everytime i need a good refresher, something that'll make me feel alive again, i go STRAIGHT to septembersummer on ao3's lust for life series. IT'S SO GOOD!!!! (spoilers in tags)
| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | art credit |
pairing: true form!sukuna x reader
summary: sukuna never thought he was capable of being gentle, of holding precious, fragile things in his monstrous hands without breaking them. you, pregnant with his baby, are the only exception.
content: | pregnant sex | fluff | smut | loving sukuna | overprotective sukuna | historical au | monster fucking (gently) | sukuna loves u a lot | masturbation | sukuna thinks you are so sexy pregnant | double penetration | desperate sukuna |
part 2 of my last sukuna post... ;)
| discord | twitter | ao3 | main tumblr | kofi |
The seasons change and pass leisurely as they always do. Summer turns to Autumn, the leaves wilt and fall to the ground, your stomach grows rounder and rounder with each passing day, or maybe it just feels that way.
It's been about six months since you started feeling sicker in the early morning hours, five since one of Sukuna's servants confirmed through some magical technique beyond your grasp that you are carrying his child.
Sukuna was quiet when he first heard the news. He was there with you when the kind woman confirmed it, sitting in the distance with his monstrous size and watching you with rapt attention. Though he didn't say much on the issue, you noticed the change in him instantly.
He stares at you far more often now, though he's more prone to keeping his distance, physically. His gaze is longing and affectionate, often lustful, but he turns his head when you return it, almost as though he‘s embarrassed that you’ve caught him watching you.
With your fluctuating emotions, you’ve found it difficult to accept his newfound distance. He still speaks to you, he still sleeps with his many arms wrapped around you at night, but he very rarely… touches you now.
Before, he’d ravage you like a wild beast every night, all throughout the night, so roughly and so loudly that the servants in the shrine would be awoken. He’d take as much pleasure as he gives, but now he only gives.
He’ll lick you and kiss you until you’re so overly satisfied that you struggle to remain conscious, but he won’t properly fuck you anymore.
You can picture him clearly, as he is most nights, hard and clearly needy, grinding his clothed length against your thigh, barely resisting the urge to penetrate your warmth.
“Sukuna,” you murmur his name in pleading, looking down at his hardened cocks which strain against his robes.
“No,” he grunts, “not tonight.”
And then he’ll pleasure you again, and again, and again, until you have to cry his name to assuage his desire. Once you’re so sated that you cannot think, he’ll pull you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your neck until you inevitably fall asleep.
His sexual frustration is evident, though mostly to those who oppose him. You've heard rumors that since you've become pregnant, he's been far more violent towards his enemies. There are no hostages, there are no survivors, not now.
You'd almost worry that he's taking other lovers, if you didn't know him so well. Sukuna is a sadist, and he is a monster, but when you are someone that he cares for, he cherishes you deeply, so deeply that it can be suffocating.
There is no one else for him, no one else that piques his interest, no one else who sparks desire, none other than you. His love is deep and all-consuming, even if he's never voiced it outright to you.
And then there's the nagging thought that he might not be attracted to you in this state, with this body, that he might miss the way that your stomach looked before it was round and full of his seed, but no.
No, you can read Sukuna better than anyone else, like a novel you've read a thousand times over, and you know that he looks at you now with more hunger in his eye than he ever did before. Your tits are fuller and rounder, he can't stop himself from staring, not even when you're fully clothed.
You've been frustrated with his self-restraint, as well. Since you've been pregnant, you've desired him even more so than ever. Your emotions change dizzyingly quickly, but you find yourself aroused so often that you can't fucking stand it.
He could cure the cursed itch inside of you, but he doesn't. Perhaps he's torturing you on purpose. That does sound like him.
Tonight is such a night that you're swept into desire and longing for him. You lie in the bath with rose petals scattered along the surface of the water. If the bath itself weren't so deep, you're halfway convinced that your stomach would breach the surface.
He'll be home to satisfy you later in the night, but you can't help yourself now, either. You can't wait for him any longer.
One of your hands slips across your belly, feeling the hardness of it before traveling lower between your legs. The other moves to pinch and roll your nipple between your fingers, just as Sukuna does.
Try as you might, you still can't replicate his movements. His hands, for one, are far larger than yours are, his fingers far thicker. And then there's the most notable difference, the absence of a long tongue that protrudes from your palm. There's no possible way to replicate that.
But still, you try, because the fire inside of you will eat you alive if you don't sate it at least momentarily. You whine softly into the steamy air, massaging your clit in slow, sensuous movements, pinching your nipples intermittently.
You lose yourself in thoughts of Sukuna, in thoughts of both of his cocks thrusting in and out of your cunt, thoughts of his tongue pressing against yours while the one on his abdomen licks at your clit. The bathwater around your splashes a bit as you speed up your movements, panting and groaning and trying to reach that spot inside of you that he does.
"Oh-- Sukuna," you moan helplessly, head thrown back against the stone lip of the tub.
"Oh, Y/n," a teasing voice answers, startling you out of your chase for the orgasm that you needed.
You gasp weakly, fingers still in all of the places that they shouldn't be, as you lock eyes with your husband. He's standing in the doorway, a small, cheeky grin on his face, with all of his eyes locked on you.
"That isn't funny," you murmur with embarrassment, sinking lower into the tub until only your eyes are peeking out at him, pouting.
"Did I ask you to stop?" He says, suddenly serious in tone, as he holds authoritative eye contact with you.
"With you watching?" You answer defiantly, taken aback by his request, "I couldn't."
"You were."
"Not intentionally."
"I've fucked every hole that you possess," he answers with a smug grin, "and yet you're still shy with me?"
"You've not fucked me in ages," you argue, "so I might've forgotten."
His expression sours, as he takes a step closer, and then another, towering over your naked form and blocked the candlelight surrounding you.
You know that you take certain liberties of which no one else is afforded; like the right to refuse his requests and talk back to him. He sinks down to his knees next to the tub, before leaning over to press his lips to yours.
You keep your eyes open for a moment, barely kissing him back out of protest, before he slips his tongue into your mouth, caressing your cheek with one of his large hands.
"Continue what you were doing," he demands after a moment, "and I'll consider reminding you."
One of his hands slips into the water, spreading your legs apart again after you'd closed them tightly in protest. After he's satisfied with how you're spread open, he runs his hand along your slippery body, feeling your thighs, the roundness of his baby inside of you, the heavy weight of your breast.
The arousal is back and it's consuming beyond belief, especially when his rough fingertip grazes over your sensitive nipple.
You have to look away from him in shame as you slip your hand back between your thighs, biting your lip and closing your eyes as you continue your ministrations.
"That's it, my love," he purrs affectionately, far more so than usual, "beautiful."
You whimper at his praise, massaging your clit faster. He can't help but to stare at your breasts rising out of the water, your head falling back as you pleasure yourself in front of him. He leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, groaning along with you.
"Sukuna--" you moan his name in warning, dragging your other hand into his hair to kiss him more eagerly.
It's impossible for him to watch, impossible for him to look away, as you reach your climax with a breathy sigh against his lips. He's rubbing both of his cocks through his robes as he watches, trying to soothe the ache he feels.
Even then, one of his claws rips through the fabric, and it grounds him yet again. Yes, he needs these subtle reminders that he is a being capable only of destruction, not of softness like you.
He stands up after you come down from the aftershocks, clenching his jaw hard enough to break his teeth, as he takes one last look at your wet, naked body floating in the bath.
"Come to bed after you're finished bathing," he remarks coldly, "it's late, you need rest."
Sukuna leaves you alone after that, giving you more empty promises with no follow-through, as though he's only teasing you on purpose. The anger you feel at his cold departure is petulant.
When you're out of the bath, dried everywhere other than your hair, you irritably make your way into the bedroom, where Sukuna is lying there staring through the open window.
His robes are mostly untied, like he's been clawing at them. Silvery moonlight illuminates his bare chest, the sharpness of his jawline, all of the tattoos that accentuate his features.
He looks unbearably attractive. It only makes you angrier.
"Explain it to me," you call out to him, padding over to the end of the bed where he lies.
Sukuna cocks his eyebrow up at your tone, not a man who's accustomed to being berated, most certainly.
"I need to explain nothing to you," he replies, sounding frustrated in his own right, "you were an offering to me, a possession. I owe you no explanation for anything that I do."
You, feeling caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, decide to do something unwise and unheard of. Rather than obeying him and letting it go, you move closer, climbing on top of him.
"Don't," he growls in warning, but you know better than to think that Sukuna would hurt you.
If he was going to hurt you, he would have done so the night you arrived.
When you straddle him in the center of the bed, core pressed against his cocks through his layers of clothing, he can no longer bare to look at you.
You're wearing a silk slip that exposes your legs, your arms, and shoulders. Your nipples peek through it, especially now that your tits are heavier and bigger. He knows what you look like, that's why he can't bare to see it tonight.
"Sukuna," you mutter softly, nuzzling your smaller face into the crook of his neck, "please. I miss you, and I want you-- all of you."
He grits his teeth at the shifting movement of your body on top of his cocks. If only you knew how unbearable this is for him, how badly he wants to sink both of them into your cunt and ravage you like a fucking animal tonight, and every other night afterwards.
"I'll hurt you," he warns, losing his self-control further by the second.
You're rocking your hips back and forth on top of him, trying a different approach now, one that works far better.
"You won't," you argue, nipping at his earlobe, "I know that you won't."
"You cannot possibly know that," he hisses, wrapping his large hands around your hips and rubbing you against himself harder, "I want to, I'd like it. I'll hurt you, I'll hurt her, and I won't be able to stop myself--"
"Her?" You ask, sitting up suddenly with interest in your eyes.
