i find the concept of bf!gojo teleporting to your apartment when you’re mad at him and ignoring his texts so funny
like he knows you’ll probably just be more mad and will end up slapping him for even trying that bs with his limitless but you’re severely underestimating his need for your attention.
you’re reading a book, lying on your stomach, calm in those extra fancy sheets satoru bought for you. and then he’s there. well, right next to the side of your bed, blindfold shoved up above his eerily blue eyes. your head snaps as you see him out your peripheral, jumping back immediately, nearly rolling off your bed when he appears.
“listen, baby—” a book hits him in his face—well almost does. it bounces off his…force field thingy…? if you’re honest every time he goes off on a tangent on his powers you just space out and nod along saying ‘so cool, toru’. he frowns like it’s an insane thing you tried to do that.
“what on earth is wrong with you, gojo!?” your voice is laced with shock, clenching your hands on the sheets, still a little shaken up from seeing his figure randomly appear in your room during your ‘decompressing time’ where you were supposed to be free of him.
“gojo? c’mon, you can’t be that mad?”
you ready your pillow in your hands, knowing it’ll still probably bounce right off if you throw it at him.
“what part of ‘fuck off.’ do you not get?” you’re raising your voice now and he looks physically hurt by it.
“well you said until i was ready to apologize,” he bends down, lying his arms on the bed infront of you while you jolt away. he frowns even more. “and i am, dear.” you kick his hands away when they try and trace his way up your shins.
he pouts like a child denied ice cream.
“i, satoru gojo,” he lies his head on the bed, still looking at you as he crones his head to the side. “apologize to my amazing, utterly gorgeous girlfriend, for embarrassing you infront of your boss.”
“you are such a child.” he sighs. you’re probably right—he got shitfaced infront of all your coworkers on wine coolers and disgustingly sweet alcohol, after insisting upon coming, and saying utter bullshit to your boss like a college kid. “and you just teleport here with your stupid powers? go to hell, satoru.” you throw the pillow, hitting him dead in the face after he deactivates his limitless.
you hate how cute he looks all pathetic like this, letting you throw stuff at him because he deserves this—he does—and just lying his face by your feet all pouty looking up at you. and you hate how his face actually makes you fold.
“you can sleep on my couch, tonight.” his head shoots up, dopey frog looking ass smile spreading across his face.
he ignores the rest of what you say unintentionally while he thinks about how so goddamn happy he is you don’t hate hate him.
he’s so fucking stupid.
not proofread ! btw this is not frog face gojo hate he looked his sexiest in shinjuku. and YES this is a reupload
watching you cry out of overstimulation, pliant body laying limp on top of him as he thrusted his cock inside your unimaginably soft pussy.
"'s too-" a teary gasp escaped your lips, head tilting backwards to plead with your mean boyfriend, "h-heavy- hngh-"
"heavy?" he grinned, hips snapping up into you with no signs of stopping, "you're the one laying on top of me, sweets."
"toruuuu-" your eyes rolled back, a broken whine emitting from your throat as your head falls back onto his shoulder.
his hand comes up to roll your nipple between his fingers, the feel of his pressure on your already bruised and tender skin making you thrash and twitch.
"'m full," you gasp, pushing your palms flat against the bed to attempt to get off of him, to take out his mean and relentless cock out of your poor pussy. "m- stomach- ngh! c-can't-"
he tuts, pulling you back onto his body, angling his cock to thrust at that specific spot, "running away, already?"
his hand comes down to circle your clit. your eyes widen as you look down, mouth falling open in a silent cry as tears cascade down your cheeks from the overstimulation.
"s-slo-" you hiccup, hand coming over his, trying to form words to tell him to slow down on your clit.
flashes of white spark behind your eyelids, your seventh orgasm nearing on at an alarming pace.
satoru grits his teeth when he feels your walls tighten around him, hips now snapping at an almost punishing pace as he attempts to chase down his high along with yours.
his palm cups your open jaw, pulling your face upwards to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, drinking up your moans and cries as he fucks your through the bed.
your thighs tremble, hands gripping onto him, grabbing on any skin that you could, nails digging in and drawing blood as you finally feel your orgasm crash into you.
you gasped into satoru's mouth, feeling him speed up impossibly more and then his load shooting inside of you.
he stayed there, pushing his cock as deep into you as possible, pulsing and twitching as he emptied his balls inside you. you laid limp in his arms, hiccuping as he peppered soft kisses all over your face.
your stomach felt too full, as if it would burst open any moment.
your boyfriend was way too obsessed with filling you with his seed.
☀︎ SATORU GOJO is the only person who could fuck you mid-argument.
i mean, one moment, you're complaining about how close he was to a girl today.
something about how he let her flirt with him 'without having the decency and respect' to tell her that he was beautifully taken by a beautiful girl.
something about how you always (not true) have to tell girls that your precious boyfriend is taken while he sits there and does nothing (also not true).
another moment, you're bent over, trying to whine about how much of a piece of shit he is while he dicks you down, half apologetic, half amused. amused at the fact that you even had the courage to talk to him the way you had.
"sorry, baby," he says, but you're not sure if he's talking to you, or the pussy he was submured in, because hell, it was definitely talking to him. "'m really sorry... 'kay?"
he's whispering in your ear, but you can't seem to comprehend a word he's saying. the dick's too good.
he grabs your jaw with one hand, and grips the sheets with another, his chest warm against your back.
every thrust forces a moan from your throat, but you can't quite talk.
not like he wanted you to, anyway. you'd done enough of that.
