheeks jiggling from the rough pull. Your face mashed into the rumpled comforter — cheek smushing against the soft fabric, drool already pooling under your agape mouth. One hand flew out on instinct, your fingers clutching the fluffy stuffed bear you keep on the pillow (the one with the little bow tie you’d had since middle school), knuckles white as you gripped it like a lifeline while your body arches helplessly.
Toji presses your legs together, his thick thighs pressing your plush ones tight, forcing your chubby little cunt to pucker even more obscenely. Your fat pussy lips squished together now, glossy and swollen, the plump folds mashed into one slick, puffy seam that barely parts for the fat pink tip still teasing your entrance. The position makes everything tighter — your gummy walls clenching harder, clit trapped between those squeezed-together lips, throbbing achy and trapped against the pressure.
He lines up, his veined, thick cock — throbbing heavy in his fist — and pushes in.
No slow tease this time.
The fat crown spears past your puckered entrance with a wet, filthy pop — stretching those mashed-together lips wide around his girth. Your hole sucking greedily and clenching so tight it made his eyes roll back, but he doesn’t stop. Just keeps feeding inch after thick, veined inch into your poor stuffed cunt, the squeeze so intense it forces thick ropes of your gooey cream to bubble out around him, coating his shaft in shiny white strands that drip slow down your inner thighs.
“Haah… fuck — listen to her,” he groans, hips snapping forward harder now that the angle let him sink deeper. “This chubby little cunt’s cryin’ so loud for me. Squeezin’ like she’s scared I’ll pull out… but she’s suckin’ me right back in. Fuckin’ perfect.”
You wail high, lewd and broken, your cries muffled into the mattress — voice cracking every time his cock punches deeper. Never been fucked like this, with legs squeezed shut making your pussy feel impossibly smaller, every ridge and vein dragging slow and mean along your gummy walls. Your fat lips puckering tight around his base — stretching thin and glossy, clinging desperately like they were made to mold to his shape. The pressure mashes your clit right against the thick underside of his shaft — rubbing it raw with every brutal thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine until your toes curl hard.
Toji loses it completely.
Big hands gripping your hips — fingers sinking into soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he starts pounding. Deep, mean strokes that bottoming out with a wet slap every time his heavy balls smacks your clit. Precum and your thick cream mixing into a frothy mess squirting out around his cock with every pull-back, dripping in sticky webs down your thighs, soaking the edge of the bed where your ass hangs off.
“Goddamn, look at this mess you’re makin’,” he pants, voice rough and praising all at once. “Gooey little pussy just spillin’ everywhere f’me. So fuckin’ cute how she’s creamin’ all over my dick… takin’ it so deep even when she’s squeezes this tight. My good girl…my filthy, drippin’ girl.”
Your cries turn desperate — muffled sobs into the stuffed bear you are clutching, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Every thrust punches the air out of your lungs, his cockhead kissing your cervix mean and relentless, stretching your gummy walls wide around his veined thickness. Your clit rubs mercilessly against him — trapped between those puckered lips, swollen and throbbing, building that coil tighter and tighter until your whole body shakes.
“Feel that?” he growles, leaning over you, his broad chest pressing to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. One hand slides up to cup your soft tummy — palm pressing down so he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. “Feel how deep I am, baby? Stuffin’ this chubby cunt so full she’s leakin’ like a faucet. Gonna make you come like this.” legs squeezed tight, clit rubbed raw and pussy stretched mean around every thick inch of his.
He snaps his hips harder, the angle perfect now, his cock dragging right over that spongy spot inside while his shaft grinds against your trapped clit. Slick squelches loud and obscene, wet slaps filling the room, your gooey cream frothing white at the base of his cock, dripping in thick strands every time he pulls back.
You shatter hard.
Whole body convulsing, walls clamping down like a vice around his pounding cock, milking him greedily as you scream into the mattress. Fresh gushes of slick squirting out around him, hot and messy, soaking his balls, drenching the sheets, making every thrust even sloppier. Your clit throbs wild against him — overstimulated and raw, sending aftershocks after aftershock rippling through you until your legs shake uncontrollably.
Toji groans deep and feral, his hips stuttering as your pussy sucks him in tight.
“Fuck… Aaah yeah, come on my cock, sweetheart,” he praises, voice breaking with how close he was. “Squeezin’ so fuckin’ tight… makin’ such a cute mess f’er me. Good girl, my perfect, pretty girl. Gonna fill this stuffed cunt up soon… gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days.”
He didn’t stop, Toji kept fucking you through it, with mean, deep thrusts that made your ass jiggle, made your cries turn hoarse and wrecked. His veined cock dragged slow and filthy through your fluttering walls — still so tight from your legs squeezed together and clit still rubbing helpless against him with every slam.
“Haah mhnm fuck…m’not done yet,” he rasps, hand sliding down to spread one cheek, exposing where you were stretched obscene around him. “Gonna keep, ah goin’. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy till she’s cryin’ for more… till you’re so full of cum you can’t move.”
And he did — pounding harder, deeper, meaner all while you clutched your stuffed bear tighter, face buried in the mattress, drooling and sobbing and coming undone again and again around his thick cock that finally fit all the way inside your chubby, gooey, perfect little cunt.
Toji’s hips roll in one long, deliberate drag — pulling back just enough that his thick, veined cock starts to slip free from your stuffed little hole. Your sloppy pussy doesn't want to let go. Gummy walls clenching down hard — squeezin’ greedy around every ridge and bump like they’re scared he’d leave you empty. His foreskin bunches up soft and slick around the fattened base of his crown as he withdraws — pink tip glistening obscene with a thick coat of your cream and his own sappy pre, strings of it stretching taut between your puffy lips and his shaft before snapping wetly against your inner thighs.