Sukuna looks away suddenly, his cheeks flush a shade darker, "It's a girl. The baby."
Your hand rubs your stomach reflexively, as you beam at him, "You can tell?"
"Yes," he replies indignantly, "I can tell."
You beam at him, he tries to retain his attitude but fails when you lean forward and kiss him, slotting your lips with his smoothly. If he'd forgotten the ache in his groin, he remembers it now.
Your smaller hand wraps around his larger one, bringing it to your rounded stomach, "Sukuna, you won't hurt either of us. You've held yourself back for so long," you assure him.
A slow, leisurely movement, you drag his wrist further upwards, until his large hand is massaging your breast. He’s blushing now, grinding his hips upwards against your core. He wants it, he needs it so badly.
"If you were truly such a monster," you purr against his lips, kissing him between words, "you wouldn't have held yourself back, you would've fucked and ravished me the first night..."
"Do not tease me," he threatens, tightening his grip on your tit, as his hips flex involuntarily, "you'll regret-- ngh-- it."
His words are stifled with a moan as you've finally finished unwinding his robes from his cocks, and now your cunt is pressed flat against the length of the top one, rubbing yourself up and down it.
The veins feel exquisite against your clit, you're dripping onto him with every grind of your hips. Sukuna forcibly guides you to move faster, like he's trying to get off from this and this alone.
You won't stand for that. You brace yourself on his hard, muscular shoulders, leaning up so that you can position one of them against your entrance.
"Fuck," he hisses, finally giving into his own desire and rutting up into you in shallow strokes.
It's been months since he's allowed himself relief, months of reaching the edge but never allowing himself to fall over it, months of watching you fall apart on his tongue without doing the same on yours.
He cannot wait for you once you've seated yourself on his cock, he can't wait another moment longer. He holds you tightly against his chest, he flips you over onto your back, and he uses a pair of his arms to wrap your legs around his hips, as he drills into you.
His other arms are secured tightly around your body, holding you as close to him as physically possible without crushing you. He whines into the crook of your neck, he kisses and bites and leaves bruises on the expansive column of your throat. He ruts into you like he'll never be allowed to do so again.
He can't manage words, he's so lost in the nearly forgotten feeling of your tight, silky walls enveloping his length like a noose.
"Sukuna-- Sukuna-- God, give me the other," you beg, as he feels himself already nearing the edge, "fuck me with both of your cocks-- I can handle it. I can take it--"
The sound that leaves his throat is a rumbling growl. One of his hands thrusts to where your sexes meet, he can't deny himself the pleasure of putting his other cock inside of you, too. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back after tasting your sweetness, and he was right.
As soon as he's bottomed out inside of you with both cocks situated at your cervix, he nearly climaxes then and there. He grits his teeth to stop himself, panting and staring down at your flushed expression like a lion eyeballing its prey.
Your pregnant body has been a source of agony for Sukuna; your tits are rounder, your nipples far more sensitive. He loves the round look of pregnancy on you, he loves every inch of it so fucking much that it eats at his sanity.
He sucks your incredibly sensitive nipples and crushes your lower half against his own as much as possible without hurting you, thrusting in and out of you like he's fully gone mad inside of your slick pussy.
"God fucking dammit, I love you-- I fucking need you. Can't you see how badly I fucking need you? You make such a mess of me, you fucking ruin me."
His words sound angry and filled with vitriol, but you know that they're true, that they're words he could never say without having deprived himself of you for so long now that he can't think rationally.
You gush onto his abdominal tongue, you clench around the width of his two cocks, and he's lost to the world. His mind is in heaven with his body when he's inside of you, when he's holding you so close that he can hear your rapid heartbeats and your breaths.
You feel him stuttering and panting, forehead pressed to your neck, you hear these keening whines escaping his lips-- so unlike his speaking voice, and you lock your legs around his hips tighter, as though you want him to impregnate you all over again.
Curses fall from his lips in spades, his claws rip the sheets beneath you and dig into the mattress, as he strains his muscles and thrusts his seed deep into your cunt. His cum is lava inside of you, your sweat slicked bodies stay melded together as he comes down from his long-needed high.
You run your fingers through his hair, as all of his arms wrap around your waist, and he cradles your body against his own, kissing you languorously.
"I love you, too," you murmur sweetly.
"Are you alright?" He asks, unable and unwilling to indulge in pure, sappy romanticism.
"I'm better than ever," you reply, giving him a soft grin.
"Good," he murmurs, his kisses turn rougher, he pulls halfway out and thrusts back in. You whine softly, hoping that he doesn't make you wait much longer to feel this delicious fullness again.
As it turns out, he doesn't make you wait any longer at all. Instead, he breathily mutters, "Again."
CAN I GOT SOME TOJI SMUT I WANT HIM TO DICK ME LIKE HOW HE CARRIES THAT WORM ON HIS SHOULDERS
oh toji smut? don't mind if i dooo
!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!
wc: 4k-ish
cw: smut, breeding kink, size kink, choking, gagging, rough s*x, creampie, some angst, impregnation (bc it's toji lmao), daddy as a nickname, predator/prey dynamics, biting, marking, maybe slightly dub/con, wax play
A/N's: this is based off of It Will Come Back by Hozier (god tier song), so the lyrics are posted throughout tehe. Why does it remind me of Toji? No clue, but have fun be safe out there
crossposted on Ao3 pls go check it out there hehe
accepting requests <3
You know better, babe. You know better, babe.
You’re cooking dinner. You’d normally make something simple, something small, but you’re getting a feeling that your visitor will be back tonight. It’s still a mystery to you how you always manage to get this gut feeling when he’s going to show up again, as sporadic as it might be when he does. He’s a drifter at heart—he won’t stick around in one place for long. .
Swaying in the kitchen, humming along to some slow, bluesy song you’ve been listening to lately, making something fit for two, you know that you need to send him away this time. It’s not good for either of you, this strange relationship that you’ve developed over the past few months. He’s inconsistent, confusing, doesn’t stick around for more than a night.
Gone before sunrise, and you’re alone with the emptiness that he leaves inside you once again. Always.
While you know that you need to send him away this time, you also know that you probably won’t.
He warned you the first time that you met, didn’t he?
The mountainous man with jet-black hair framing devious, emerald eyes. The scar that extends from his chin above his upper lip, the smile he gives that curves it and makes him look even more devious.
“Honey, don’t be kind to me. You’ll never get rid of me like that.”
You were kind to him, and he was right, you shouldn’t have been. You’ve got the soul of someone that likes to take in strays.
You’re kind, careful, patient, even with men as terrible as Toji, which is the reason that he shows up at your doorstep every few weeks like this, expecting love, care, compassion.
It’s the reason that you give him love, care, and compassion, even when you know that the relationship is parasitic at best.
You know better, babe. You know better, babe, than to talk to it, talk to it like that.
There’s a storm coming somewhere in the distance. The thunder rumbles, as you’re sipping some tea.
You’re a tea kind of person, coffee’s too strong. The kind of person that doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t laugh too loud, or seek attention in a crowd.
You’ve only one vice, and he’s as tall, as strong as a mountain, does unsavory things during the daytime that you don’t dare ask about when he finds his way into your home at night.
One vice, and it’s about the time of month that he’s going to appear, like the dark, roiling clouds in the distance.
There’s a knock at the door, only one, and you take a heaving sigh, a shaking sip of your tea, before gracefully stepping over to open it.
Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it. Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it. Honey, don’t feed it— it will come back.
The rain has come, and so has he, and tonight is the last time that you’ll let him in. You can’t let him in anymore. One vice, and you’re going to purge it from your system, beckon it not to pester your thoughts any longer.
“Hey, honey,” he says, and his voice slips down your spine like molasses, low and smooth.
And you’ve got a soul that likes to take in strays, so something tugs at your heartstrings when you see that he’s a little wet from the rain, that there appears to be some blood on his shirt.
A little more disheveled as usual, just as devious as usual. You need to send him away now, before he’s gotten his hooks beneath your skin again, but you can’t, and you won’t.
“It’s about that time of month again, hm?” You ask, turning your back to him. Coy, aloof, you’re trying your best to seem uninterested.
He’ll only run again as soon as he’s through with you. He always does, he always will.
He chuckles warmly, following you into your home. It’s cozy here—warm, comfortable, with candles all around that you burn throughout the daytime and long into the night when he arrives.
Everything smells like cinnamon and warmth, and Toji smells like cigarettes and blood. Maybe it’s the reason that he likes to gift himself with your presence ever so often.
He watches the sway of your hips, as you walk into the kitchen, where there’s dinner made for the both of you.
It’s tradition at this point that despite your best interests, you’ll show him love, care, compassion.
He looks at you like a prime cut of meat, and you look at him like a broken creature that you want to mend. A broken creature that won’t ever let you finish the job. He’ll leave before sunrise, still broken, but a little better off than when he arrived.
Don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul. Honey, make this easy.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, taking some of the food that you’ve made for him. His cunning, emerald eyes meet your warm, doe eyes, and you know that you’ve let a predator into your home once again.
It’s the last time.
“Really?” You reply, disbelievingly, “c’mon, we aren’t animals. Let’s eat sitting down, Toji.”
“Thought you liked it standing up.”
He gives you a mischievous grin, and your cheeks want to flush, but you’re tired of the cat and mouse game that you’ve been playing with him for these months, so you just give him a baseless glare, and head off towards your kitchen table.
He does follow, because he’s well trained to mind himself when he’s here, even though you’re sure he knows he doesn’t have to.