"i didn't mean to make you jealous, baby," his brows furrow as he looks down at you with those blue eyes that you love so fucking much. "you're– you're the best, i swear, my– fuckkk,"
he pushes his upper half away from you, letting go of your jaw and moving his large hands down to your ass.
squeezing it, his thrusts slow down, and it makes him smirk.
the sight of his dick easingggg in and out of you? he loves that shit.
you? you're still whining and trying your best to shit-talk. satoru knows you can't. you never can when he's fucking you this good.
and there's never a time where he's not fucking you this good.
"f–fuck you," you finally push out, knuckles aching from the grip you had on the sheets.
"you can, baby," he grins, moving a hand up your back. "i promise, only you can." he almost whispers, but he knows you can hear it.
A brow is arched at the incoherent babbling coos of a baby that has the same cerulean coloured eyes as your husband- who is.. currently sprawled upon the play mats within the soft-lit nursery. The same gentle beam emerges from the night-lamp that your daughter insists in keeping it on throughout her slumber.
You remember how Satoru had flickered the light off with his fingers after reading her a bed time story and- well.
The sounds of your husband’s whining was much more durable to listen to rather than the incessant wailing of your baby.
Shaking your head slightly at the memory, you approach the little duo that resides within the most baby-proofed room in the estate, sitting next to Satoru cross legged. He perks his head up from his sprawled position, that signature smile on his face when he realises that his beloved wife is here.
“Listen,” He chirps- poking her pudgy little foot, eliciting a delighted gurgle from her chubbier cheeks. “She just told me that she knows mamas famous cookie recipe. Y’know, the one where she adds an extra drop of vanilla extract for papa’s sweet tooth cravings.”
Said baby looks at him as if he had just uttered out that she’d committed a felony. She puffs out her chubby cheeks before clumsily padding her pudgy limbs all the way to your lap and nestles her bottom on your thigh. Her actions translating in words to: ‘mama is my favourite now.’
He gasps, a hand placed on his heart, “You traitor! After all of the diaper changes! This is how you treat me??”
A giggle escapes your lips at his theatrics before eagerly cuddling your potato of a baby, “She has good taste.”
Feeling further defamed by his own wife and kid, he slumps. “Et tu, Brute?”
“Mamamama!” As if to further prove that you were her favourite parent- she cuddles her fat cheek against your chest, before her greedy pudgy hands try to tug your top down to satiate her hunger.
The gasp that urges from his throat sounds more like a sob than a huff.
🏐 "𝑺𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑼 𝑮𝑶𝑱𝑶," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw "hatefucking with gojo!" ꗃ .. smut mdni ꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ mina says reupload from toruzip ⁀ ˳ ⟡
You shouldn't have joked about not wanting your children to have blue eyes.
Your limbs felt like jelly, ass red with marks that resembled a certain man with white hair’s hands, and thighs trembling with squirt and cum dribbling down them. Initially you had tried to complain, on your hands and knees while snarkily replying back to him. Now… now you just took his cock, arms limp under you, your face and tits squished against the sofa, lewd loud moans being muffled into the pillow beneath your face that Satoru had so graciously placed.
“... ‘t-toru..” you mewled with a soft whine.
Satoru’s cock was driving in and out fast of your sloppy pussy with a pace that had you feeling numb from waist down. The wet ‘plap! plap! plap!’ filling the room, as Satoru leaned down, his sweaty muscular chest pressed against your arched back. “Yeah? Not complaining now, are you?” He punctuated his words with a hard slap to your ass, making you whimper out into the pillow.
“M’ssoryyyyy.. I–it was j–just a joke..!” you drawled on your words, before letting out a louder moan into the pillow, when the thick tip of Satoru’s cock hit your cervix.
Satoru leaned back up, his hands braced on either side of your hips, pressed against the soft material of the couch. His gaze darkened a little while he smirked down at you, lips twitching before he patted your ass so sweetly, as if he wasn't currently rearranging your insides. He let out a husky chuckle, “yeah? You say you’re joking now?”. He bit his lip at the sight of you, limp and breathless under him, just taking his cock like it was the only thing you could do. He hesitated, before leaning down over you again.
"You’re so fucking pathetic…" he huffed against your ear, his hot breath fanning against your earlobe. You could feel his soft lips brushing against his hips continuing their relentless thrusts on your dripping cunt. Your pussy clenched and quivered around his thick cock.
“..I–.. I hate you…” you moaned shamelessly into the pillow, letting out a small cry of pleasure when he hit your cervix again.
“I know you don’t, baby,” he mumbled softly, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your hair. You almost mumbled out an ‘I love you’ until satoru sped up his hips again, fucking into your pussy with increased speed and lust. His eyes darkening at the sight of your plump ass jiggling, and your moans spilling out, muffled against the pillow as if you couldn’t fight it.
“I’ll f-fuck a baby into you.. show you just how pretty our children would look with my eyes and your–fuck... hair..”
᭡୧ synopsis: in which your brother’s best friend, satoru gojo has spent years keeping his distance, treating you like the little sister he’s supposed to protect. but when your brother leaves town and asks him to “keep an eye on you,” the careful line he’s been walking finally starts to crack. what was meant to be an innocent visit to check on you quickly turns into something forbidden and filthy, something neither of you can walk away from anymore.