You whine high and utterly broken, face mashed deeper into the mattress, your cheek smushed against the soft fur of your stuffed bear, fingers clutching the little plush thing so tight the seams strained. Drool still pooling under your slacked maw, soaking the fabric while your hips twitch back helplessly, chasing the stretch even as he teases you with the slow retreat.
“Fuck haah… listen to that,” he rasps, voice low and filthy-thick with awe. “This nasty lil’ pussy’s makin’ the sloppiest sounds just ‘cause I’m pullin’ out. Squelchin’ like she’s beggin’ me to stay buried. So fuckin’ greedy, baby.”
He didn’t let you go empty for long.
Right when the fat pink tip was almost out — your hole fluttering desperately around the ridge, he leaned over you again, his broad chest pressing hot to your back — and spat. A thick, heavy glob of spit landing right on your stretched entrance — hot and messy — sliding down the puffy seam of your mashed-together pussylips before dripping slow into the clenching ring still hugging his crown, the added slick made everything even nastier, your syrup-thick cream mixing with his spit, bubbling white and frothy where your walls gripped him.
Toji groans deep, a rumble that vibrates straight through you as he pushes forward again. Slow and mean, feeding every thick inch back into your pussy until his hips slapped flush against your ass, his balls heavy and wet smacking your clit trapped between those squeezed thighs. Your pussy sucking him in greedy — gummy walls fluttering wild, clinging so tight it made his eyes roll back.
“Haah…there we go,” he praises, hands clamping harder on your soft waist — fingers sinking into plush flesh like you really are his personal fleshlight, something soft and warm and perfect to use. “Takin’ me all the way again. Feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” His cockhead now kissin’ your cervix… mngh “Stretchin’ this sloppy hole wide. God your pussy’s so fuckin’ good. So tight even after all that cream you just gushed.”
He drew back again slowly and torturous, watching the way your fat pussylips dragged along his veined shaft, clinging glossy and swollen, trying to keep him inside. Nasty lil’ squelches filling the room — wet, obscene pops every time he pulls out halfway — your syrup-thick pussy noisily protesting, cream bubbling out in thick white rings around his base, dripping slow down your inner thighs in sticky trails that soaked the edge of the mattress.
Your sobbing is muffled into the stuffed bear, your whole body trembling as he manhandles you deeper into the bed. One big hand slides up your spine — pushing your face firmer into the comforter, while the other grips your waist harder, yanking your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust. He spreads your fat pussylips wider with his thumbs — peeling them apart even as your legs stay squeezed tight together — exposing the glossy pink inside where his thick cock splits you open.
“Look at her stretch,” he growls, voice wrecked with how good it feels. Your plump lil’ lips puckering so tight around him… huggin’ every veiny inch like she was made for his cock. “Fuck mhng baby, you’re ruinin’ me. This pussy’s too perfect… too sloppy… too fuckin’ tight.”
He bottoms out again, harder this time, his cockhead bullying deep until you feel that familiar bulge in your lower tummy, the faint swell under his palm when he presses down. Your clit rubbed raw against the underside of his shaft — trapped and throbbing — every drag sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until your thighs shake uncontrollably.
Toji didn’t speed up. Didn’t rush. Just kept that slow, deep pace — drawing back until only the fat tip stretched your entrance, then sinking all the way in with one long, filthy glide. Each pull-out made your pussy squelch louder — cream frothing white at his base, dripping in thick ropes — each push-in forcing more of your gooey slick to bubble out around him, coating his balls, soaking your ass cheeks, turning everything into a warm, sticky mess.
“God mhm feel that?” he rasps, leaning down to nip the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “How your pussy’s clenchin’ every time I try to pull out? Squeezin’ like she doesn't ever wanna be empty. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ girl. Takin’ this thick cock so deep… makin’ such cute, nasty noises for me.”
His hands tighten on your waist — using you like he owns you — pulling your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust while he grounds deeper, letting the fat crown drag over that spongy spot inside until your cries turn hoarse and wrecked. Your stuffed bear was crushed against your chest now, your fingers white-knuckled and face buried so deep in the mattress you could barely breathe around the drool and tears.
He spat again, a thick glob landing right where you were stretched widest around him — watching it slide in, mixing with the mess until everything was even slicker and messier.
“Not stoppin’,” he promises, voice low and filthy-sweet. “Gonna keep fuckin’ this little pussy… till she’s cryin’ and cumin’ again. Till you’re so full of my cum you can’t move, doll Till every time I pull out you’re squirtin’ that syrup-thick cream all over me.”
One more long, slow drag out and your pussy noisily protests with wet, lewd squelches, then he sinks back in deep, bottoming out with a wet slap that made your ass jiggle, clit grind hard against him, walls fluttering wild around every thick, veined inch of his.
“Haah…fuck t-there’s my girl,” he groans, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Takin’ it so good… makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind. Gonna keep usin’ you just like this… slow… aah… till you’re nothin’ but a creamy, shakin’ mess for me.”
And he did, he kept that torturous rhythm, his hands bruising your waist, cock stretching your sloppy hole wide, foreskin bunched… slick, spit and cream mixing into the nastiest mess while you clutch your stuffed toy for dear life, sobbing his name into the mattress, pussy clenching greedily and wrecked around his thick cock that owned you completely.
Toji’s hips stayed buried deep, his thick cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls that pulling out even an inch felt like fighting gravity. But he didn’t need to thrust right now. Not when he had you exactly where he wanted; face-down, ass-up on the edge of your bed, legs squeezed shut, chubby pussy lips puckered and swollen around the base of his shaft like a glossy, creamy ring. Your pretty little hole was still fluttering around him — suckling greedily on every ridge, even after the last brutal orgasm ripped through you, leaving your thighs trembling and slick dripping in slow, syrupy ropes down the insides of your legs.