He could be the animal that he normally is, rude and off-putting to you, and you’d still invite him back into your warmth next month, so long as he looked a little tired when he arrived.
He sits across from you, staring at you more than he should. His emerald eyes take in your form, as soft and curvy as he remembers you.
You’re the warmth of a hearth on the coldest day of winter, and he’s nothing more than a bum who dares to sit before you as often as he can. So, he eats your food, he eyes you, and knows that there’s something wrong with you tonight.
Honey, don’t feed it. It will come back.
“I can’t see you anymore, Toji,” you say, staring away from him at a little candle that burns in the center of your meager dining table.
You like to keep most of the lights off in your home. Letting warm, ambient lighting in exclusively. You stare into the flame, swearing that it flickers harder when the mountainous, scarred man before you raises an eyebrow in your direction.
“Thought I warned ya,” he says, brushing it aside as he finishes, “let me in once, I’ll always come back.”
He licks his lips once in your direction, and you take a sip of your tea. Always tea, never coffee. You don’t like harsh things, don’t like facing harsh realities.
“I won’t let you anymore,” you say, sitting tall in your rickety chair, and thunder rumbles in the distance, drawing closer with every breath you take.
Toji’s eyes grow thinner, as his smirk widens, “I’m afraid I won’t give you a choice.”
“I don’t doubt that,” you reply.
The room feels smaller than it did before now that he’s entered it. He takes up so much space in the room, so much space in your mind. It’s all unhealthy, harsh, bitter.
“What? You don’t like me anymore?” He asks, leaning forward in your direction.
He can nearly touch you, even from across the table. He takes up so much space here—it’s already small enough.
You give him a downcast look, “I like you plenty, Toji. I just know you won’t stick around, and I’m tired of waiting on you.”
With those words, you stand, wanting to escape his gaze before you lose the nerve. It’s raining outside now—a torrential downpour that’ll last all night at this rate.
You pick up your plate, and then his, as his fingers wrap around your wrist, forcing your gaze to meet his again, try as you might to avoid it.
“Why d’you keep letting me in?” He asks, and he seems genuine for once.
You give him a small, sad smile, “I’ve got a bleeding heart for wounded animals, and there’s no animal as wounded as you, babe.”
You know better, babe. You know better, babe, than to smile at me, smile at me like that.
He chuckles softly, before releasing your delicate wrist. He’s always careful with you, sees and appreciates how breakable you are. Fragile and warm, gentle and kind, it’s everything that he loves about you.
And if there was a woman that Toji could love now, it’d be you.
He follows you into your kitchen. It’s cramped, filled with your things, and you like it that way. You like cozy, comfortable.
You’ve only got one vice, and he’s wrapping his big arms around your waist as you wash dishes. He’s kissing your shoulder, and then your neck, slowly, easily, fluidly.
“What’d I just tell you?” You chastise him weakly, but he doesn’t let go of you.
“Somethin’ I’m not gonna listen to,” he answers easily, kissing your neck again.
You know better, babe, than to hold me just, hold me just like that.
I know who I am when I’m alone.
I’m somethin’ else when I see you.
“I’m not sleeping with you again,” you murmur, and Toji would certainly disagree based on the goosebumps that he can see prickling at the back of your neck, spreading across your shoulders.
His hand snakes underneath your shirt. His fingers are rough and calloused against the silky planes of your stomach. The pads of his fingers skim over your ribs, like he wants to count each of them.
“Stop that,” you huff, wriggling out of his grasp. You’re finished washing up now, so you turn to move past him, only for Toji to impetuously block your way.
It’s hard to meet his gaze when it’s downcast in your direction that way. Emerald eyes, devilish more than they’ve ever been kind, framed by beautiful, raven lashes. Scarred and mangled, he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever known.
It certainly isn’t pity that you feel for Toji, the gnarled creature that he is, it’s the purest expression of love that you can manage.
Care, a will to try and care for him, even though you’re certain that you’ll never get through to him in any way that counts.
And he’s growing impatient, irritated with you tonight, because you’re Toji’s oasis. You and your warmth and your swaying hips are the reason that he keeps going, killing.
He’s moving through life, always in one, singular direction. His compass points to home, it points to you, and you’re trying to throw him out tonight.
You don’t understand. You should never know how easy you are to need.
Toji doesn’t know how other people express their emotions, but his tend to come out in one way, and one way only.
He braces a big hand on either side of your much smaller frame on your kitchen counter, leaning over you threateningly. The lights flicker, thunder rumbles, and for the first time since you’ve known the monster that graces your doorway every month, you feel slightly, slightly afraid of him.
“I’m serious,” you murmur up at him, and all he can think about is how pretty your doe eyes look when they’re staring up at him like that through your eyelashes.
“No, you’re not,” he replies, never breaking his glare, “you love me.”
“I don’t.”
Thunder rumbles, lightning strikes somewhere nearby, the lights flicker again. God’s angry at you, angry at you for lying through your teeth. And the house has always been small, but it’s smaller than ever.
Your breaths mingle with Toji’s, he’s leaned down too closely, he’s so much larger than you, hardly fits in a place like this.
Hardly fits inside you, but he knows that he’ll make it fit, just like he always does.
Because Toji doesn’t know how to express his emotions, and you’re giving him some fucking bad ones tonight.
His eyes scan your face over and over, flickering between your plush lips and wide eyes, drinking in your expression, scared as it might be.
“It’s alright,” he coos, but you sense that it’s disingenuous, “I’ll take care of ya.”
“What—”
“Cause I love you, too.”
Don’t let me in with no intention to keep me. Jesus Christ —don’t be kind to me.
Honey, don’t feed me, I will come back.
He’s lifting you up, and you’re wrapping your legs around his hips with a squeak of protest.
You weigh nothing to Toji, light as a feather, his muscles hardly flex when he grabs you, and you’re draping your arms over his shoulders. You sit back on his forearms, glaring at him.
“Put me down— Toji! I’m serious—” you try to sound demanding, but you’re stepping through the bedroom doorway before you get the chance.
There’s a devious, devilish smirk on Toji’s scarred lips, and his cock’s already starting to ache against his thigh.
He needs somewhere to bury it, somewhere to plant his seed and keep it there, watch it grow into something new.
There’s something about Toji—his feelings are a mystery to everyone, not barring himself. But there’s one thing that he feels, he always feels it, even when he shouldn’t.
It’s primal, urgent, always calling his name, and you’re here tonight—the subject of his one and only real feeling.
He’s going to breed you. Tonight, just like this.
Your back hits the softness of your mattress, as you stare up at him in the low, warm lighting. He looks larger than ever, more intimidating than ever, and you were a goddamned fool to think that this would ever pan out in any other way.
He takes what he wants from you, and he wouldn’t keep showing up here if he didn’t want you.
More than a want, he needs you.
It can’t be unlearned—I’ve known the warmth of your doorways.
Through the cold, I’ll find my way back to you.
Right now he needs your clothes off, and thunder rumbles again—right on top of you. It’s above your house, above your head, inside the room with you. The storm is raging inside of you and all around you, and you’re as damned as ever when you sit up on your knees, letting him slide your silk, night dress over your head.
You’re naked, bared to him and god above, prepared for what comes next, and he’s just glaring, albeit salaciously.
A terrified squeak erupts from you as his hand clasps around your throat suddenly, forcing your chin up to look at him.
“Tell me you love me back,” he demands, cold and cruel.
You’ve never seen him like this before—he’s given you all the softness left in him over the past few months. You’ve drained him dry, and now you’re getting him in his actuality.
Lightning strikes, the lights flicker for longer than ever.
“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s the truth.
Tears threaten to well and spill down your cheeks, but he wipes them away with a calloused thumb before they get the chance to betray your absolute honesty.
Lightning strikes, and Toji kisses you.
You feel the scar on his lip, as he crawls overtop of you, too large for such a bed as this. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, as he slots himself between your parted legs, skimming a hand down the smoothness of your thigh, dipping lower and lower until he feels the wetness between your thighs.
How could you ever throw him out?
You couldn’t, not when he bites down on the side of your neck and plunges two fingers into the slippery wetness of your cunt, and he pumps them in the way that makes your toes curl, legs shake and quiver.
“Should’a never let me in here,” he chuckles maliciously against the side of your throat, lifting himself up so that you can watch his thick, rough fingers disappearing in and out of your pussy.
“You'll never get rid of me now, honey. Never,” he bites your chest, leaving a mark, “ever,” he bites the side of your breast, another bruise, “ever.”
The storm has filled the room around you, and the lights go out entirely, leaving you with nothing but candlelight to illuminate the rough planes of his face, the emerald tinged hurricane beneath his dark lashes. Your toes curl, fingernails dig into his back, and you’re gushing around his fingers whether you protest it or not.
“That’s it,” he purrs, marking your other tit with a circle that matches his sharp teeth, “cum for me— fuckin’ cum on daddy’s fingers.”
Daddy. He’s never called himself that before, and it startles you in the throes of your orgasm, but you’re too weightless, boneless from the sparks of electricity igniting your skin to stop him—there’s no stopping him anyway. He’s an immovable object, a boulder in your path that you’ll never push past.
And he’s grabbing a candle off your bedside table, as you’re sated, staring up at him with parted lips and panting breaths, cheeks hot and flushed.
“You scared?” He asks, and he knows the answer, as he tips the little candle over, letting some of the hot wax drip onto your bare stomach.
It’s hot, and you hiss, starting to move away from him before his hand meets your shoulder, pressing you down into the mattress while you get used to the molten hot, unfamiliar feeling that he’s giving you.
One less candle, and it’s getting darker in here. Now you can see his glowing gaze more so than anything else.
