Killing Me Softly | Mondo Owada x Reader
summary: you know better than anyone that loving Mondo Owada means dealing with his temper, his rough edges, and that wild side of him everyone else finds intimidating. but with you, he's different: gentler, softer almost princely in the way he treats you. in your dirties, deepest dreams, though, you can't help but notice how much you like that side of him — the sharp voice, the knuckles turning white, the filthy words he throws at anyone who gets on his nerves. and the more you hear them, the more one thought keeps creeping into your mind. what would it feel like… if, just once, he used that side of himself on you?
warnings: smut, MDNI, established relationship, fem!reader, AU (non-despair), aged-up characters, plot what plot, minor argument, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, choking kink, degradation kink, consensual degradation, creampie, fluff, fluff and smut, dom!Mondo, sub!reader, no use of Y/N, one-shot.
word count: 7.3k +
art not mine - i don’t know the artist! if anyone does, please let me know!
a/n: haaai!!! ( ´ ▽ ` )/ here i am with a new fanfic! this time i wanted to try writing something about Mondo Owada… while playing Danganronpa i wondered how i could write a fic about him, and honestly i’m really satisfied with how it turned out! ♡( ◡‿◡ ) i imagined Mondo as a guy who isn’t rude at all with his girlfriend, but… i’m a gooner… sigh… ;; jokes aside, i really hope you’ll like the fic! and thank you if you decide to read it! ♡
If there’s one thing you like about Mondo, it’s the arrogant, brazen way he acts around other people. That tough-guy aura of his, the way he sizes someone up the moment they say something he doesn’t like, his eyebrows drawing together into a sharp frown, his hands tightening into fists until his knuckles turn white. There’s always that subtle tension in the air around him when it happens, like everyone nearby instinctively knows they should watch what they say. And yet, whenever you see that side of him, you can’t help but feel completely tucked beneath his wing, protected from the entire world, as if nothing could even come close to reaching you anymore.
But it hasn’t always been like that. You were never attracted to this kind of guy your whole life — if there’s one thing you hate, it’s violence, and even though bosozoku have a certain charm people like to fantasize about, the truth was simple: you were sure none of them could ever steal your heart. You’re not made for that kind of life, and you’ve never really understood why so many Japanese teenagers would choose delinquency instead of enjoying their adolescence in a simple, normal way. To you it had always seemed like wasted youth — noisy engines, bruised knuckles, pointless pride.
Until Mondo appeared, of course. Until the day his fists got stained with blood to protect you — because everyone knows he would give his life for you without hesitation. You still remember the metallic smell in the air afterward, the way his chest rose and fell while he stood in front of you like a wall. Until the wind brushed against your face while the deafening roar of his Kawasaki somehow became a comforting sound, something warm and familiar, something that tasted like home. The vibration of the bike beneath you, your hands gripping his jacket while the city lights blurred into streaks of gold around you. Until those same massive arms that used to scare you wrapped around you in an embrace so gentle and careful it stole your breath away, almost as if he were afraid he might break you into a thousand pieces if he held you too tightly. Maybe that’s exactly what made you fall so hopelessly in love with him. That impossibly sweet contrast — the kindness he shows you and no one else, as if you were something special, untouchable.
Despite being impulsive, chaotic, and always ready to throw a punch, you understood right away that Mondo isn’t a bad person. He showed you his fragilities and weaknesses, the parts of himself he usually hides behind clenched teeth and sharp words. The quiet moments when his voice drops and his eyes avoid yours for a second too long. He listened to you when you told him you were afraid that if he kept living like a delinquent he might end up in serious danger someday, and he didn’t laugh at your concern.
And when his lips met yours for the first time, you felt like you were on the moon; it was a sudden kiss, awkward in some ways, but when you melted against him and smiled against his lips you startled him so much he couldn’t get a single word out for the next five minutes, his hand scratching behind his neck and his cheeks completely red. His eyes had been wide in disbelief, like he couldn’t understand how something so soft could be meant for him. You didn’t even notice the freezing night air biting into your bones, you were both so warm. At some point he just burst out with a rough “Ah, fuck it!”, pulled you tightly against him while hiding his face in your neck, and you burst out laughing.
That’s when you realized that no matter how scary Mondo might seem at first, you would always be safe with him. You would never have to worry about anything again.
It’s thanks to him that now you look at delinquents differently. Ever since the two of you started seeing each other you’ve changed a lot, and you’ve learned that judging a book by its cover is wrong. After all, everyone has their own ideas and their own reasons, right? Their own demons.