He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing hot to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, until his scarred lips brushed the shell of your ear. One big hand stayed clamped on your soft waist, fingers digging possessive bruises into plush flesh, while the other slid down between your squeezed-together thighs. Rough callused fingertips found your puffed-out clit immediately — swollen, fat and glossy from all the rubbing, peeking out from between those mushed puffy lips like a needy little button begging for more.
“Fuck haah… look at this messy thing,” voice low and wrecked with hunger. “So puffed up… so gooey and sappy from comin’ all over my cock. Can’t even hide how bad she wants it.”
His fingers started moving in filthy, lazy circles right over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not rough. Just slow, perfect rubs that made your clit jump and throb under the pad of his middle finger. He smeared your own thick cream around it — mixing it with the frothy white ring still clinging to his base — making every glide slicker, hotter, nastier. Your pussy clenched hard around his buried cock in response — walls fluttering wild, milking him greedy even though he wasn’t moving yet.
You whimper high, the broken sound muffled into the stuffed bear you were still clutching like it could save you from how good it felt. Drool soaked the plush's fur, tears streaking hot down your cheeks, whole body shaking as those filthy circles kept coming — round n’ round, a slow pressure that built the ache back up fast.
“Haah… m’can’t stop touchin’ you, baby,” he groaned against your neck, nipping the soft skin where he’d already left dark bruises. “Even if I tried… fuck, this little clit’s too perfect. So fat and slippery… jumpin’ every time I rub right here.”
He pressed firmer, his middle finger circling tighter now, thumb hooking under to spread your puffy lips just enough to expose more of that sensitive pearl. The motion dragging his cock the tiniest bit inside you — barely a rock, just enough to let the fat crown nudge your spongy spot while his fingers worked your clit relentlessly. Fresh slick gushed out around him, thick and syrupy — coating his hand, dripping down his wrist in warm rivulets that soaked into the sheets.
Your hips bucked back helplessly, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, trying to grind into his touch even as your pussy clenched tighter around the thick intrusion splitting you open. Every filthy circle sent sparks shooting straight up your spine, your clit throbbed so hard it hurt in the sweetest way, walls spasming around his cock like they were trying to pull him even deeper.
“Goddamn…ya feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with praise and filth. “How your cunt ’s grippin’ me every time I rub this pretty clit? Squeezin’ like she’s beggin’ for more even though she’s already stuffed full. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ mess. Look how she’s leakin’ just from my fingers. So fuckin’ sensitive.”
He sped up just a fraction, circles turning tighter, faster. The pad of his finger flicking quick over the swollen tip of your clit before smoothing back into those slow, filthy loops. Your cries turned desperate, hoarse and wrecked, sobs muffled into the bear as your thighs shook harder, pussy fluttering wild around his cock. Thick cream bubbled out with every clench — frothing white at his base, dripping in sticky strands that clung to his heavy balls.
Toji groaned deep and feral, his hips finally rocking once, a slow, deep grind that dragged every veined inch along your gummy walls while his fingers never stopped. The dual sensation punched the air out of your lungs, clit rubbed raw and throbbing, cunt stretched wide and filled to the brim.
“Can’t get enough of touchin’ you,” he confessed, voice breaking with how wrecked he was. “This puffed-out little clit… so gooey and sappy… jumpin’ under my fingers like it’s alive. Fuck…baby, you’re gonna come again just like this. Gonna make this fat pussy squirt all over my hand while I’m still buried balls-deep.”
He pinched your clit gently, rolling it between thumb and finger, then went right back to those filthy circles, smearing more of your cream around the swollen bud until it glistened obscene under the fairy lights. Your whole body seized, your back arching hard, ass pressing back desperately against him, your narrow walls clamping down like a vice around his thick cock.
“That’s it ahh…come for me again,” he praised, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Let me feel this pussy milk me while I rub this pretty clit raw. My sweet girl… my filthy, pretty girl… gush for me, baby. Show me how much you love it when I can’t stop touchin’ you.”
One more tight, filthy circle pressed hard right over the tip and you shatter.
Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping down brutally around his cock, walls fluttering wild as thick spurts of slick squirted out around him, hot and messy — soaking his hand, drenching his thighs, pooling warm under your ass on the already wrecked sheets. Your clit throbbed helplessly under his fingers, overstimulated and raw, sending aftershock after aftershock ripping through you until your legs gave out completely.
Toji didn’t pull his hand away. Just kept those slow, soothing circles, gentler now — petting your puffed-out clit through the tremors while his cock stays buried deep, throbbing hard inside your fluttering, creamy cunt.
“Haah…fuck…there’s my girl,” he sighs, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Comin’ so hard just from my fingers… makin’ such a cute, sloppy mess. Can’t stop touchin’ you, baby. Not when this little clit’s still jumpin’ for me… not when your pussy’s still grippin’ me like she never wants me to stop.”
He rocked once, letting you feel every thick inch while his fingers kept circling lazy, keeping you right on that overstimulated edge.
“Gonna keep goin’,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with adoration. “Gonna keep rubbin’ this pretty clit… keep fuckin’ you slow… till you’re cryin’ and squirting again. Till you’re nothin’ but a shakin’, creamy mess for me. My perfect girl… my filthy little thing… all mine.”
And he did, his fingers never stopping those filthy circles, cock grinding deep and slow, turning you into a drooling, trembling puddle while your stuffed bear stayed clutched tight in your shaking hands, soaked with tears and drool and the endless proof of how good he made you feel.
Toji’s cock was buried to the hilt, his thick-veined base flush against your swollen puffy lips, heavy balls pressed hot to your clit like they belonged there. Your little fat pussy was stretched obscene around him, your gummy walls parted wide, clinging desperate to every ridged inch like they’d forgotten how to close. You were gaped already, your poor hole fluttering open every time he stayed still too long, the rim puffy and flushed dark pink, glistening with thick layers of your syrupy cream and his endless pre. Slick dripping steady from where you were joined, slow, sticky ropes that clung to his shaft, webbing down to his balls, pooling warm under your ass on the wrecked sheets.