But you can’t focus on your lack of sight—your mind is preoccupied with the feeling of hot wax dripping onto you, a perfect line from between your hips, extending all the way to the center of your rib cage.
Between your breasts, over your right one, then your left. The wax hits your sensitive, hard nipple, and you gasp—an attempt to writhe away from the sensation, but you don’t want it to stop.
There are goosebumps covering your skin all over, but you’re far from cold.
“Gonna paint ya,” he chuckles darkly, watching the red wax drip across your soft skin, “before I breed ya.”
“What—” you hiss, but he’s taking another, and he’s covering the wax on your nipples again, and you’re moaning confusedly at the temperature change on your skin.
Every drip, drop, drip of wax onto your body tingles, burns a bit, but then it feels good. And you’re wet, and you want to cum again.
Two candles out, thunder crashes closely, and it’s almost entirely dark as Toji ducks his head down between your thighs. He’s kissing your pussy, but you can’t feel the scar on his lip anymore.
Your arching, as still-hot wax drips off your body onto the sheets, ruining and staining them. You don’t care—you don’t care about anything other than the messy, wet kisses he’s giving your sex. Teasing you while you’re still sensitive, before he starts the rhythm against your clit that he knows makes you cum hard.
Your fingers find his hair, even in the darkness, and he really does love you. You can tell every time he comes back here and remembers just how to make you cum just right.
“Toji—Toji— Toji,” you cry out his name into the darkness like a prayer, listening to the rain and the sound of his rough groans against your sex.
Another candle blows out, and the storm rages like it’s going to take the walls down with it. You wouldn’t care—your orgasm is ripping through your body like it’s going to tear you in half.
Toes curl, fingernails dig into his scalp, Toji moans against your clit, and your spine arches as you cry out his name, letting the storm envelop you in pure lightning.
He rides you through it, cooing against your pussy like he loves it, before slipping up between your thighs. He’s shirtless, he’s naked, he’s pressing his hard, uncovered cock against your entrance, and you’re lost in the sensation of absolutely nothing but heat.
You’re on fire, and you want to burn.
Hot wax covers your body, and he covers your body, and the weight of his cock is slipping through your entrance, though it’s a fucking stretch.
“That’s it,” he growls against your lips, “take it— take daddy’s fuckin’ cock.”
“C-Condom— Toji—“ you manage to squeak out, but it’s useless, absolutely futile on a night like this.
You can’t see it in the darkness, but the smile he gives you is pure, undiluted evil. No, he’s waited plenty long enough to do this with you.
He’s fought his own primal, instinctual urges every other time he’s fucked you, but there’s a storm tonight outside, another inside him, and he’s going to fuck a baby into your cunt.
He pushes further, and you’re trying to suck him in—the girth and length of him is always, always too much for your pussy. In every sense of the word, Toji is mountainous.
“Not tonight, honey,” he comforts you, brushing your hair away from your face, “not tonight—hnng—I’m fuckin’ a baby into you. Wouldn’t ya like that?”
Your wide eyes meet his narrowed ones, and you’re sure that this man is a creature entirely separate from the one you’ve had every other month. Tonight, he’s in his true form, he’s the fucking monster that he’s pretended not to be every other time he’s been graced with your soft, smooth presence.
“Yes,” you hiss, rocked by the movement of his hips, as he makes it halfway, staring down at your face like he’s struggling not to lost what’s left of his control and brutalize you. He twitches inside you at your yes, and there’s no more holding back for him.
Not if you—
“Want—Want you to fuck a baby into me—” you moan out, lost in pleasure, in your own storm.
It’s not so different than Toji’s.
And Toji almost fucking cums inside you right there, stilling entirely as he bottoms out. He takes a shallow, shaking breath, before cementing a hand to the top of your wooden headboard so that he doesn’t hurt you.
He wants to hurt you, and he wants to breed you, mark you as his own so that every other fucking man that looks at you knows exactly who you belong to.
Oh, please, give me mercy no more.
It’s a kindness you can’t afford.
He’s going to do it, and you’re going to let him. He moves inside you brutally, rocking the bed with every slam of his hips against yours.
You’re crying out to him, to God, tears streaming down your face, as you’re well aware that Toji’s fucking ruining your pussy. The hot wax on your chest is transferring over to his, and the heat of your combined bodies moving keeps it from ever drying fully.
It’s hot and frenzied, you’re moaning perfectly beneath him. His hands find their way to the backs of your knees, slamming them down against the mattress as he puts you into the mating press that you’re meant to be in when you’re bred by a beast like him.
“You’re gonna make me a fuckin’ daddy,” he growls to you between thrusts, voice lower and huskier and more strained than you’ve ever heard it before.
“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop I give you—all fuckin’ night—gonna’ let me get you pregnant, fill you up with my fuckin’ kids and then raise ‘em for me, aren’t you?”
The headboard slams against the wall behind you, and you cry from pleasure alone. The lights aren’t coming back on, and you want to be lost in the darkness of him, with him.
Thunder rolls and crashes—you’re sure the sky is going to open up at any second and swallow you whole—that lightning will come through the roof and strike you both dead.
God’s angry with you. He’s angry that you’re doing precisely what you were always meant to do.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you scream out, as he bites down on your throat again.
His sweat mingles with yours, and your hips ache from the severe angle that he’s fucking you in, but you know that he’s more a beast than a man right now, that any resistance against him would only prove fatal for you, so you stay like that. With your legs hiked up over his shoulders, as you claw into him, into anything you can use to hang on for dear life.
He’s going to give you life, and you’re going to let him.
“If it doesn’t take,” he bites you again between his words, “I’ll just be back to fill your cunt up—again,” he punctuates his words with hard thrusts, “again,” another, “and again.”
He shoves his rough fingers into your mouth, gripping your tongue with them while you whimper uselessly and cum involuntarily around his thick cock. You can’t see anything at all except for his eyes, but you know that he can see you.
Any predator can see better in the dark than its prey.
I warn you, baby, each night as sure as you’re born.
You’ll hear me howling outside your door.
You’re convulsing, sucking his fingers until you gag, and he slips them from between your lips. He replaces them with his lips, scarred as they are, as you run your feeble hands up and down his chest.
You feel the scars, the dips and valleys that wouldn’t be there if he were a normal man, and you want his babies to come out just as gnarled as he is.
You want to give him strong fucking babies, so you clench your cunt around his cock as tight as you can. He groans at feeling of you tightening just for him, fucking faster, harder , faster. The headboard might break, your bed might break, and you don’t fucking care.
You want Toji to fuck you full of his babies, and you don’t care about anything else. He moans against the shell of your ear, melding his body so tightly with yours that you aren’t sure where you begin and end, which parts of you are your own, and which are his.
Don’t you hear me howling babe?
“Cum in me—” you’re begging him, locking your legs as tightly as you can, “cum in me— please, Toji—please—”
The sound that he emits is much more a growl than a moan, much more beast than man, as his nails claw into the plump skin of your thighs and draw blood.
“You want my fuckin’ babies—yeah, ya’ fuckin’ do,” he holds you entirely still, planting you to the mattress as he groans and cums inside your cunt, as deep as he can possibly bury himself inside you, “fuckin’ take it— fuckin’ take ‘em— fuck.”
| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | wc: 3.6k ~ | art credit |
pairing: gojo satoru x reader
summary: you’re learning the well-deserved aches and pains of moving in with gojo satoru. he’s learning that he likes your domesticity, maybe a little too much.
content: | body worship | soft!gojo satoru | fluff | smut | shower sex | painting | domestic stuff | angst | breeding kink | unexpected creampie (for both of them really) | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | facefucking | facials | squirting | established relationship |
an:: i haven’t written a domestic or nice gojo in agessssss but today is the day to start apparently! also dear god all of my fics are going to have a breeding kink thing please just accept that for what it is
| ao3 | discord | twitter | main | kofi |
House hunting with anyone is difficult, but house hunting with Gojo Satoru was an entirely different beast that you never realized you'd have to deal with. A six eyed one, who is hellbent on spending a small fortune on a house for two people.
"What about this one?" He asks, turning his phone screen over to you.
On the screen is a listing for a goddamn mansion. 8,000 square feet, three stories, eleven bathrooms, a movie theater, an arcade, the list goes on. It looks like a celebrity home for a family of about... fifteen people.
You give him a concerned glance, "Satoru, that house has thirteen bedrooms."
"Yeah," he answers, confirming it enthusiastically, "and a pool."
You resist the urge to laugh, "Let me rephrase... Why would we, as two people, need a house with thirteen bedrooms? Babe, that's basically a hotel."
"What if we have twelve kids?" He asks, giving you a serious expression, even though a smirk threatens to tug at the corners of his lips.
"We are not."
He continues, cutting you off, "God forbid Satoru the eleventh and Satoru the twelfth have to share a bedroom. They'll kill each other."
"No. Okay," you sigh closing your eyes, "I love your enthusiasm, but I'm not playing the hypothetical game with you because it never ends, and--"
He cuts you off with a kiss, chuckling against your lips. His arms encircle your waist, pushing you down onto the couch beneath him as he shifts himself on top of you.
"I don't know why you wanna raise our fourteen kids in a shoebox--" he says, kissing your neck between his words.
"Fourteen now?" You ask with a gasp.
"Fifteen. But okay, I'll look at regular houses, too," he concedes, running his hands up underneath your shirt, "not tonight, though. God, scaring you gets me hard."
"What a concerning thing to say-- ah!"
He's already snuck his hand into your pants before you can argue, and as per usual, neither of you picked a house that night.
Eventually, you were able to talk him down to something slightly more modest, more fit for the two of you (and just the two of you, not the fourteen or fifteen babies he proposed you have).