᭡୧ pairings: brother’s best friend!satoru x fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: heavy yearning, heavy sexu-al tension (like super heavy!), emotional restraints, dry hum-ping, protected se-x, ti-ts play, sp-it play (?), mutual pining, did i say heavy se-xual tension? slight size kink, overstim, thigh rid-ing, we have an aftercare this time yayyyy! — word count: 7.2k+
note: heavily unedited, kinda mismatched timeline so pls lmk what should be fixed. — art credit to the right owner! idk their name so pls lmk as well.
you’ve known satoru gojo since you were twelve years old and he was fourteen, the loud, white-haired boy your older brother dragged home after school like a stray cat he refused to leave behind.
back then satoru was all gangly limbs and bright blue eyes, always stealing your snacks and letting you ride on his shoulders when your brother got tired of carrying you. the three of you became a little unite almost instantly. movie nights on the living room floor, summer afternoons at the park, late-night video games where satoru would let you win just to watch you cheer.
your brother was officially his best friend, but somewhere along the line the lines blurred.
you were never sure if satoru was your brother’s best friend or yours. he was just… satoru. the constant reminder in your life who knew how you liked your ice cream and remembered your favorite color even when you changed it every month.
ten years passed and the dynamic shifted without anyone noticing at first. you grew up, and growing up consisted of changes.
satoru grew taller, broader, more dangerously handsome with that lazy grin that made girls at school blush. but you stayed the little sister in everyone’s eyes, the one who tagged along behind her brother and his best friend, the one who fell asleep on the couch between them during horror movies, the one satoru would tuck a blanket over with gentle hands while your brother snored on the other side.
everyone else thought like that but satoru. satoru noticed the changes. he noticed the way your legs got longer, the way your laugh got softer and feminine, the way your body filled out in ways that made his throat tight and his thoughts guilty. he told himself it was nothing. you were his best friend’s little sister, which meant you’re off-limits. and by off-limits, you’re a forbidden fruit he wasn’t allowed to even look at for too long or he would rot you with his dirty thoughts.
nobody sensed how he started pulling away in small ways after sometime. longer gaps between visits, fewer sleepovers, more excuses about being busy with college and then with work. but he never stayed away completely. satoru couldn’t.
every time he saw you he felt that familiar pull, the way his chest tightened when you smiled at him like he hung the moon for you. the way his cock would twitch traitorously when you wore those tiny shorts around the house in the summer every time he came over and god, he hated himself for it because right after he’s done, he would go home after and jerk off in the shower with his jaw clenched, whispering your name like a curse while hot water beat down on his back, telling himself it was the last time.
it was never the last time.
now you’re twenty-two and he’s twenty-eight. your brother still treats you like the kid who used to beg for piggyback rides. satoru still calls you “boogers” sometimes, but the word tastes bitter on his tongue now.
the three of you still hang out, still have movie nights from time to time since satoru could never say no to your asking, he joins your family and still act like nothing has changed. but everything has. satoru can barely look at you without feeling the weight of all those years of wanting, yearning. he watches the way you move around the kitchen in your sleep shorts when you’re getting snacks ready for the movies, the way your t-shirt rides up when you reach for something on the top shelf, the way you laugh at his stupid jokes and rest your head on his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
every innocent touch feels like torture. every time your thigh brushes his on the couch he has to fight the urge to pull you into his lap and show you exactly what you do to him.
this time your brother is out of town this weekend for a work trip he couldn’t get out of.
he left satoru with the spare key and the casual instruction to “keep an eye on her.” satoru laughed it off on the phone, responding with a choked ‘yeah, ‘course, i got you man.’ but the second he hung up his mind was already spinning. he told himself he’d just check in once, maybe bring some takeout, make sure you weren’t lonely and nothing more.
but fuck was he wrong, cause satoru only lasted exactly four hours before your text came through:
“movie night? the new horror one just dropped. brother’s gone so no one to complain about the jump scares :)”
he stared at the message for ten full minutes. then that’s when he grabbed his keys, all thoughts starting to get pumped to his dick.
when he knocks on your door it’s a little after ten. you open it wearing your usual oversized, small ribbons printed t-shirt and those damn cotton shorts that have haunted his dreams for years. your skin is soft under the radiating light from the porch, face bare, and you smile at him like he’s the best part of your night.
shit. satoru feels his stomach drop.
“hey, you came,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is casual, warm, the kind of voice that used to make him feel safe and now makes his cock stir in his sweatpants.
“couldn’t let you watch horror alone,” he replies, forcing that tired, loose grin. he holds up the bag of snacks like a peace offering. “brought the good stuff.”
you laugh and it hits him straight in the chest. he follows you to the living room, trying not to stare at the way the hem of your shorts teases him in front of him. the fabric riding up with every step. the tv is already on, lights dimmed, blankets piled on the couch. you settle in your usual spot, patting the cushion beside you. satoru sits, puts the snacks down onto the coffee table, leaving what he hopes is a respectful distance, but you immediately scoot closer, tucking your legs under you and leaning your head against his shoulder like always.
maybe your nickname was not supposed to be boogers but dumbass cause you don’t seem to take sign on how you’re making it hard for him to stay normal and sane. or so he thought.
the movie starts. the opening credits roll. satoru tries to focus on the screen. he really does. but all he can feel is the warmth of your body against his side, the soft press of your bare thigh against his, the faint vanilla scent of your shampoo. his hand rests on the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder when he shifts.
every innocent touch feels loaded tonight. the house is too quiet without your brother’s loud commentary. it’s just you and him and years of unspoken tension hanging heavy in the dark.
halfway through the first act you stretch, arms lifting above your head, shirt riding up to show a strip of soft stomach. satoru’s eyes flick down before he can stop them, fingers twitching not to touch you and when you settle again your leg presses fully against his. he doesn’t move away. instead his fingers brush your shoulder again, slower this time, thumb stroking once along your skin.