You were shaking, whole body trembling, face still mashed into the mattress, drool soaking the stuffed bear you clutched like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your cries had turned hoarse, soft and wrecked whimpering every time his cock throbbed deep inside, nudging that spongy spot that made your toes curl and your tummy quiver.
He groans low, the sound ripping from his chest like it hurt to feel how tight you still were even after all the pounding, big scarred hands gripped your soft waist harder, his fingers sinking into plush flesh, holding you exactly where he wanted while he started to pull out.
Slow.
Agonizingly slow.
The drag was filthy, every veined inch sliding free with wet, obscene schlicks that filled the room. Your pussy lips dragged along his shaft, puffy and glossy, clinging greedily like they didn’t want to let go. The fat pink crown caught on your rim, stretching it wider one last time before popping free with a lewd, sucking pop. Your hole gaped open immediately, pink and wrecked, fluttering helplessly around nothing, thick strings of cream stretching from your entrance to his dripping tip like obscene bridges before snapping wet against your inner thighs.
“Haah…fuck…look at that,” he said disbelieving,“This little hole’s gaped so pretty for me… still clenchin’ like she’s missin’ me already. So fuckin’ sloppy, baby. Drippin’ everywhere just ‘cause I pulled out.”
You whimpered, hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the emptiness even as your walls fluttered wild. But Toji wasn’t done teasing.
He lined up again, the fat tip nudging your gaping entrance, smearing thick pre over the stretched rim, then he pushed.
Deeper.
Harder.
One long, brutal glide that sank every thick inch back inside until his hips slapped flush against your ass, cockhead bullying past your cervix, stirring your guts up in that dizzying, overwhelming way that made your eyes roll back. You felt him everywhere. Hot, heavy fullness stretching from your stuffed hole all the way up like he was rearranging you from the inside. Your tummy bulged faintly under his palm when he pressed down, feeling the outline of his cock moving deep, claiming every inch of your soft insides.
“Fuuuck…there it is,” he growled, hips grinding slow circles now, letting you feel him throb against your deepest walls. “Feel me in your throat, sweetheart? Stirrin’ up your guts… makin’ this pretty pussy taking me so deep she’s cryin’. My good girl… my perfect, stretched-out girl.”
Your cries turning guttural and raw, sounds muffled into the bear as he starts thrusting again, long punishing strokes that pull almost all the way out every time, only to slam back in deeper, harder, stirring your insides into a gooey, creamy mess. Slick squirting out with every pull-back, thick and white-frothed, coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs in warm rivers that soaked everything beneath you.
Then his thick thumb found your tight puckered asshole.
He didn’t ask…Didn’t tease.
Just pressed the blunt pad right against your clenched ring — hot, callused pressure that made your whole body jolt. Your hole fluttering instinctive, tight and untouched, trying to push him out even as your pussy clenched harder around his pounding cock.
“Shhh…relax for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and filthy-sweet against your ear. ‘m'gonna plug this pretty little hole too. Keep you so full… till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’ for me.”
He pushes in so…so carefully, his thick thumb breaching the tight ring with a soft pop. The stretch burning sweet… the foreign fullness made your back arch hard, ass pushing back desperately onto both intrusions. Your asshole clamping down greedily around his thumb, sucking him into the first knuckle, while your pussy flutters wildly around his thick cock, walls spasming so hard it milks another thick spurt of pre deep inside you.
“Haah…fuck y-yeah,” he groans, thumb sinking deeper, and a slow twist of his thumb... has your hole clenching and fluttering around him. “Takin’ my thumb so good… tight little ass huggin’ me just like your pussy. Feel that? Both holes ngh stuffed f-full”… his cock stirrin’ your guts, thumb pluggin’ up your pretty asshole. “You’re mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”
He starts moving — thumb rocking shallow in time with his deep thrusts, cock slamming home every time his thumb pushes in, pulling out together in a filthy rhythm that makes your whole body rock forward into the mattress. Your clit rubbed raw against the sheets now — trapped and throbbing — every grind sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until tears streamed hot down your cheeks.
Your cries were nonstop, hoarse, wrecked sobs into your stuffed bear, your body trembling violently as he fucked you deeper, thumb plugging your ass, cock stretching your gaped pussy wide. Slick gushing with every thrust, thick, creamy ropes squirting out around his base, soaking his hand where it worked your plugged hole, drenching the bed in a warm, sticky puddle.
“God…look at you,” he praised, voice breaking with how close he was. “Takin’ everything… Such a good girl… my girl. Gonna make you come like this… gonna feel you milk me till I’m pumpin’ you full.”
He ground deeper, thumb twisting slow inside your tight ass, bulbous cockhead bullying your cervix, stirring everything up until the pressure coiled unbearable in your belly.
“Come for me, baby.” he says softly, lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek gently.
One more deep, brutal thrust, thumb sinking to the base, cock slamming home fully and you shattered.
Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping like a vice around his thick shaft, asshole fluttering wild around his thumb, clit throbbing helpless against the friction. Thick spurts of slick squirts out around him — hot and messy — soaking everything as you scream his name into the bear, tears and drool mixing on the sheets.
Toji goes all breathless, hips stuttering as your walls milked him ruthlessly.
“Fuck...yeah…take it, baby,” he pants, grinding deep through your orgasm. “Gonna come… gonna fill this pretty little cunt… gonna plug you so full you’ll feel me for days.”
And with one last deep thrust, thumb buried in your ass, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed, creamy hole he starts to spill. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your gummed walls — pulse after pulse — stirring your insides even more as he keeps grinding slow, keeping you plugged front and back while you shook and sobbed and came undone completely around him.