It’s not that you hated any of the mansions that he offered to buy, it’s just that you’d like your home to feel a little more homey, a little less easy to get lost in.
When you bought your house in the city (still extravagant, of course), and wanted to repaint a couple of the rooms, Satoru already had professional painters on speed dial. When you suggested that the two of you do some of the renovations yourself, he looked at you like you’d shot him in the chest.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” you say, “this place needs some character, and I’d be embarrassed if a bunch of strangers saw the sex swing.”
It does need character. Right now, it looks like you bought it right out of a better homes magazine. You feel weird when things are too pristine and too manicured, like you’re living in a model home.
Having a team of professional renovators moving in and out of the house for the next few weeks seems less than ideal, too, considering that you and Satoru tend to fuck like rabbits day and night.
“I can’t think of anything less fun than manual labor,” Satoru argues, wrapping his arms around your waist, “and if they ask about the sex swing, I’ll just tell them you put me in it when I’m getting on your nerves.”
“Oh, really? Why don’t you go get in it now then?”
His grin widens, “You mean it?”
You elbow him gently, furrowing your brows before continuing what you were doing before he intervened to bug you. You’re holding up two different paint swatches against the wall of your bedroom, unable to decide which looks better.
“Which one do you like more?” You ask Satoru, whose chin is propped on your shoulder.
He hesitates for a second, “... Those are exactly the same color.”
“Huh?” You gasp, turning your head to look at him, “What do you mean? They’re, like, two shades different.”
They’re both close to white, but slightly different shades of white. One is more cool toned, the other is slightly warmer. You picked them out at the store earlier, so you’re sure that they aren’t the same.
“Baby,” he hums, wrapping his hands over yours, “not to pull rank here, but one of us has the best eyes in the world,” he pries your thumbs away from the bottoms of the slips of colored paper, “and the other one has been trying to choose between moonlight white and moonlight white for half an hour.”
You audibly gasp when you realize that he’s right. Printed at the bottom of the slips of paper is exactly the same name, twice. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you, because you could’ve sworn you were looking at two different shades this entire time.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You rasp, dumbfounded, “and... how did I not notice?”
“I thought you just needed to see it twice for some reason,” he replies with a shrug, laughing, “it’s been a long day, let’s just go to bed.”
You concede after that, seeing as it’s already past midnight, and standing here clearly isn’t doing you anymore favors than riding him in your new bed would.
The next day, you start painting a couple of the rooms together. And while Satoru eventually agreed that he was willing it give it a try, that never meant that he wouldn’t whine the entire time. Which he does, because of course he does.
Satoru is many things: he’s the strongest sorcerer in the world, he’s the (self-proclaimed) best teacher in the world, he’s also hilariously fucking bad at housework.
It makes sense that he wouldn’t really know how to fix a sink, or paint a wall, or hook up a t.v. His childhood was spent surrounded by servants, while he spent his time outside training, and fighting, and training, and fighting.
Put him in the ring with the greatest martial artist of all time, he’d win. Put a paint roller in his hand, and he just squints at it for a good thirty seconds before handing it back to you.
He doesn’t know how to be domestic, and at this point, he’s afraid to learn. But he’ll do it for you-- at the very least, he’ll give it a try for you.
Letting you call the shots right now is the least he could do, after making you wait ages for real commitment from him, after getting panicky and distant when you spent the night for the first time, after you’ve loved and taken care of all of the jagged parts of him that are so incredibly, irreparably broken.
Maybe it’s out of some fear that he’ll eventually lose you, too. Maybe that’s why he tries all these normal, domestic things with you that would never cross his mind if you were anyone else. Maybe that’s why he wanted to buy you a fucking mansion in the hills, or a castle with a moat in Scotland.
If it would make you happy, he’d do it. Anything and everything, all for you.
But painting a wall that’s already off-white to moonlight white? It’s so insufferably boring that he contemplates tearing all of his hair out and mixing it into the paint, so that he’d at least have something stimulating to do.
The only thing he likes about this task is that he can hear you humming to yourself in the other room, some song that he barely recognizes. You’ve played it in the car before, but he can’t remember the name.
Frankly, that’s where the majority of his mental energy is going right now, not towards these tedious up and down strokes, because you said that side to side strokes were wrong for some reason.
He floats down from the corner of the room where he’s been levitating for the past twenty minutes, finishing up a corner, and when he looks at the little tray on the ground, he gets an idea that you’ll (probably) hate.
You’re lost in thought, daydreaming about how the kitchen would look with new countertops, when Satoru seems to appear out of nowhere, looming over your shoulder and blocking the light from above.
“Fuck! Oh my god, you walk so quietly,” you hiss, after looking over your shoulder and noticing him.
“You missed a few spots,” he hums thoughtfully, looking over your work.
Your eyes shift back toward the wall, now searching desperately for missed sections. Certainly, he can see them better than you can, but you don’t recall missing anything yet.
“Where-- Oh, what the fuck!” You hiss, as his big hands grip your asscheeks underneath your shorts while you were focused elsewhere.
That wouldn’t normally be a problem, because of course Gojo cannot keep his hands to himself, but they’re wet and cold.
He laughs at your screech, you whip around to look at him, “is that paint? Why?!”
“Painting is so fucking boring,” he complains, smirking at your protest, “getting to put handprints on your ass is my reparation.”
And then he takes his (indeed, paint-covered) hands, and pulls you against his chest, again holding your ass as he does so.
“Gojo, you have some paint on you,” you murmur, trying to hold back a grin, as you swipe your own painted thumb along his cheek.
“Oh, really? Do I?” He asks sarcastically, smirking as he backs you up until your back hits the wet wall that you were just working on.
You gasp, as the cold liquid seeps through your shirt and gets into your hair, and he only leans down to kiss you smoothly. In spite of yourself, you kiss him back, not fighting as much as you should when he hoists you up by the backs of your thighs, wrapping them around his waist.
“I just-- ah-- finished that wall,” you breathe between frenzied kisses.
He’s grinding his hardening length against your core, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth, “Do you wanna finish on it, too?”
“Shower-- oh, god, fuck--” you hiss, as he takes to sucking at the skin of your throat and pulling your shirt up and over your head, “so you can touch me without getting paint in my--”
“Say less,” he rasps, before warping rather than walking to the master bathroom.
He sits your ass on the sink, using his infinity to turn the water on while he undresses the both of you hastily, still kissing you with desperate need to be inside of you.
When his cock springs free from his briefs and slaps against his abs, you start stroking him in your palm, listening to the stuttering gasp that escapes his lips when you run your thumb over the sensitive tip.
You lean down to kiss his neck, his clavicles, his chest, as you leisurely stroke him in your palm, and he kneads the fat of your ass. Your run the flat side of your tongue over the scar that extends down the center of his chest-- it always makes him shiver when you do that.
He’s picking you back up before you can make it to his cock, practically throwing you into the shower with anticipation.
There’s a bench in the shower, big enough for you to comfortably sit on, and Satoru all but pushes you down onto it, “Open,” he demands, tapping his cock against your lips once.
“Are you desperate today, Satoru-- oh--”
You try to tease him, but as an opportunist, he just takes the momentary openness of your mouth as a chance to slip inside of it, moaning with relief when you run your tongue along the underside of the head.
“Just fucking suck it for a second, baby,” he rasps, threading one hand into your hair as the other is pressed flat against the wall where he braces himself, “just suck it-- just like that, just like that-- god, you’re so good.”
The muscles of his thighs twitch, betraying his desire to thrust his hips forward and make you take the rest of it down your throat. He’s so long that it’s difficult-- if not impossible-- to do so. Especially on a day like today where he’s so obviously need and excited, and he’s harder and thicker than usual.
You swallow around his length, looking up at him sweetly as you bob your head up and down him.
“Let me fuck your face,” he asks hoarsely, looking down at you for permission as his hips involuntarily flex forward, “just for a second, you can do it for a second. You can take it, baby, you can take it.”
You aren’t so sure, as tears are already welling up in your eyes, but you do as he asks anyway, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat as much as possible. He starts thrusting, really thrusting, and holding your head down until it’s at the base of his cock, while he fucks into your throat and moans wantonly.
“Fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me-- god, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns, before pulling out of your mouth abruptly.
You close your eyes and open your mouth, you stick your tongue out and wait for the couple of seconds that it takes, because you know Satoru, and you know that there’s almost nothing he loves more than cumming all over your face.
“Oh--oh--ooh,” he moans, holding your tongue out of your mouth even further with his thumb, as he cums onto it, “oh, good girl, good girl.”
He hits your face, too, before eventually just grinding the underside of his tongue through the puddle of cum in your mouth. He feeds it back to you slowly, murmuring praises as he watches you swallow it all down.
“Pretty baby,” he purrs, as he cleans your face off before kneeling down to kiss you and taste himself, “now let me clean you up and make you cum really hard, yeah?”
He kisses the entirety of your face, from your forehead to your cheeks to your chin, as though he’s saying thank you for letting him wreck your throat. And he does exactly as promised.
He cleans every part of your body slowly and reverently, partly because he wants to show his appreciation for you, and mostly because he can see the way your thighs are squeezing together, and you’re dying for him to just lick you already.
He licks you, though not in the spot that you need him to. No, he licks and kisses your earlobes, your neck, the inside of your mouth, your shoulders and arms and hands. he kisses your chest, between your tits, the underside of your breasts-- he kisses a line down the center of your stomach, even though it tickles.
When he reaches the bottom, your legs spread involuntarily, and you push your hips outwards. Satoru smiles up at you wickedly-- he knows you need it, that’s why he’s making you wait.