“cold?” he asks, voice quieter than he means.
you shake your head, tilting your face up to look at him. your eyes are soft in the glow of the tv. “no. just getting comfortable.”
he swallows hard. his hand drops from the couch to rest lightly on your upper arm, thumb still stroking slow circles. the touch is supposed to be casual but it isn’t. at least that’s what satoru knows.
the movie keeps playing but the man sitting next to you is not really watching anymore. the air between you feels thicker, warmer, charged with everything you’ve both been pretending doesn’t exist for years.
satoru’s jaw clenches. he can feel his cock starting to thicken in his sweatpants, the traitorous heat building low in his gut. he tells himself to stop. he tells himself you’re his best friend’s little sister. he tells himself a lot of things.
you shift again, turning slightly so your knee brushes his thigh. and lord knows how he’s struggling not to make a sound, especially when your voice is barely above a whisper when you speak.
“satoru?”
he looks down at you, blue eyes dark in the low light. “yeah?”
you bite your lip, just for a second, and the small movement sends another rush of blood straight to his cock.
“you’ve been really quiet tonight.”
fuck.
he forces a laugh, but it comes out strained. “am i?” he asks. “just focused on the movie.” his reply doesn’t satisfy you and you don’t look convinced so your hand rests lightly on his chest, right over his heart. “liar.” you call him out.
liar…
the sting of the word is heavy because satoru is not the only one suffering alone here, you’re a liar as well. and you’re pretending none of this is eating you alive when that’s exactly how it’s been for you since satoru came to your house.
you’ve been stiff as a board since the moment you sat down, even though you’re trying so hard to act normal. you can feel it in the way his shoulder has gone tight under your cheek, the way his breathing isn’t quite as steady as usual, the way his long fingers keep flexing against the couch like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
the tv flickers soft blue light across both of you, painting shadows over his sharp jaw and the faint flush creeping up his neck, but you’re not watching the movie anymore. you’re watching him, noticing every detail.
your hand stays light on his chest, right over his heart, and you can feel how fast it’s beating under your palm. thump-thump-thump, way too quick for someone who’s supposedly just chilling on the couch. you shift a little closer, letting your bare thigh press more firmly against his — testing water — and that’s when you notice it full.
the soft, heavy bulge under the dark blue-black sweatpants he’s wearing. it’s not fully hard yet, but it’s definitely there, thickening slowly against the loose fabric, the outline just visible every time the tv screen flashes brighter. your stomach flips, heat pooling low between your legs because you did that. you’re doing that to him right now, just by sitting here in your tiny shorts with your head on his shoulder like you always have.
the tension sits thick and heavy between you, wrapping around every small movement. every time you breathe, your chest brushes his arm.
every time he shifts, his thigh presses harder against yours. the air feels warmer than it should, like the room itself is holding its breath along with both of you. you can smell his cologne mixed with the faint mint from his gum, and underneath it all something warmer, something that makes your mouth water.
satoru’s hand on your upper arm hasn’t stopped moving. his thumb keeps stroking those slow, careful circles, but now each pass feels heavier, more deliberate, like he’s fighting the urge to slide his whole palm down your skin.
you tilt your head up a little more, letting your breath fan across the side of his neck. his jaw clenches. you watch the muscle jump, watch the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. the bulge in his sweatpants twitches again, growing thicker, the fabric starting to tent just enough that you can see the clear shape of him.
your own body reacts instantly, a warm rush between your thighs, your nipples tightening under the thin t-shirt. you’re suddenly aware of how little you’re wearing, how your shorts exposed so much skin the bottom curve of your ass is almost showing, how your shirt keeps slipping off one shoulder no matter how many times you fix it.
satoru’s fingers tighten on your arm for half a second before he forces them to relax. his breathing has gone shallow. you can feel the heat pouring off him, the way his thigh muscles are locked tight under your leg. the movie keeps playing, some girl screaming on screen, but none of you flinch and the only sound that matters is the quiet hitch in his breath when your knee accidentally nudges higher up his leg, brushing right against the side of that growing bulge.
he doesn’t pull away. he stays perfectly still, like moving even an inch might break whatever fragile control he has left.
you bite your lip, heart hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it. the flush on your neck is spreading, warm and prickly, and a tiny bead of sweat is already forming at the small of your back. you feel sticky and hot and aching, and all you’ve done is sit here with your head on his shoulder.
the years of quiet ‘wanting’ press in harder tonight, sharper because your brother isn’t here to act as a buffer. it’s just you and satoru and the heavy, suffocating knowledge that you’re both thinking about the same thing.
satoru clears his throat suddenly, the sound rough and forced. he shifts, moving his arm from around you, and stands up in one quick motion. his sweatpants do nothing to hide how hard he is now, the thick outline pressing obviously against the front, the fabric stretched tight. he keeps his back half-turned to you like that will somehow fix it.
“uh… i need some water,” he mutters, voice low and strained. “or a coke. something cold.”
you sit up slowly, fixing your shirt so it covers your shoulder again, but it doesn’t help much. your skin feels too warm, a light sheen of sweat already making the back of your neck sticky. your cheeks are flushed, you can feel the heat in them, and between your legs you’re starting to get embarrassingly wet, the thin cotton of your panties clinging to you. you swallow, trying to sound normal even though your voice comes out a little breathy.