And Toji Zenin still wasn’t done touching you.
Not by a long shot.
Toji finally eased his thumb out of your twitching little asshole, slow and careful, letting the tight ring flutter shut with a soft, wet sound that made your whole body shiver one last time. His cock slipped free next, his thick length dragging along your ruined walls until the fat crown popped out with a lewd, sucking pop. A hot gush of cum followed immediately, thick, creamy ropes spilling from your gaping pussy in slow, obscene waves, dripping down your inner thighs, pooling sticky and warm beneath your ass on the already-soaked sheets.
You were trembling, completely spent, limbs heavy and breath coming in shaky little pants, face still buried halfway into the rumpled comforter with drool stringing from the corner of your swollen lips. Your stuffed bear was crushed, forgotten against your chest, fur matted and damp from tears and spit and everything else.
Toji didn’t move away.
He rolled you gently, almost tenderly — onto your back, big scarred hands sliding under your soft thighs and waist to lift you like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread legs again, kneeling tall over you, sweat-glistening chest heaving while he looked down at the absolute mess he’d made of his pretty girl.
Your pussy was wrecked, lips puffy and dark, gaping open just enough to show the creamy white mess inside, clit still swollen and flushed, twitching with aftershocks. Cum leaked out in lazy pulses, mixing with your own slick, running in glossy trails down your perineum.
But his eyes softened when they reached your face.
All tear-streaked cheeks, glassy eyes, puffy lips still shining with spit.
“My pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but so fucking gentle now it made your chest ache.
He leaned down slow, his big heated body blanketing yours without crushing you and cups your face in both rough palms. Thumbs brushed away the fresh tears clinging to your lashes, smearing them gently across your flushed skin.
Toji didn’t pull out.
Not even a little.
He stayed buried to the root, his thick, heavy cock throbbing slow and deep inside your stuffed cunt, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls it felt like your pussy had forgotten how to exist without him filling it. The fat pink crown was pressed right up against your cervix — hot, insistent pressure that made your tummy flutter every time his heartbeat pulsed through the shaft. Cum was already leaking — thick, sticky ropes of it flooding your insides from the last brutal spill, so much that you could feel the warm, syrupy weight of it pooling deep in your guts, pressing against your walls like liquid heat.
Your poor hole was gaped just enough around his base, puffy lips stretched thin and glossy, clinging desperate to the thickest part of him like they were scared he’d slip free. But he wasn’t going anywhere, he just held you there, his hips flush to your ass, one big scarred hand splayed wide over your soft tummy so he could feel the faint swell where his cock and all that cum was making you bulge ever so slightly from the inside.
“Shhh… just like this, sweetheart,” he murmured low against the back of your neck, lips brushing damp skin in soft, lazy kisses. “Just cock warming. No more fuckin’ right now. Gonna let this pretty pussy soak in every drop I gave her… keep her nice and full, yeah?”
You whimpered — soft, a wrecked little sound muffled into the stuffed bear still clutched tight to your chest. Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated, oversensitive, thighs quivering where they were still squeezed shut and held down beneath his weight. Slick and cum mixed into a warm, sticky mess between you, dripping slowly out around his base in thick, pearly strands that clung to your inner thighs, soaking the sheets in a warm puddle that smelled like sex and him and you all tangled together.
He shifted then, just a tiny rock of his hips, not thrusting, just enough to let his cock stir the cum inside you. The movement made a wet, filthy squelch, your walls fluttering greedy around him, milking another thick bead of leftover seed that oozed deeper into your guts. You felt it, hot and slippery coating every inch of your gummy insides, threatening to drool out if he moved too much, but he didn’t. He just held you closer — arm banding around your waist, palm pressing firmer over that soft little bulge in your tummy like he was proud of how full he’d made you.
“Look how cute you are,” he whispered, voice rough and tender all at once. “Face all flushed… droolin’ on your lil’ bear… pussy so full of my cum she’s practically purring. My pretty girl… my perfect girl.”
He turned your face gently with scarred fingers under your chin, tilting you just enough so he could lean over your shoulder and kiss you slow. Soft at first — scarred lips brushing yours, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long smeared away. Then deeper, tongue sliding lazy against yours, swallowing every tiny whimper you gave him while his cock stayed perfectly still inside you, just throbbing, just warming, just owning.
You moaned into his mouth, a soft and needy sound as another warm trickle of cum leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips. Your clit still swollen and achy, brushed the underside of his shaft with every tiny shift, sending little aftershocks through your core that made your walls flutter and clench around him again.
“Haah…fuck — there she goes,” he groaned against your lips, kissing you deeper, filthier. “Clenchin’ so sweet even when she’s just holdin’ me. Feel all that cum sloshin’ around inside you? So warm… so sticky… gonna keep it all plugged up in there till it’s leakin’ out slow outta you.”
His free hand slid up and cupped the side of your face, thumb stroking slow over your tear-streaked cheek while he kissed you again and again. Forehead pressed to yours now, breath mingling hot and ragged, his green eyes dark and soft as he stared down at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead — lingering, reverent. “All hugged up on my cock… pussy threatenin’ to drool my cum everywhere but still grippin’ me so tight. My good girl… my sweet, stuffed girl. Just stay like this for me, yeah? Let me keep you warm… let me feel how full I made you.”
He rocked once, barely a movement, just a slow grind that stirred the thick load inside you without pulling out. More cum bubbled out hot and slippery coating your puffy lips, dripping slow down to where your clit throbbed against him. You whimpered high and broken — hips twitching instinctively even though you were too spent to chase anything.
Toji shushed you gently, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your mouth again in soft, endless kisses.
“Just this. Just me inside you… keepin’ all that cum nice and warm where it belongs. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… all hugged up and full for me.”