That’s why he sucks your nipple into his mouth and massages your other breast, before switching sides and doing it all over again. Before long, you’re moaning whenever his hand brushes your thigh, he doesn’t even have to get near your pussy.
“Please, need-- please, I need you to--”
“I know what you need,” he hums, as he lifts you up and kisses your lips languorously again, turning you away from him, “and you can have it, baby.”
He bends you over at the waist, making you place your hands on the bench you were just sitting on, as he kneels between your legs. He runs a slow finger along your slit, noticing that the wetness there is different than the water. It’s thicker, creamier, tastes like you when he presses his finger into his mouth.
Satoru kisses your asscheeks, before dipping down between your legs to where you really need him to be. His tongue is slow and lazy, as he licks between your folds and across your clit, dipping inside of you experimentally.
You moan and struggle to hold yourself up already, as he sucks and kisses your clit lovingly, presses two fingers inside of your needy hole. If there’s one thing Satoru is good at, it’s eating your pussy.
As in, the first time he fucked you, he licked and kissed every inch of you until he figured out precisely which spots made you cum the hardest, which ones made you cum the fastest, which ones made you squirt, and then he never forgot the key that he made for your body.
Satoru can drag an orgasm out of you when you don’t want one, but when you do... You’re crying and clenching around his fingers, you’re rocking your hips back onto his face as he tongue-fucks that one spot that gets you there so well.
The way he licks your pussy is worship for Satoru, it’s love and dedication and adoration, because he’ll please you until the end of the world if you want him to. Maybe he’ll even do it if you don’t want him to.
You’re spasming and creaming on his tongue once, and then he doesn’t stop, he overstimulates you until it happens again, and then again, and then when he’s almost finished playing your body like a virtuoso would a piano-- he makes you squirt, just to prove that he can.
He stops after you’ve fallen apart so many times that you’ve lost count, and your knees buckle. Of course he catches you, chuckling as he holds your spent body up with his muscular arms.
“Think you can still ride me, baby?” He asks to tease you, knowing fully well that you can’t even stand up right now without some assistance.
“No, nonono, need a break,” you respond, laying your lax body against his hard one.
In the end, he dries you off and takes you to bed, he lays you down on your stomach. And then he massages your spent body for a long while, rubbing your arms, your shoulders, your back, your thighs, your ass...
A good long while, it is, before he stops resisting the urge to run his fingers along the slick surface of your cunt and notice that a string of cum connects the two.
He’s hard again, just like that, so fucking hard that he can’t stand it.
“Baby,” he purrs, asking your permission as he slides his cock between your asscheeks, desiring the friction, “you’re dripping again, like you want me to put my cock in you.”
“Please,” You ask, somehow still so aroused after every other orgasm he’s given you, “Mm, want you to make me cum again-- please, please-- oooohhh, fuck.”
He’s already sighing in relief as he slips his length into you. Satoru loves it when he has plenty of time to warm you up for his cock, because you’re so smooth and pliant and accepting of it afterwards, and even after a good four or five orgasms, you still clench and whine and shake, because your pussy is so, so sensitive.
So sensitive, and so wet, and sucking him in so fucking good, and you’re so fucking hot-- and, god, he loves your ass.
Satoru slaps it once, watching the fat of it jiggle as he fucks into you. He grips your waist, leaning down so that his forehead is pressed pressed between your shoulder blades. You’re keening and whining, fingers gripping the sheets for dear life as he rolls his hips into yours again and again.
“’M gonna-- Gonna cum-- Satoru, can I-- Please--”
“Cum for me, baby, cum for me-- wanna feel it, wanna hear it, wanna see it-- cum on my cock-- yes, fuck, there you go-- that’s it, that’s it-- let me hear it.”
You do let him hear it, and see it, and feel it, and he can practically taste it when he’s buried so deeply inside of you. Your muscles constrict, your breaths stagger, and you bite down on the pillowcase to muffle the cry that you let out.
Satoru loves the feral side of you that he sees when he’s fucking you from behind, and you can barely take it. He loves it so fucking much, he loves you so fucking much-- sososososo fucking much.
So much that he needs to show it to you, needs to give you his love with his body and let you accept it and carry it and bring it to life.
For the first time in your relationship, Satoru can’t find it in himself to pull out of you before he cums. No, not today, not right now. You’re practically begging to have his fucking babies, loving him like you do.
Your body needs his babies-- with your wide hips, and your soft smile, and your pillowy tits. He needs to fuck a baby into you, and he doesn’t know why the thought’s just now occurred to him when he’s balls deep, buried inside your cunt.
Like a man gone mad, he rambles, “Baby, I need to—need to— fuck, I need you. C‘mere— Come here. I’m gonna—“
He grabs your ass and hoists your hips upwards, his own hipbones slam against your lower half, and he moans out every syllable of your name as he fills you up with his seed, fucking every last drop of his cum into your cunt, a sign of adoration, a sign of love.
As soon as he loosens his death grip on your hips, your knees buckle, and his cum spills out of your pretty pussy. Satoru pushes it back into you with his fingers, eyes transfixed on the sight of moonlight white cum dripping out of your pussy.
“Did you cum inside me?” You ask, hoarse, out of breath, and likely confused, considering that he’s always been on top of his pullout game.
| MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | wc: 2.9k | part 1 |
pairing: toji fushiguro x reader
summary: you've never met your mysterious sugar daddy, but you know that you're lucky to have found one who's so fucking hot. he's dangerous, but you like dangerous-- you like him.
or...
toji decides it's the perfect day to pay his pretty baby a visit. he's waited more than long enough to fuck her.
content: | gun play | smut | public sex | rough sex | facefucking | blowjob | vaginal sex | mirror sex | afab reader | accidental creampie | sloppy sex | sex worker reader | sugar daddy toji | guns as sex toys | toji fucks you in a lingerie store |
an:: there's a part 1 to this fic, but feel free to read it as a standalone ;)
| ao3 | discord | twitter | main | kofi |
Things got more serious with your anonymous subscriber after that night, more personal, more intimate. Whereas before, he'd drop into your stream once a week to give you some cash and some compliments, it was impersonal and distant.
Now, you're talking throughout the day every day, and more at night.
Giving him your phone number might've been a mistake, given your line of work and the amount of money that he has, but he has this irresistible charm about him that you can't seem to shake yourself from thinking about.
There's also this sense of danger that you get from him that's equal parts terrifying and exciting all at once. He doesn't tell you what he does for a living, and you're afraid to ask.
That's not to mention... The money. You're not naive enough to think that someone has that much disposable income without doing some shady shit to get it.
It's enough that you're looking at new apartments, enough that you're buying yourself expensive jewelry on a regular basis, enough that you're carrying a versace handbag now, and you don't even have to worry about the price.
You find yourself getting so comfortable with him that you almost don't worry about being frugal anymore.
And he doesn't ask for much in return for being your glorified sugar daddy, all he wants is the ability to see your body whenever he asks. If he asks to see your tits at work, by all means you run off into the dressing room and show off for him.
Even though he's seen every part of your body already on your streams, he still wants more from you. You accused him of being greedy once or twice as a tease, and he wholeheartedly agreed.
He is greedy, he wants it all.
A couple months pass, and you learn things about him that you never thought you would. For instance, he's thirty-five, a bit older than you (a little over ten years older, to be precise).
Sometimes he sends you pictures of himself, but only from the lower half of his face down. He's usually smoking a cigarette, showing off his scarred chest and abdominal muscles.
There's a scar that runs perpendicular with his face, through the right side of his pretty lips, moving down his chin. You subconsciously find yourself looking for people who have that matching scar when you're walking down the street, but to no avail.
His abs are so well defined that you can imagine how they'd feel under your tongue. He's muscular and tall, vascular everywhere, but especially right around his happy trail.
Your sixth sense was so right, he's hot, hotter than he could've been in your wildest dreams.
He's got veins and ridges that lead toward his cock that you'd love nothing more than to run the flat side of your tongue along, before moving lower and sucking his--
The bell at the front door rings, letting you know that someone's walked into the shop. You shake the unholy thoughts away, straightening out your shirt before you greet them.
"Hi, welcome in to..." your voice trails off, your eyes widen, you shake your head and finish your greeting quickly, telling him your name and asking if he's looking for anything in particular.
He's tall with black hair and thin, green eyes. He's wearing a black face mask, but his eyes crinkle up like he's smiling when he sees you. He's wearing a black sweater, black pants, and combat boots. The only colorful thing in his ensemble are those mesmerizing emerald eyes of his.
You must've been hit with a random wave of deja vu when you saw him, because you could swear that he's familiar...
"Nah, I'm just looking around. Thanks, baby," he says with a friendly gaze, or at least you think it is...?
The mask hides the majority of his features-- most importantly, it hides his mouth, which is the part of him that you're most interested in seeing right now.
But it can't be him. If it were, that would either be one hell of a coincidence, or a terrifying breech of boundaries that you'd rather not think about.
"Alright," you answer, trying to sound chipper, "just let me know if you need help finding anything."
He looks around for a minute, and you realize how incredibly alone you are in this store right now. You're the only one working today, after all. It's a small boutique, it's not rare for you to be the only person here.
But now it's just you, and this mysterious, large man who's wandering through the aisles and sneaking cheeky glances at you when he notices you're staring at him.
He catches you staring for the third time since he's walked in, you mutter a "shit," to yourself, as you turn around and try to make yourself look busy.
In reality, you're just pretending to fold thongs that don't need to be folded and biting your cheek like it's going to be your last meal.
"Actually, I might need your help after all," he purrs, now standing behind you and startling you.
"Shit-- I mean, sure! Of course. What-- uh-- what are you looking for?"