“oh yeah, okay. it’s in the fridge. you know your way around.”
satoru nods once, still not fully facing you, and heads toward the kitchen. his shoulders are stiff, steps a little too deliberate, like he’s forcing himself to put distance between you. you stay on the couch, legs pressed together, heart still racing and satoru disappears into the kitchen.
you stay on the couch, legs pressed tight together, trying to calm the flutter between your thighs. the movie is still playing but the sound feels distant, like it’s happening in another room. you can hear him open the fridge, the soft clink of a can, the quiet hiss when he cracks it open. a few seconds later he walks back in, coke in one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to shake something off.
he’s too distracted to consider bringing you one.
he looks at you for a long moment before he sits down again, this time leaving a little more space between your bodies but it doesn’t help.
the air still feels charged, heavy with everything neither of you has said out loud. you notice the way his sweatpants still sit a little awkwardly, the thick line of his cock not fully softened, pressing against the fabric every time he shifts, manspread awkwardly.
your own skin is warm and sticky, a faint sheen of sweat on your neck and between your breasts, your nipples tight and sensitive under the thin t-shirt.
satoru takes a long sip of the coke, throat working, then sets the can on the coffee table. when he leans back against the couch his arm brushes yours again, and this time he doesn’t pull away. his fingers find your shoulder once more, but instead of the casual thumb strokes from before, his whole palm settles there, warm and heavy.
it seems he’s calmed a bit.. which means you’re the one who’s suffering hundred percent.
“you okay?” he asks, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
you nod, but it feels like a lie. “yeah… just warm in here.”
his eyes flick down to the flushed skin of your neck, then lower to where your shirt has slipped off your shoulder again. he doesn’t say anything, but his thumb starts brushing the bare skin near your collarbone. the touch is slow, almost absent, but it sends heat straight down your spine. you shift like you’re under a spell without thinking, your bare thigh sliding against his again, and this time your knee nudges right against the side of his cock through the sweatpants.
satoru inhales sharply. his hand slides from your shoulder down your arm, stopping at your wrist. his thumb presses lightly against your pulse point, feeling how fast your heart is racing.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“so are you,” you whisper back.
the only light flickering on both of you is the glow from the tv, casting soft blue and white across both of you. satoru turns his head to look at you fully, blue eyes dark and conflicted, pupils blown wide as if he’s high. his free hand comes up, hesitating for half a second before he cups the side of your face, thumb brushing your lower lip.
“this is a bad idea,” he says, eyes dancing over your lips but he doesn’t sound convinced. his voice is thick, breath warm against your mouth.
“then why does it feel so good?” you have no idea how words are forming in your mouth when your brain disconnected from your tongue a long time ago, and the only option you have is leaning into his touch.
he lets out a quiet, broken sound, half groan, half sigh. his thumb presses a little harder against your lip, parting it slightly. you part your lips more, letting the tip of his thumb slip just inside, brushing against your tongue. satoru’s eyes flutter for a second, jaw tight.
“fuck… you’re killing me.”
you suck gently on his thumb, just enough to make his breath hitch. his other hand slides down to your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt like he’s anchoring himself. the tension snaps slowly, like a rubber band stretching thinner and thinner until it finally gives.
satoru pulls his thumb from your mouth with a wet sound and replaces it with his lips. the kiss starts soft, almost careful, lips sliding together warm and slow. but the second you make a small needy sound in the back of your throat he deepens it, tongue licking into your mouth, hot and hungry. years of holding back pour into that kiss, all the stolen glances, all the guilty nights in the shower, all the times he told himself no.
his hands slide down to your hips, gripping firmly as he pulls you sideways until you’re straddling one of his thick thighs. the moment your core settles over the hard muscle you both moan quietly into the kiss. your soaked panties press right against his leg, the thin cotton already clinging to your folds from how wet you are. satoru’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding you into a slow, rolling grind.
you start moving. slow, deliberate rocks of your hips that drag your swollen clit along the firm muscle of his thigh. every pass makes the fabric of your shorts and panties rub against you, the friction hot and slick and perfect. each roll pushes more wetness out of you, soaking the cotton until it clings transparently to your pussy. satoru groans low in his chest when he feels the damp heat spreading across his thigh, his cock twitching hard in his sweatpants, the thick head nudging against your inner thigh with every grind.
he breaks the kiss with a wet sound, lips shiny, breathing ragged. his mouth trails down your neck, sucking softly at the sensitive skin, then lower, until his lips brush over your collarbone. when he reaches your chest he doesn’t push your shirt up. instead he closes his mouth around one of your pebbled nipples right through the thin fabric.
the sensation is immediate and filthy. his tongue swirls slow and heavy over the stiff peak, soaking the cotton instantly. warm spit seeps through the material, making it cling to your breast, turning the white fabric translucent.
he sucks gently at first, then harder, pulling your nipple deeper into his mouth while his tongue flicks fast and wet. the wet patch grows, dark and shiny, the outline of your hard nipple completely visible through the soaked shirt. every pull of his mouth sends sharp sparks straight to your clit, making your hips roll faster against his thigh.