He wrapped both arms around you then, pulling your soft body back flush to his chest, cock still buried deep, still throbbing slow, still leaking the last drops into your stuffed, creamy pussy. Forehead kisses rained down, soft, sweet and lazy in the best way, while he held you close, letting you feel every heartbeat through his shaft, every warm pulse of cum settling deeper inside you.
“Stay just like this,” he whispered one last time, lips lingering on your forehead. “My cute, sweet girl… mine.”
And he didn’t move.
Just held you there — thick cock warming your poor, gaped, cum-stuffed pussy while you trembled and whimpered and clung to your bear, face buried in his neck, soaking in the sticky, overwhelming heat of being so perfectly, completely full of him.
Toji’s arms locked around your waist like steel bands, scarred hands splaying wide over the soft curve of your lower belly, fingers digging in just enough to bruise the plush skin as he yanked you down hard, with no warning. No slow descent. Just raw, possessive force that slammed your dripping pussy all the way onto his thick, throbbing cock in one brutal, claiming drop.
The stretch hit like lightning — your poor gaped hole, forced to swallow every last veiny inch at once, walls parting wide around the fattened girth until his heavy balls slapped wet against your clit and the fat pink crown punched right up against the deepest part of your cervix again. You felt it everywhere — hot, overwhelming fullness stretching from your stuffed entrance all the way up into your guts, making your tummy bulge visibly under his palm where he pressed down firmly to feel himself buried inside you.
“Haah…f-fuck — there it is,” he growled low against the shell of your ear, voice wrecked and deep, breath scorching your neck. “Takin’ every thick fuckin’ inch, sweetheart. All of it. No more teasin’. Just my cock stuffed deep where it belongs.”
Your cry ripped out raw and broken — high, desperate wails muffled into the crook of his shoulder as your body jolted from the sudden depth. Your gummy walls fluttered wild around him, clenching helpless. Spasming like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to push him out or suck him deeper. Slick and leftover cum from before gushed out around his base in thick, creamy ropes,frothing white at the stretch, dripping slow down his heavy sack in warm, sticky trails that soaked into the sheets beneath you both.
He didn’t let you adjust. Just held you there, impaled, trembling, your pussy clenching greedily around the full length of him — while one hand slid up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back gently but firm so he could see your face. Tears streaked hot down your cheeks, lips swollen and parted in endless soft whimpers, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again like you’d forgotten how to swallow.
“Look at you,” he says proudly, green eyes dark and blown with hunger as he stared down at where your puffy lips were stretched thin and glossy around his base — clinging so tight the rim looked almost white-knuckled. “My pretty girl takin’ everything… pussy so full she’s shakin’. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?” His cockhead kissin’ your womb and stirrin’ up all that cum he already pumped in you.
He rocked his hips once, a slow grinding roll that dragged every ridge along your fluttering walls without pulling out. The motion made a wet, filthy squelch, your stuffed pussy protesting the fullness even as it clenched harder, milking him greedy. More thick cream bubbled out — syrupy and white — coating his shaft, dripping down to where your clit throbbed helpless against the veined underside.
“Nngh…Toji —” Your voice cracked,hoarse and wrecked, nails raking down his broad back again, leaving red trails over hard muscle. “S’too much… s’too deep —”
“Shhh, I know, baby,” he murmured, scarred lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek in soft, filthy kisses. “Doin’ so good though. Takin’ this fat cock like you were made for it. Feel how your pussy’s grippin’ me? Squeezin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go. My perfect girl… my sweet girl.”
He pulled you down harder, another sharp yank that seated him impossibly deeper, crown bullying against that spongy spot inside until your back bowed, thighs trembling violently around his hips. Your clit grinding raw against his pelvis — swollen and achy — every tiny shift sending sparks shooting through your core that made your walls flutter and clench harder around him.
Toji groaned deep, the guttural sound vibrating straight through you, then wrapped both arms around your waist, crushing your soft body to his chest. One hand slid down to cup your ass, fingers spreading the plush cheeks wide so he could feel where you were stretched obscene around him, while the other pressed firm over that faint bulge in your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over the spot where he could feel himself moving inside.
“Fuck…look at this,” he breathed, voice thick with praise and filth. “My cock makin’ a pretty little bump right here… fillin’ you up so good you can see it. Gonna keep you right here… just like this”… Cock-warmin’ you deep while he kisses your sweet mouth.
He tilted your chin up, scarred thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip, then claimed your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tongue sliding deep, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long gone, swallowing every broken whimper you gave him while his cock throbbed hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy. No thrusting. Just deep, possessive grinding — tiny rolls of his hips that stirred the thick load of cum already flooding your cunt, making it slosh warm and sticky against your walls.
You moaned into his mouth, soft needy sounds, as another warm trickle leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips to where your clit pulsed against him. Your pussy clenching helpless and fluttering wild — threatening to drool more of that creamy mess if he moved even a little, but he didn’t. Just held you impaled, full, trembling, while he kissed you deeper, tongue fucking slow into your mouth in the same lazy rhythm his cock was grinding inside you.
“So fuckin’ cute,” he whispers against your lips between kisses, forehead pressing to yours, breath mingling hot and ragged. “All hugged up on my dick… pussy so full she’s shakin’. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… takin’ everything I give her. Gonna stay just like this… keep you warm and stuffed… let you feel everything while I kiss you stupid.”
Wanting to feel you constantly, he kept pressing soft kisses to your forehead, then your temple, to your cheek and your mouth again — endless, filthy affection while his arms stayed locked around you, cock buried to the hilt, cum sloshing warm and sticky deep inside your gaped, creamy pussy.
“Mine,” he murmured one last time, lips brushing your forehead in a final, claiming kiss. “All fuckin’ mine.”
And he didn’t move.
Just held you there, thick cock warming your stuffed, trembling pussy, while you whimpered and clung and soaked in the overwhelming heat of being so completely, perfectly taken.