You curse yourself for stammering, but dear god he's so large and intimidating. When he's standing right in front of you, you can clearly see that your head is about level with his pectoral muscle. He must be a foot taller than you, and so broad that he blocks the warm, sensual overhead lighting.
He looks around at the aisles and displays that are filled with nothing other than bras, panties, bodysuits, and thongs, and he comes to his decision.
"Lingerie, I guess."
You mentally slap yourself. Well, duh, of course he's looking for lingerie in a lingerie shop.
"Sure, yeah, of course," you mutter, coming around the counter to help him out, "is there a style or a color you're looking for?"
As you move through the different sections sort of hastily and nervously, he leisurely strides behind you, seeming to take pleasure in how nervous you are.
"What do you like?" He asks. His voice is sweet and smooth like molasses on your tongue.
"I... like all of it," you answer diplomatically, "because I work here, of course. These in particular have been popular this month," you state, guiding him towards the newest and most expensive bodysuits.
"Black lace with intricate patterns to accentuate your curves. They're elegant, sexy, and... crotchless," the last word comes out accidentally, but the man chuckles regardless.
"Hmm," he hums, leaning over your shoulder to look at the fabric in your hands, "and why would they be crotchless?"
He smells like dior, you think, but there's a hint of cigarette smoke overtop of it.
Oh, fuck.
"You... can't think of a reason?" You ask, testing the waters a little playfully.
"I can think of several," he replies, "but I wanna hear you say it."
His arm slips around you, and you watch with baited breath as his larger hand encloses yours. And you know these hands-- you know the vein that pops out on this thumb, you know these deeply scarred knuckles.
"For fucking," you reply softly, as his other hand wraps around your waist, pulling your back tightly against his chest, "it's made like this so that you can get fucked when you're wearing it, without having to take it off."
There's a rumble in his chest sort of like a growl, as he runs his nose along the junction where your shoulder and neck meet, inhaling your scent deeply.
"You shouldn't have come here, Toji," you mutter quietly, as his hot breath sends shivers crawling up the length of your spine, settling on the back of your neck.
"Mm, you're right," he hums against the side of your neck, having pulled his mask down at some point while you weren't paying attention, "and I shouldn't have locked the door behind me when I walked in, either."
"You did that?"
You hadn't even noticed-- too busy trying to figure out if he was who you were hoping him to be, but he locked the door and turned the sign around to closed.
"Mhm," he purrs, pressing a featherlight kiss to your pulse, "go try this on for me, baby."
"What if I don't want to?" You ask indignantly, trying to hold onto some semblance of self-respect before you inevitably fuck this man at your workplace.
"Oh, you don't want to?" He laughs against your earlobe.
A scarred hand moves lower, thrusting itself into your panties. You gasp, your knees threaten to buckle, as he toys with the wetness that's pooling in your underwear.
"You say that," he mutters huskily, "but your body tells me you're lying. Look at you, creaming all over my fingers like a whore."
"Fuck, Toji," you moan, pressing your face against his neck, "don't stop."
He's a bad listener, because he stops right as you say that, retracting his fingers from inside of you. He turns you around, thrusting his slick-covered fingers into your mouth.
You suck on them diligently, running your tongue along his fingers and between them, giving him lovestruck, wide-eyed stare as you do so.
"Fuck, you're hot," he hisses impatiently, as he grabs your waist and crushes his lips to yours.
His kiss is deep and fierce, your tongue laves over the scar on his lips, he moans when you do so. He licks your tongue and explores your mouth, sharing the taste of your cum between the two of you.
When he pulls back, there's a string of spit between your kiss-swollen lips, and his hands are gripping both of your asscheeks aggressively.
"Go put on something sexy for me," he demands, slapping your ass hard with one of his big hands before pushing you away from him and towards the dressing room.
You resist the urge to giggle at the absurdity of it all, as you finish fastening the straps of the lace bodysuit you chose for yourself, crotchless of course.
When you step out from behind the curtain wearing nothing but lingerie, thigh-high stockings, and the heels you just so happened to choose today, Toji practically growls at the sight of you. The sound that escapes him is nothing less than animalistic.
"Fuck, I've wanted you for so long now," he rasps, as you approach him, "get on your fuckin' knees for me."
He's sitting on a seat right in front of the big mirrors at the end of the hallway, waiting for you with his legs spread and a salacious grin on his face. You listen to his command, lowering yourself down to your knees in front of him.
"May I?" You ask, running your hands along the tops of his thighs, moving towards his belt.
He puts his hand on your wrist right before you reach his belt-buckle, grinning at you somewhat mischievously. You scrunch your brows up in question, as he reaches down and removes a fucking gun from his waistband.
"Were you expecting things to go badly today?" You ask, trying to lighten your own momentary panic with a joke.
"Not with you, baby,” he purrs, watching your eyes follow the gun with intrigue as he holds it in his big hands, "wanna touch it?"
"What's it for?" You ask, running your fingertip along the smooth metal barrel luxuriously.
Toji smirks down at you, "What do you think?"
It's the danger about him-- that's what gets you every fucking time. The feeling in your stomach where you know that you should run in the opposite direction, far, far away from this man, but you don't want to.
“Is it loaded?”
“Always.”
You watch his movements, making sure his finger stays away from the trigger, as you turn the barrel towards yourself. You're dripping slick onto the stone flooring beneath you, as you run your tongue along the side of the gun seductively, holding eye contact with him.
"God, baby," he groans, "you're fucking crazy, huh?"
Instead of answering, you kiss the tip, before sucking it into your mouth. Your lipstick smears along the barrel, just like it does on those sex toys you suck for him.
"So fucking hot," he breathes, "you trust me that much, baby? I could kill you right now."
You groan along the barrel, before slipping it out of your mouth, watching the string of saliva link your lips to the glistening metal.
"You won't kill me," you reply, reaching underneath his arms to unzip his pants, "I trust you... At least enough to let me suck you off first.”
"Mm, fuck, you might be right about that," he groans, as you free his cock from his briefs.
It’s bigger than even the pictures made it seem. Thick and pretty with a few prominent veins running along either side.
You slide your tongue along his length, moving from the tip to the balls in wet strokes, before sucking the head into your mouth. You bob your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks so that your mouth suctions around his cock perfectly.
He moans, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to take it deeper, all the way down to the base. He's groaning with every bob of your head, all the saliva that's dripping down his length.
"Fuck, that's it," the growls, "that's it-- deeper-- relax your fuckin' throat, just like that. Just like that."
Tears stream down your cheeks, as you take his as deep as he can possibly go, and he fucks up into your mouth like he'll die if he doesn't fit as much cock as he can into you at once.
"Goddamn, baby, fuck that's good," he growls, before using his grip in your hair to pull you off of him entirely. His hand grips the base of his cock, holding it tight so he doesn't cum on your face.
He's panting now, his cheeks are flushed pink, and his cock is leaking precum.
"Ride me right fucking now," he orders, pulling you up onto his lap, "as much as I wanna cum on your pretty face, I need to feel this pussy for myself."
You're already dripping when he reaches between your thighs to massage your cunt, shoving two fingers inside of you a little aggressively. You bounce up and down on top of them, bracing your hands on his shoulders.
"Look," he grunts, grasping your jawline with two fingers, forcing you to turn your head around and look at your reflection, "watch."
In the mirrors, you can see his thick cock pulsing against your entrance, you can see yourself straddling his lap, your asscheeks spread apart by his hands. You can see the cum dripping from your hole down onto the tip of his cock, so wet and ready for him to fuck you.
And then he grabs your waist, impaling your smaller body onto the thick length of him. You watch it enter you, inch by inch, thicker and wider than any toy you have. He hits your cervix when he's fully sheathed inside-- you can feel it.
"Your pussy is so tight," he groans, bouncing you up and down on his wet cock, "so fucking tight-- so fucking good-- even better than I imagined it when I was fucking my fist to those videos of you."
"Fuck, Toji-- Fuck-- Fuck--" You're moaning and falling apart already. The tears on your cheeks haven't even dried yet, and he's breaking you in half with this monstrous third leg of his.
He touches you everywhere, but he gropes your ass the most, holding your asscheeks apart so that he watch himself impaling your cunt with every bounce of your body.
He likes seeing how much he stretches your pussy out when he drives himself into you, he likes watching your face contort with pleasure like it does every other night, he likes watching your tits bounce and inevitably fall out of that bodysuit.
When you cum on him, it's a gush and a cry of his name, and he fucks you through it like a man fresh out of prison, a man fresh out of hell. He kisses you deeply, searching the inside of your mouth like there's gold inside of you that he'll fuck out if he tries hard enough.
He massages your clit, he bounces you along the length of his cock until your legs shake, and you're gushing and creaming around him again, and again.
He won't last much longer, he's soaked in you and biting down on your neck while you wrap your arms around his, boneless and just taking whatever he gives you. He's panting and growling against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.
"Gonna cum, baby-- fuck, i'm gonna cum," he moans, "where do you want it? Hm?"
But no, it doesn't matter where you want it. It matters where he wants it, and he's already pulling you off of his cock, back down to your knees again, shoving himself into your mouth.
You take him willingly, desperately, staring up at him with hollowed cheeks while he bucks into your mouth only three times before gripping your head with both hands and cumming down your throat. You gulp and swallow, as he fucks his release onto your tongue.
"That's it, fucking swallow it for me-- yes, yes, yes, take it-- take it-- fuck--" he growls, watching some of it dribble out of your nose when you pull away.
Panting for air, he takes a look at you in the mirror, on your knees before him. The lighting in the dressing room is immaculate, so maybe that's why he sees a little bit of his own cum leaking out of your pussy onto the black floor beneath you.