“mmh… fuck,” he groans against your chest, the vibration traveling through the damp fabric. “look at you. letting me cover you with my spit. your body’s so fucking readyfor me already, yeah?”
he switches to the other nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth with a wet, obscene sound. more drool collects from the corners of his lips, smearing down the front of your shirt in shiny trails, soaking the fabric until both your tits are glistening and see-through. the cool air hits the wet patches and makes your nipples ache even more, stiff and sensitive under his relentless mouth. he keeps sucking noisily, alternating between slow, deep pulls and quick flicks of his tongue, you could swear his spit is probably dripping down your stomach now, making the front of your shirt stick to your skin.
you’re grinding harder, hips rolling in needy little circles, clit dragging over his thigh with every movement. the friction is slick and constant, your soaked panties sliding against the hard muscle, the wet sounds of fabric rubbing together mixing with the filthy noises his mouth makes on your chest. your hands are in his white hair, tugging gently, soft whimpers and gasps spilling from your lips every time he sucks particularly hard.
satoru’s cock is throbbing visibly in his sweatpants, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your inner thigh, leaking enough that a small dark spot has formed at the front. every time you grind forward the head of his cock nudges closer to your core, teasing you both with how close he is to where you both desperately want him to be.
he pulls back just enough to look at the mess he’s made. your shirt is completely ruined, plastered transparently to your tits, nipples dark and shiny with his spit, little droplets still sliding down your stomach. his eyes are heavy-lidded, breathing ragged, lips swollen and wet.
“so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “y’know how i’ve been dreaming about marking you up like this for years? look how filthy i got you… your brother will fuck me up.”
he leans in again, mouth latching back onto your nipple through the drenched fabric, sucking harder while his hands grip your ass tighter, helping you grind faster against him. the wet, messy sounds fill the room — his mouth sucking noisily, your slick panties sliding over his thigh, both of you breathing hard and shaky.
the tension is thick and suffocating, every slow grind and every wet kiss pushing you both closer to the edge without either of you saying it out loud yet.
after what feels like euphorically forever, satoru pulls back from your chest with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, eyes heavy as he looks at the absolute mess he’s made of your shirt.
his breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling fast under his hoodie, and for a second he just stares at you like he can’t believe this is real. then his hand slips down, fingers dipping into the pocket of his sweatpants, and he pulls out a small foil packet. the condom glints under the dim light, and you raise a brow, lips parting in quiet surprise.
he catches the look and just shrugs, a lazy, almost sheepish tilt of his shoulders, causing your cheeks flushing darker. “had to,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words are being dragged out of him. “couldn’t risk it. not with you.”
you let out a soft, cheeky laugh, the sound breathy and teasing even though your heart is hammering. “you’ve always wanted to fuck me, huh?”
satoru’s brows knit together instantly, that familiar stern little frown pulling at his face, but his eyes stay dark and hungry. “that’s a vulgar word, boogers,” he says, the nickname slipping out like habit, but there’s no real bite to it. he leans in and presses a soft, almost tender kiss to the tip of your nose, lips brushing there gently before he pulls back just enough to look at you again. “i want to make you feel good. that’s all.”
you groan, half playful, half frustrated, and swat your hand lightly against his chest. “stop calling me boogers, toru. seriously!”
he just hums, low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest as his hands slide to your hips. he helps lift you a little higher on your knees, giving himself room, and shoves his sweatpants and briefs down in one smooth motion. they pool around his calves, leaving his thick cock springing free, heavy and flushed, the head already glistening.
he tears the foil packet open with his teeth, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet room, and the sweet strawberry scent of the condom fills the small space between your bodies, fruity and almost too innocent for how filthy this feels.
satoru rolls it down his girthy tip first, jaw tightening as the latex stretches over him. a soft, broken whimper slips out of him when the cool material slides along his sensitive head, his hips twitching once before he rolls it all the way to the base with steady fingers. the condom sits snug, shiny and strawberry-sweet, the faint pink tint of it catching the tv light. he looks up at you then, eyes dark and solemn, waiting.
his hands move to your shorts and panties next, hooking into the waistband and sliding them down your thighs together in one slow tug.
you lift your hips to help, and the soaked fabric peels away from your pussy with a wet sound, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. he doesn’t stop there. his fingers catch the hem of your spit-drenched shirt and peel it up and off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. now you’re completely naked in his lap, skin flushed and glowing under the flickering light, tits still shiny with his dirty work, pussy glistening and swollen from all the grinding.
satoru is still mostly dressed, only his hoodie on, sweatpants and briefs shoved down to his calves, the contrast making everything feel even unholy. he licks a bold stripe across his palm, tongue dragging slow and wet, then reaches between you and swipes the slick hand over your folds. the touch is warm and deliberate, fingers spreading your wetness, thumb brushing your clit once before he grips the base of his cock and guides the thick, condom-covered head to your entrance.
he presses in slow, so slow, the blunt tip stretching you open inch by careful inch. his brows knit tight with concentration, eyes locked on your face, watching for any flicker of pain or discomfort. you feel every thick ridge as he sinks deeper, the stretch burning sweet and full, your walls fluttering around him.
your eyes start to haze, lashes fluttering, jaw going slack as the overwhelming sensation of being filled by him hits you. your breathing stutters, lips parted on a silent gasp, completely detached for a moment while your body adjusts to the heavy, girthy length pushing inside.
satoru knew you were small compared to him but never did he think you’d be struggling to fit his fat cock in your tight cunt this much.
satoru stays perfectly still once he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, breathing hard through his nose. his hands grip your waist tight, thumbs stroking soothing circles on your skin as he waits, watching the way your eyes glaze over and your jaw hangs open. the strawberry scent mixes with the sharp smell of your arousal, the room quiet except for the low hum of the credit scene of the horror movie and the sound of both of you trying to breathe through the intensity.
