poor gojo just wants his lovely wife to himself… but the house has been way too full.
gojo x female!reader, nsfw, virgin!reader, mdni
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
You loved your family. You loved his friends. You’d smiled through every gathering, every sudden visit, every “we were just in the neighborhood” moment that somehow ended in sleepovers and breakfast for six. You didn’t complain. You didn’t want to be ungrateful. They were happy for your marriage, and you were too.
Not one single night to yourselves. Not one uninterrupted moment where you could curl into your husband's arms and let him touch you the way he wanted to. The way he needed to.
And Gojo, bless him, had been trying.
At first, it was teasing: a soft groan against your ear as he passed behind you in the kitchen. Wandering hands beneath the blanket during movie nights, barely concealed under the weight of guests spread across your couch. Quick kisses that left your lips tingling and your thighs pressed together beneath your sundress.
And definitely not for you.
Because it didn’t stop there.
By week three, Gojo’s restraint had worn paper-thin. He was constantly behind you. Pressing against your back in the hallway, brushing his lips over your shoulder while pretending to reach for something overhead. His palm would rest just a little too long on your waist when people were watching- but when they weren’t?
He’d dip low and whisper filth against your skin. Hot, needy things that made your face flush and your thighs ache. Things he meant.
“m'Gonna come in my pants if you keep sitting like that, baby…”
“Can’t even look at you without thinking about how good that pussy’s gonna feel wrapped around me.”
“Bet you’re dripping under that little dress, huh? All soft and untouched and mine.”
You’d wake up in the middle of the night with his arms around your waist and his hard-on pressed firm into your ass. Sometimes he’d rut against you in his sleep, breath hitching, hand sliding beneath your shirt, just resting there. Shaking with need.
By the end of week six, you were both losing it.
He wouldn’t let you bend over in front of him anymore. Wouldn’t let you wear certain dresses in the house. Wouldn’t sit on the same couch during movie night because he knew he’d end up pulling you onto his lap, rocking you against his clothed cock until you soaked through your panties.
You were holding your breath every damn day. Hiding the way your nipples hardened when he walked in the room. The way your core throbbed just from watching him clench his jaw in frustration. The way you got wet when he looked at you like he might say fuck it, consequences be damned, and take you right there on the kitchen counter.
Eventually, you both agreed on the “pillow rule.”
Something. Anything to keep the peace. To keep your hands to yourselves. At night, you'd sleep with a firm pillow between your bodies like a pathetic little chastity belt. You both laughed the first night,Gojo called it “the cockblock cushion”but now?
Now the pillow was discarded on the floor.
You sat on his lap, legs sprawled over his, your cotton sleep shirt hitched up around your waist, the only barrier long gone. His deep, shaky breaths fanned the back of your neck, nose pressed into your skin like he couldn’t get close enough.
“I can’t—ngghhh,” you whimpered, hips twitching at the slow, maddening drag of his fingers inside you.
“Shh, baby. Shh,” he whispered again, kissing the shell of your ear, voice thick and desperate. “Quiet. They’re still here.”
His best friend was passed out on the downstairs couch. Your cousin and her boyfriend had taken the guest room. Someone else had claimed the pull-out. The house was full,every room but this one.
Not when his fingers were moving like that, slow and deep and so damn intentional. Curling just right. Knuckles pressing against the lips of your pussy, dragging slick sounds from your core that you both prayed the fan would drown out.
His abs clenched hard beneath your back every time you fluttered around his fingers. “I know it’s a lot, baby,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your jaw, “I know it feels so good, but we need this…”
His hands didn’t stop. One arm wrapped tight around your middle, palm flat and firm over the plush of your stomach like he loved the way you filled his hands. The other worked between your thighs with slow, desperate care, slick, messy strokes hidden only by the hush of your shallow breathing and the fan humming overhead.
Your body arched helplessly, thighs trembling around him, every curve aching with the heat he’d stirred up for weeks. Your fingers dug into his forearm where it circled your belly. You felt stretched and full and so warm, everything pulsing with years of restraint unraveling in seconds. The press of his palm against your mound sent sparks up your spine, and you bit your lip so hard you tasted copper.
“I-I thought we were waiting,” you breathed out, voice soft and broken, barely there.
“We were,” Gojo said, dragging his lips down your neck, tongue flicking out to soothe the spot he’d just kissed. “But I waited through the wedding. Waited through the honeymoon we never got. Waited through eight goddamn weeks of company, of you walking around in little nightgowns with no idea how close I was to losing it.”
He curled his fingers inside you then, slow and deep.
His other hand trailing upward, warm and steady as it cupped your breast, fingers slipping beneath your shirt to find your nipple.
Gojo groaned, deep and strained, like even he couldn’t take it anymore.
His thumb brushed over your nipple in slow, circling strokes, teasing it to a stiff peak before giving it a gentle tug. You shuddered, keening softly.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “So soft. So fuckin’ perfect everywhere. I could spend hours on these tits alone.”
He twisted gently, just enough to make your hips jolt and your walls flutter around his fingers. It was too much, his hand on your nipple, his fingers inside you, his mouth dragging kisses over your cheek like you were the only thing he believed in.
“Good girl,” he rasped, kissing your cheek again, then down to your jaw. “My good girl. Look how fuckin’ pretty you are like this.”
So full of him you thought you might cry.
“I-it’s too much,” you gasped, eyes fluttering, voice high and breathless. “Feels so good—too good, I never—oh my god—I never felt like this…”
You rambled helplessly, your thoughts unraveling like thread, hips rolling without control.
And when you clenched hard, back arching, mouth dropping open in a sharp, helpless moan, Gojo felt it.
His breath caught, then he moaned, low and guttural, thrusting up against your plush ass with barely concealed need. And just as your cry spilled out, his hand slipped from your breast to your mouth, covering it quickly, palm broad and warm against your lips.
He panted against your ear, voice trembling with restraint. “Oh fuck—there she is. That sweet little virgin cunt just milking my fingers,” he whispered, filthy and low. “So tight for me. So perfect.”
You whined into his palm, whole body shaking. The pressure was unbearable now, sharp and tight and growing, your thighs trembling, stomach tightening with every curl of his fingers and every flick of his thumb.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he murmured again, his hand never slowing. “Wanna feel you soak my fingers. Right here in our bed, while everyone else sleeps. Want you to make a mess for me. Wanna see you squirt all over my fuckin’ hand.”
You whimpered, nodded, helpless.
And with one final stroke, his fingers curling deep, his thumb flicking faster, his teeth nipping your earlobe, you shattered.
Trembling, gasping beneath his hand, you came hard, sensitive, overwhelmed, wetness gushing down your thighs as you squirted for the first time in your life. Your whole body jerked, your chubby frame spasming in his lap while your pussy clenched around his fingers like a vice.
Gojo groaned against your ear, holding you down with one arm like he couldn’t bear to let go.
“Fuck, fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, kissing your cheek as you writhed. “That’s my girl. You’re mine, baby. You’re all mine.”
He held you through it, his free arm still tight around your waist, his lips never leaving your face, your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, whispering praises while you came apart in his lap.
Only when your body finally sagged against him, limp and breathless, did he move his hand from your mouth and kiss you, slow and deep and full of all the things he hadn’t said.
“I love you,” he breathed against your lips.
dededos
gummygunk
jacobvanloon
titsay
germansingergirl