The room had gone quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the thick summer air, fairy lights flickering lazy gold across the rumpled sheets like dying embers. You were out cold — completely fucked-out and boneless, face half-buried in the crook of Toji’s neck, one arm slung loose over his chest, legs still tangled with his like you couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep. Your breathing had evened out into those slow, deep little puffs that made your lips part every exhale, drool already pooling at the corner of your mouth onto his collarbone. Cute. Wrecked. His.
He stayed like that for a long while, his arm banded around your waist, scarred palm resting possessive over the faint swell in your lower tummy where his cock and all that cum made you bulge just enough to feel under his hand. Every time you shifted in your sleep, tiny and little unconscious rolls of your hips, your pussy clenched tighter around him, gummy walls sucking greedy like even unconscious you didn’t want him to leave. It made his cock twitch — still half-hard, still leaking the last sluggish drops into your overflowing heat.
Toji hadn’t moved much since he’d pulled you down onto every thick inch and held you there, his cock still buried deep, warming your cum-stuffed pussy while the last pulses of his cum settled heavy and hot inside you.
Your walls kept fluttering around him in tiny, sleepy spasms — soft little squeezes that milked another lazy bead of seed from his tip even though he wasn’t thrusting anymore.
The mess between you was obscene; thick ropes of cum and your syrupy cream leaking slow out around his base, coating his heavy balls, dripping in warm, sticky trails down your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath your ass in a cooling puddle that smelled like sex and salt and him.
Eventually the ache in his thighs and the way your breathing had gone soft and even, told him you were really gone, deep in that post-orgasm haze where nothing existed but warmth and fullness and him.
Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, a low satisfied rumble in his chest, then started to move.
Careful. So fucking careful.
He slid one big hand under your thigh, lifting it just enough to ease the angle, while the other stayed splayed over your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over that soft pudge like he was soothing you even in your sleep. Then he pulled.
Slow…
Inch by torturous inch.
The drag was filthy, your poor gaped hole clinging desperate to every veiny ridge as he withdrew, gummy walls fluttering weak protests around the retreating thickness. Slick and cum made obscene wet sounds, soft schlicks and squelches that filled the quiet room, thick white cream bubbling out around his shaft the second he started to slip free. Strings of it stretched taut between your puffy lips and his glistening cockhead — snapping slow and wet against your inner thighs as he kept pulling.
When the fat pink crown finally popped free with a lewd, sucking pop, your hole gaped open, pink and wrecked, fluttering helpless around nothing. A thick gush of cum followed immediately — hot, sticky ropes drooling slow out of your stretched entrance, sliding down your ass crack in pearly trails, pooling warm under you on the already soaked sheets. Your clit, still swollen and flushed, twitched once at the sudden emptiness, a tiny bead of cream clinging to the tip like a pearl.
Toji stared, breath catching rough in his throat at the sight of his cum leaking from your used little pussy. So much of it. Thick and white and endless, proof of how deep he’d fucked you, how full he’d kept you. Your pussy looked ruined in the prettiest way — lips puffy and parted, hole still trying to clench shut but too stretched to close completely, just drooling his load in slow, obscene pulses.
“Fuck,” he breathed voice low, wrecked, almost reverent. Toji finally took a long inhale, eyes locked on the sight. His pretty girl’s pussy all sloppy and leaking his cum like she couldn’t help it even asleep. Fuck… it made his cock twitch soft against his thigh, already half-interested again for just looking.
He leaned down slow and carefully…not to jostle you too much, breath fanning hot over your sensitive skin and pressed the softest, filthiest kiss right to your swollen clit. Gentle. Worshipful. Lips barely brushing the swollen bud…a warm, lingering press that made your hips twitch tiny in sleep, a soft whimper slipping from your throat. He kissed it again…slower, tongue flicking out just once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum still clinging there. Salty-sweet messy and perfect.
“My pretty girl,” he whispered against your pussy, voice so low it was more breath than sound. “Took me so deep… kept me warm all night. Look at you leakin’ my cum even when you’re sleepin’. So fuckin’ cute.”
Scarred lips brushing the sensitive bud, gentle and lingering, his tongue flicking out once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum clinging there. You whimpered in your sleep, a soft, needy little sound. Your hips twitched forward instinctively even when unconscious, thighs trembling once before settling again.
One more kiss, open-mouthed this time…lips sealing soft around your clit for a heartbeat, sucking the tiniest pull that made your thighs tremble before he let go.
Toji smiled against your pussy…slow, dangerous and so fucking tender, then kissed higher; one soft press to your puffy mound, another to the soft dip of your lower belly where the bulge was slowly fading.
“Fuck… gotta move, baby,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with leftover lust and something softer underneath. “Your dad’s gonna be home soon. Can’t leave you lookin’ like this… all fucked-out and leakin’ me everywhere.”
He didn’t let you wallow in it.
He moved careful, almost gentle, sliding off you and scooping your limp, trembling body into his arms like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled uselessly; your head lolled against his shoulder; your ruined pussy leaked a slow, sticky trail down his abs as he carried you to the tiny attached bathroom.
He set you on the edge of the tub softly with utter care, then ran warm water over a clean washcloth. No rough scrubbing. Just slow, careful wipes, dabbing away the cum and slick smeared across your inner thighs, between your ass cheeks, over your swollen mound. He was thorough, gentle thumbs parting your puffy lips just enough to clean the creamy mess still oozing from your gaping hole, wiping slow circles around your clit until you whimpered and twitched.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your forehead while he worked. “Gotta get you all clean… can’t have you drippin’ all over the place when your dad walks in.”
When you were as clean as he could get you, skin still flushed and sensitive, pussy still puffy and tender, he carried you back to the bed. He stripped the worst of the soaked sheets (bundling them into a ball to deal with later), flipped the comforter over the damp spot, and tucked you in slowly, pulling the soft blanket up to your chin, smoothing it over your trembling body like you were something precious.