“can i move?” he asks, voice low and calculated, almost a whisper, like he’s afraid to break the moment. his brows are still knitted, waiting for any sign from you.
you can’t find words right away. instead you just tap his shoulder once, twice, a small, mute signal that you’re okay, that you want this. satoru exhales shakily, relief and hunger mixing in the sound, and he starts to move.
at first it’s slow, careful rolls of his hips that drag his thick cock along your walls, the stretch burning so good it makes your breath hitch. you start grinding down to meet him, hips rolling in small, needy circles, your slick coating the base of his cock and smearing messily over the soft, dark trail of hair that runs from his navel down to where he disappears inside you. every grind leaves a shiny trail of your wetness glistening on his skin, the wet sounds squelching in the quiet room.
you’re vocal in little bursts, whispers of his name slipping out between shaky breaths. “satoru… toru…” the words are breathy, almost reverent, filling the living room like a secret. your hands slide up his hoodie, fingers digging into his chest as you grind harder, chasing the friction, the fullness, the way he fills you so completely.
“too big.. you’re– toru, fuuuck,” you cry out.
satoru leans back against the couch, arms dropping to his sides for a moment, face going almost numb with pleasure. his blue eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, white hair messy and falling into his face as he watches you ride him. he looks completely under your spell, like the sight of you naked and grinding on his cock has short-circuited his brain. the curve of his cock jerks inside you when you desperately grab his hand and bring it to your tits, pressing his palm against the soft, post spit-slick flesh.
that seems to snap him back. his face shifts from dazed to focused in an instant, intention clear in the way his jaw tightens. he wants to make you feel good. that’s all he cares about right now.
“i got you, yeah? ‘m here.”
he braces himself, planting his heels firmly on the floor, one arm wrapping tight around your hips while the other hand stays on your breast, fingers tweaking and rolling your nipple between them. then he starts fucking up into you. the first thrust is deep and powerful, hips snapping up so his cock drives into you harder, the angle perfect, the thick head rubbing right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark.
“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked but steady, focused entirely on you. “feel good? tell me if it’s too much.”
he sets a rhythm, slow at first but building, each upward thrust meeting your downward grind, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder. his arm around your hips keeps you steady, guiding you, while his fingers keep playing with your nipple, pinching and tugging just enough to send sparks straight to your clit. every time he bottoms out you whimper his name again, softer, breathier, your slick continuing to smear over his happy trail and the base of his cock, making everything messy and shiny.
satoru’s eyes never leave your face. he watches every twitch of your expression, every time your lips part on a moan, every time your eyes flutter. his whole focus is on you, on making sure every thrust feels perfect, on drawing out those little whispers of his name until they turn into broken cries. he fucks up into you with controlled power, the condom sliding slickly inside your soaked pussy, sweat mixing with the sharp smell of sex.
he leans forward slightly, mouth finding your other nipple again, sucking it into his mouth through the remnants of dried spit still on your skin, tongue swirling while he keeps thrusting. the dual sensation — his cock dragging inside you and his mouth on your breast — makes your back arch, a louder moan spilling out this time.
“good girl,” he breathes against your wet skin, voice low and praising. “taking me so well. just let me make you feel good, yeah? that’s all i want.”
his hips keep snapping up, steady and deep, the arm around your waist holding you down so you take every inch while his fingers keep working your nipple and his mouth keeps sucking the other. the living room fills with the wet sounds of him fucking into you, your soft whispers of his name, and the heavy breathing of two people who have waited years for this exact moment.
satoru keeps that steady, deep rhythm, hips rolling up into you with controlled power while his mouth stays busy on your tits.
every upward thrust drags his thick, condom-covered cock along your walls, the head catching perfectly against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. his arm around your waist holds you down on his cock, the wet slap of skin meeting skin growing louder, messier, your slick continuing to smear over his happy trail and the base of his cock until the dark hair glistens with it.
he switches between sucking one nipple and tweaking the other with his fingers, tongue swirling slow and wet, spit dripping down your chest in shiny trails that catch the flickering tv light.
you’re riding him but barely, your hips grinding in small, desperate circles while he does most of the work, fucking up into you with deep, purposeful strokes that make your breath hitch every single time he bottoms out. your hands clutch at his hoodie, nails digging into the fabric as soft, broken whispers of his name keep slipping out — “toru… satoru…” — the fruity scent of the condom mixes with the sharp smell of sex, filling the dark living room until it’s all you can breathe.
your legs start to twitch first. the muscles in your thighs quiver against his sides, small, uncontrollable tremors that travel down to your calves.
satoru notices immediately. his eyes flick down, watching the way your knees shake beside his hips, the subtle way your body is starting to tighten and flutter around him. a low, knowing hum vibrates in his chest and he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under the knee closest to him. with a smooth, effortless motion he hooks it up and presses it toward your chest, folding you open even wider while you’re still on top of him.
the new angle spreads you so much more, your pussy stretching tighter around his cock, the head dragging harder against that perfect spot with every thrust.
you gasp sharply, the sound cracking in the back of your throat as the deeper penetration hits you all at once. satoru’s other arm stays banded around your waist, holding you steady, and now he’s fully in control even though you’re on top. he fucks up into you with stronger, deeper strokes, hips snapping with purpose, the wet squelch of your soaked pussy taking him echoing louder in the quiet room.