You're cleaning him up with your mouth, as he gazes down at you affectionately.
Oh, well, doesn't really matter if he didn't pull out in time. He was always going to make you his. If something happens... well, that's just more incentive for you to say yes.
| 18+ MINORS DNI | taglist | masterlist | art credits |
pairing: suguru x reader
summary: an aspect of suguru's personality that isn't normally talked about is his deep, consuming desire to be praised, to be worshipped, to have people who will devote themselves entirely to him. he has ways of achieving this: charisma, charm, intimidation...
but suguru's favorite type of adoration isn't coerced. it's given freely, openly, honestly, and most importantly, it's given by you.
content: praise kink | cult stuff | curse users | suguru being whiny and desperate for you | topping from the bottom | needy submissive suguru | femdom | submissive suguru | drunk sex |
wc: 1.9k
a/n: i love the idea of whiny needy suguru so much it's rotting my brain. u both worship each other but maybe suguru worships u even more than u do him ;)
links: | ao3 | old tumblr | twitter | discord |
Maybe it started in high school, when Suguru was always known to be the second best. Of course Gojo would tell him that they're the strongest together, that the power difference between the two of them doesn't mean anything, because they're friends.
But to Suguru, it was never good enough. He could never shine on his own when he standing right next to the sun incarnate. He had to leave, he had to make a better world for the people that mattered to him: sorcerers.
Those with cursed energy will rule the world, and he'll make sure of it. He'll be personally responsible for bringing forth a new age where curses don't exist, and for that-- he will be worshipped.
He's already worshipped by his followers, now deemed his family, but their praise doesn't mean half as much to him as yours does.
It was two years ago when Suguru found you working as a barista in a local coffee shop. He'd come once a week or so, and he'd make conversation with you. It was casual talk, nothing of significance; he certainly didn't bring up that you were dripping in cursed energy.
The timing just wasn’t right, not quite yet.
No, he didn't tell you about the world that you’ll rule with him. Until one morning during one of his visits, you were being absolutely berated by a man in his fifties for not getting his iced americano right.
He thought about killing the man right then and there for not noticing your worth, for not realizing that the person he was screaming at was so far above him that she's practically a different species.
A monkey screaming at a goddess-- what a fucking shame.
He threw his iced americano onto your white shirt, you quit your job, and a first grade curse user was born.
Suguru likes to think about that morning when he's drinking, such as he is tonight. Sake always tastes like desire to Suguru. It washes away the vomitous taste of the curses he ingests.
When you walk in the door to his room, sliding it closed quietly behind you, everything tastes and smells like sakura blooms in the height of spring. Sweet and delicate, soft and mild.
You turn to face him, and your wide eyes are so the opposite of his own. Your skin is smooth, plush in all of the perfect places, and your voice is gentle and soothing.
A curse user who carries herself like an angel, he was fucked the day he met you. He'd been chaste before you, abstinent from the sins of the flesh.
It wasn't because of any vow that he took, he just didn't find interest in the women or men who surrounded him, and he could never bring himself to fuck a filthy monkey.
You ruined him, with your soft tits and your wet pussy and your cooing voice. Your domineering tone that’s still somehow full of gentle praises. You ruined him beyond repair.
"Did you call for me, Master Geto?" You ask, falling to your knees before him out of respect.
His cock hardens underneath his robes at the sight of it.
He laughs softly, "You don't need to be so formal with me, angel."
His angel, you’ve been his angel since he first saw you with a halo of cursed energy floating around you like an ethereal glow from the heavens.
"I do," you argue, looking up at him and cocking your head to the side innocently, "because I worship you, Master Geto."
His cock goes from half-hard to throbbing against his thigh, he swallows thickly. There's a red blush extending from his pink cheeks to the tips of his ears, his chest will be splotched with roses, too.
"Is that what you'd like me to do tonight?" You ask, subservient yet sly, “Did you call me here to worship you?”
Because you can read him like a book, and though he's domineering in his daily life-- when you're alone with Geto, he becomes malleable like clay. He becomes needy, he becomes whiny, he becomes desperate.
Your thighs are clenching together already at the mere thought of it.
"Yes," he murmurs softly, "please-- come here."
So, you rise from your knees and approach him. Now he's the one sitting on the ground, while you stand in front of him, running your fingers through his hair.
You undo the loose knot at the back of his scalp, letting all of his raven hair fall loosely around his shoulders. Suguru shivers at your every touch, wrapping his hands around your thighs as he nuzzles you with his nose.
"Please me first," you hum lovingly to him, "and then I'll take care of you."
He nods eagerly, gulping as he lifts up your skirt to inhale the scent of you. He moans wantonly as he does so, nuzzling his nose against your cunt before tentatively swiping his tongue through your folds.
Your head falls back as he licks you slowly, lapping at your slick reverently.
"Good, Suguru,” you moan softly, calling him by his first name and tightening your grip in his hair, "that's good-- that's perfect.”
In front of the others, he’s Master Geto, and you belong to him just as they do. But in private, Suguru is yours.
He whimpers against your clit when you praise him, growing more and more needy by the second. To tease him, you press the sole of your foot against his hardened cock, massaging it while he swirls his tongue against your clit.
"That's it-- oh, you're amazing," you purr, as he finds the right rhythm, "just like that, make me come-- just like that."
His moans against your slick cunt vibrate you to your core, as he greedily laps you up, tongue-fucking the precise spot that you praised him for finding until the coil in your stomach tightens, and you brace yourself against his shoulder.
It hits you like a wave of warm, flowing pleasure, as you come apart on his tongue, shuddering and sighing through it, rocking your hips back and forth against his mouth to ride it out.
You're breathing heavily when you pull back from his face, looking down at him affectionately. Suguru's cheeks are red, his lips are swollen and slick with come, his breaths are faltering and unsteady.
"You look beautiful like that," you say sweetly, before gracefully lowering yourself to your knees in front of him.
You kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his lips, before flattening your palms to his shoulders and pushing him down onto the tatami flooring. His robes have already started to fall undone, you help them the rest of the way off.
His chest is flushed pink, much like the tip of his cock when you free it from his clothes. It's red, hard, pulsing in your hand, leaking a more than generous amount of precum as you stroke him a few times.
He whines, throwing his head back. Suguru has the most sensitive cock you've ever touched. He gets hard so easily, he cums so easily.
"Would you like me to ride you, Master Geto?" You ask softly, running your thumb along the tip of his hypersensitive cock.
It’s ironic of you to call him Master when he’s begging you for release like this.
"Y-Yes, please," he stutters, already attempting to thrust his hips up into your hand.
You allow it a few times, making a tight ring with your palm and your fingers for him to rut into, as he moans wantonly. He loves praise, he's addicted to it, and he's addicted to you.
"Ha--Ah--Ah," he moans with every cant of his hips, "oh, please, please--"
You chuckle softly, as you stop stroking him to mount him and press the leaking tip to your entrance. He's already done such a fine job at getting you wet and ready, he slides right in.
"Oh-- Oh," he whines, holding his eyes closed, "please move, please move, please-- please, angel--"
"You're so needy, Suguru," you remind him, as you lift yourself up and let your weight fall back onto the length of his cock, "so desperate, so pussy-drunk already."
"You feel so good, so good," he babbles, thrusting upwards to meet each of your movements, "ah-- ngh-- fuck."
You play with your clit while you ride him, knowing that if he's this horny and needy, he won't last too much longer. Your pussy sucks him up greedly, as your walls tighten around him, and you chase your own release before giving him his.
"Your cock is so big, you're fucking me so good," you tell him, panting now as you search for your high, riding him faster.
"More-- More, more, more," he begs, fucking up into you so hard that you're barely having to move at all, "tell me how good it feels, please tell me, please."
He squeezes your breast with one hand, gripping your ass with the other, as he leans up to suck your nipple into his mouth. Suguru loves your tits, he loves how they bounce when you ride him.
You give him what he needs, you tell him how big and hard he is, how he hits your g-spot with every thrust, how no other man could ever feel as good inside your cunt as he does. He fits you perfectly, he makes you feel so good.
You fall apart again listening to his incoherent babbling and whines, humping him with a hand pressed to his chest to hold him still while you fuck yourself through it.
His heart races when he watches you come, the sounds he makes when you clench around his cock and he involuntarily thrusts upwards are enough to drive you mad.
He says your name like a prayer, "please-- need to cum, let me cum-- tell me you want it, tell me you want me to fill you up-- need to hear it, need it, need it--"
"Cum inside me, Suguru," you rasp, coming back to your senses enough to ride him harder and faster to get him there.
His eyebrows scrunch together, he bites his lower hip, he fucks up into you like an animal who can't get enough.
"Please, Suguru," you coo, "you're so pretty when you're about to come, you make the sweetest faces, I wanna see the ones you make when you fill me up. Show me, Suguru, give it to me."
And he does as asked, like a good boy. He grips your hips tightly, fucking you with short, stuttering movements of his hips as warmth sprays out inside of you, coating your walls in his sticky come.
"That's it, that's it," you praise him, stroking his hair away from his face as he makes a soft sobbing sound, "that's it— just like that. Good boy, good job, baby. Fuck it all into me, I want it all.”
You smile and kiss him through the aftershocks. He kisses you back sweetly, letting out soft little sounds in protest of the overstimulation as you milk him dry.
“I love— ngh— love y-you,” he mutters, still so incredibly sensitive from his orgasm.
“I love you too, Master Geto,” you answer with a sly smile.
Your relationship is more special than anyone else's, because you're the only one he falls apart for, the only one whose praise matters.