“My good girl,” he whispered against your mouth, forehead resting against yours. “Took me so fuckin’ well… let me ruin you so pretty… now sleep, yeah? I’ll handle the rest. You just stay tucked in and dream about how full I made you.”
He knelt beside the bed for a long minute, just watching you, then leaned down and pressed a final, lingering kiss to your swollen lips. Slow. Drooly. Tongue brushing yours one last time like he was memorizing the taste.
He pulled the rumpled sheet up over your body, tucking it around your shoulders gentle and careful, like you were something precious he didn’t want to break even though he’d just spent hours fucking you… making sure your shoulders were covered, your bare feet hidden under the blanket.
He smoothed a hand over your soft tummy, feeling the faint bloat still there from how full he’d left you and then leaned down to kiss your forehead too. Long, tender press of scarred lips.
He kissed your forehead again, soft and possessive, then stood.
You watched through heavy lids as he pulled on his sweatpants (still stained, still smelling like sex), grabbed the bundled sheets, and slipped out the door quiet as a shadow.
The room smelled like him.
Like cum and sweat and summer heat.
Your pussy still ached, emptier… now but throbbing with the memory of how thick he’d been, how deep, how much he’d filled you.
You curled tighter under the blanket, legs pressing together to keep the lingering warmth inside and drifted.
synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution.
Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.
a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL
You died while reading a manhwa.
One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.
The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.
And then you woke up somewhere else.
Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.
You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.
You turn toward the mirror.
The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.
You have transmigrated.
You are now the villainess.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.
The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.
In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.
And now I’m her.
Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.
The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.
“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”
You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”
The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”
The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”
You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”
The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.
Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”
They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.
They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.
The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.
There he is.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.
You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.
His knife stops mid-cut.
The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.
Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.
You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”
The words hang in the air.
Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.
“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”
He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.
“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”
Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.
You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.
The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.
By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.
You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.
Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.
A gruff “Come in” came from inside.
You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.
The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.
Then his crimson eyes flicked up.
The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.
You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.
“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”
He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.
“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”
His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.
“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.
Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.
“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.
“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”
He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.
You didn’t argue.
You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.
Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
That went badly.
You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.
Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.
You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?
If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.
You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?
It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.
You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.
The next morning arrived quietly.
You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.
You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.
You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.
About an hour later, the door opened.
Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.
For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.
“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”
You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.
“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”
Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.
“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”
You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”
He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”
You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”
Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.
“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”
But he didn’t ask you to leave.
You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.
It wasn’t much.
But it also wasn’t outright rejection.
You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.
Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.
“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”
You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.
“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”
The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.
You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”
Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.
“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.
“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.
You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.
This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.
But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.
You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.
Tomorrow it is.
The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.
You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.
You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.
They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.
You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.
“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.
A firm knock sounded at the door.
“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.
You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.
Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.
His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.
“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.
“I said I would,” you replied simply.
He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.
You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”
You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”
Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.
The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.
When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.
Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.
“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.
You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.
“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”
The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.
The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.
You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.
Tonight was different.
Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.
A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”
Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”
The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”
You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.
“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”
“I thought she hated him…”
“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”
Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.
Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.
For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”
You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”
His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”
“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”
Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.
A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.
“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”
Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”
You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.
Suddenly, you were alone.
You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.
A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.
“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”
You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.
“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”
His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”
Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”
The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.
Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”
You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Sukuna.
His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.
Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.
“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”
Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”
You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.
Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”
Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.
“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”
Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.
He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”
The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.
You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.
“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”
His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.
“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”
You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”
Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.
“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”
His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.
Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.
“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”
His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.
The music swelled again around you.
Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.
“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”
Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.
He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.
“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”
You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”
The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.
As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.
“Sukuna…” you started softly.
He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.
“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”
The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.
When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.
“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”
He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.
The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.
Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.
The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.
By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.
When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.
When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.
“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”
He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.
You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.
“Wait…”
Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.
You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"
The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.
Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.
“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”
He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.
“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.
Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.
Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.
“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”
He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”
He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.
The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.
His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.
Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.
“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”
He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.
“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.
You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.
Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.
You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.
For a long second he just stared.
Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.
“Come here,” he said, voice low.
You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.
You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.
The silence was heavy.
“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”
He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”
Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.
The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.
Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”
He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.
For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.
Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”
You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.
“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.
Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.
He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.
“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”
Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”
Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.
God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.
He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”
You didn’t make him wait long.
You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.
“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”
A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.
Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.
The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.
Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.
“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”
You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.
There was no point in holding back anymore.
“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Bullshit.”
The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.
“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”
You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.
“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”
You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”
His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.
“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”
His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.
“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”
The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.
Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.
You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.
“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.
“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”
His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.
“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.
Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.
“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”
He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.
“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”
His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.
Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.
“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”
You didn’t hesitate any longer.
Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.
Then he took control.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.
You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.
“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”
He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.
“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”
He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.
Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.
“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”
You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.
“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”
His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.
You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.
He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”
One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.
“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”
He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.
He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.
“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”
He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.
You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.
“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”
He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”
His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.
It snapped.
You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.
He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.
“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.
He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.
“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”
His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”
You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.
Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”
He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.
You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.
Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.
He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.
“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”
He pushed forward slowly.
The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.
“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”
He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.
You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”
He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.
“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.
You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.
“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.
“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”
A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.
You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.
“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”
“Good girl.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.
The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.
“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”
The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.
“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”
“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”
It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”
Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.
Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”
He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.
Sukuna went feral.
He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.
You were cockdrunk almost immediately.
Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.
“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.
He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.
“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.
“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.
Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.
“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”
You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”
Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.
He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.
“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.
Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.
“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.
He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.
“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.
You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.
Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”
You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”
He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.
You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.
“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”
He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.
Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.
But he didn’t let go.
a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
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