“c’mon, you’re gonna bless me, baby?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and focused. “come on my cock, there you go. you just gotta feel it.”
your riding turns sloppy, hips stuttering as the pressure builds fast and overwhelming. your legs tremble harder, the one he’s holding to your chest shaking visibly. your walls start to flutter and clench around him in tight, rhythmic pulses, your slick gushing out around the base of his cock with every thrust. satoru groans low when he feels it, but he doesn’t slow down. he keeps driving up into you, steady and relentless, the arm under your knee keeping you spread wide and open for him.
you come hard.
your whole body folds forward suddenly, chest pressing against his as a broken, whining cry tears from your throat, your mouth is open and breathing straight into his mouth. your pussy clamps down around his cock in strong, pulsing waves, gushing wet and hot around him even through the condom. tears slip down your flushed cheeks, eyes squeezing shut while you sob his name in soft, overwhelmed whimpers — “toru… fuck, toru…” — your hips jerking and twitching uncontrollably as the orgasm crashes through you.
satoru keeps fucking you through it, slower now but still deep, drawing out every pulse and every shaky sob. his hand on your waist rubs soothing circles while the other keeps your leg folded to your chest, holding you open so he can feel every flutter and gush. he presses soft kisses to your temple, your wet cheek, murmuring quiet praise against your skin as you tremble and cry in his lap, completely spent and folded against him.
tsatoru holds you close through the last trembling waves of your orgasm, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering pussy. he presses gentle kisses to your damp temple then your flushed cheek, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back while you come down.
“i’m.. fuck, you’re so good to me.” the way he grunts those words out shows you he’s not done yet.
his grip tightens on your waist and under your knee, and he starts fucking up into you again — deeper than you thought was possible. each thrust is slow, powerful, and deliberate, driving his thick cock so far inside you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach.
the new angle has the head of his cock pressing right against that spot with every upward snap of his hips, stretching you open wider, filling you fuller than you’ve ever been filled. the wet, filthy sounds of him plunging deep into your soaked pussy echo in the quiet living room, your slick leaking out around the base of his cock and dripping down his balls with every thrust.
“shit… so deep,” he groans against your ear, voice wrecked and low. “can you feel me, baby? feel how deep i’m getting? that’s it… take every inch.”
he fucks you with long, grinding strokes, hips rolling up hard and steady, the arm under your knee keeping you folded and spread so he can bury himself to the hilt every single time. your body jolts with each thrust, tits bouncing against his chest, soft cries and whimpers spilling from your mouth as the overstimulation turns into another building wave of pleasure.
satoru’s breathing grows ragged, his thrusts turning sharper, more desperate, the slap of skin on skin getting louder as he chases his own release.
“gonna come,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, blue eyes dark and hazy. “gonna fill you up… fuck, you feel too good.”
he drives in deep one last time, hips stuttering as he buries himself as far as he can go.
“fuuuck,” a low, broken groan tears from his throat as he comes hard, cock pulsing thick and hot inside the condom while he grinds against you, drawing out every last spurt. his whole body trembles under you, arms locked tight around your frame as he empties himself, the strawberry-scented latex stretching with every heavy pulse.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky breathing and his quiet groans. he stays buried deep inside you, holding you close, the leg he had hooked to your chest gently lowered back down so you can relax against him. slowly, carefully, he pulls out, tying off the condom and setting it aside before he gathers you fully into his arms.
satoru shifts so you’re both lying on the couch, your smaller body draped over his chest, his hoodie soft against your bare skin. he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch (you didn’t notice that was there from the beginning.) over both of you, tucking it gently around your shoulders. one hand strokes slow, soothing lines up and down your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
“you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and rough at the same time. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips — gentle, lingering kisses that feel like apologies and promises all at once. “did i hurt you? was it too much?”
you shake your head against his chest, still catching your breath, and he hums in quiet relief. he keeps touching you. slow strokes along your spine, gentle kisses to your shoulder, his palm rubbing warm circles over your lower back where you’re still a little sore. every touch is careful, tender, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel in his arms now that the line has finally been crossed.
and now that his time with you is very limited. by limited:
“your brother told me to keep an eye on you,” the topic feels heavy already when he says it after a while, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. his fingers keep tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “if this is what it takes… so be it.”
so be the risk of making the person, his person whom he lov—
realization hits and splashes on satoru like a bucket filled with water and ice. satoru loves. satoru loves you. he is in love, satoru loves someone who is a very much forbidden person.
he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you fully, the thought of your brother finding what he did to you can be stressed over for later, what matters now is your naked body tucked safely against his mostly-clothed one. the tv is still playing a new trailer for next movie faintly in the background, completely ignored.
satoru holds you like that for a long time — warm, steady, protective — pressing soft kisses to wherever his lips can reach, murmuring quiet praises and gentle nonsense until your breathing evens out and your eyes start to drift shut.
“toru, do you think this is okay?” your voice is muffled with how you’re both tangled together. he doesn’t reply at first so you take it as a sign to continue. “what are we gonna do after this? what if my brot—”
“i’ve got you,” he cuts you off with a whisper against your hair, one last kiss pressed to the top of your head. “always have and nothing will happen, just take some rest and we’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
he can feel your body relaxing the moment he says that and satoru smiles a little, his heart swelling of fonding.
the living room feels smaller and warmer now, the weight of years of tension finally settling into something softer, something real, as satoru keeps holding you close under the blanket, his hand never stopping its gentle strokes along your back before he himself is dozing off from reality.
feeling too tired from his post nut session his brain is blank.
guys am i made for long fics or should i just stick to my regular short drabbles/blurbs? I WANT TO KNOW!