Only that little by little your tastes have changed too, radically, and if before you rejected a violent and blunt man, ever since you’ve been with Mondo you can’t help wondering why your cheeks turn red every time his voice grows rougher and the words slipping from his lips toward someone who pissed him off become dirtier and dirtier one after another… or why your thighs press together involuntarily when you imagine what it would be like if those ugly, filthy words were directed at you, just once.
Every time your mind drifts in that direction you can’t help feeling a little stupid. Of course you’re truly grateful to have a man by your side who treats you in the most proper way possible, like you were his precious jewel… but then why does the thought of his hand cutting through the air just a little before slowly slipping inside you turns you on so much? And not to mention how much you liked it when he used both hands to push your head against himself while filling your throat completely, the only moment where he really let himself go, a muffled groan slipping from his lips and his head tilted back toward the wall. The way his fingers tightened in your hair without even realizing it, his breathing uneven. How badly you wished you could have shown him how soaked your panties had become when he asked if he had gone too far… his face slightly red and his brows furrowed in an almost worried expression.
Before him, you had never felt like this. As a girl you dreamed of the sweet kiss of a prince charming riding a white horse, someone who would steal your innocence only after marriage. A perfect life made of castles, roses, and pure, enchanting dances. Look at you now: you can’t help but desire the delinquent you love in the roughest and most violent way possible, even though he treats you with the utmost care. Between a horse and a motorcycle there’s quite a difference…
Even though you’re both often a pair of shy idiots, your dynamic was born precisely thanks to the teasing and provocations you threw at each other, and that’s why there’s such familiarity between you. Even so, you often can’t scream his name the way you want to — you can’t understand if you’re doing something wrong or if you should give up such a silly girlish fantasy, because after all you’re definitely satisfied with how he treats you in bed. And yet when you’re alone in your little bedroom in the middle of the night, your hand sliding down toward your stomach and even lower, your eyes closed and your mouth open, you can’t help thinking about his voice dirtying your ears with growled words, or his fingers tightening around your flesh in a grip so strong it steals the air from your lungs… imagining the heat of his body, the weight of him above you, the roughness in his voice that he never dares use with you in reality.
In that moment, it doesn’t feel wrong at all.
Is it really so important for you to satisfy this hunger of yours?
And how will you ever make him understand?
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You absentmindedly play with the strap of your tank top that has slipped down your shoulder, your eyes fixed on some undefined point in the room while your nostrils are filled with the unpleasant yet unmistakable acrid smell of tobacco. You don’t like it when Mondo smokes, but right now you’re far too angry with him to bother reminding him. Besides, you know perfectly well that after an argument with you he gets more nervous than usual and needs his cigarettes. Every now and then you shift your gaze toward him: he’s sitting in front of you on the tatami with his back against the wall, his serious, irritated stare fixed on the open window as he watches the city at night, his legs spread and his bare chest moving up and down unevenly. The faint glow from the city lights flickers across his skin, outlining the tension in his shoulders and the slow rise and fall of his breath.
You hate arguing with him, and that’s because Mondo is stubborn, and when he thinks he’s right you won’t move him even if you strike at his weakest points. The moonlight illuminates his profile, the cigarette clenched between his lips growing shorter and shorter as if to remind you how stupid and pointless this whole farce is. You don’t like wasting time, not with him. And even though you have absolutely no intention of bending to his will, once again you swallow the harsh words you wanted to throw at him and, with a sigh, move on all fours across the tatami until you reach him, your bodies now close and one of your arms breaking straight into his personal space, positioning itself between his legs. Your body reacts immediately to the closeness and your cheeks flush red in an instant, of course, but by now you can’t pull back.
You’ve caught him off guard, like always, and his eyes tell you so. He looks at you with furrowed brows and, even before he can snap like he usually does, you interrupt him, your voice thin as a thread. “Can we stop? That’s enough now. Let’s not fight anymore.” Your words linger in the air for a moment while you don’t look away from him even for a second, noticing every reaction. It’s like he’s trying to hold himself back and think; he tries to do that often since you’ve been together. As gruff as he is, he hates treating you badly and he’s willing to change just to stay by your side. He bites the inside of his cheek and lowers his gaze — of course, he doesn’t want to keep fighting either, but he would never be able to put his pride aside. Not yet, at least. “Ain’t got shit to say to ya,” he mutters through clenched teeth, the cigarette now reduced to a stub and crushed against the cold, dirty surface of the ashtray. The dull crackle of the extinguished ember is the only sound between you for a second.
A little smile slips from your lips before you can stop it; you adore cornering him like this. So you slip even further between his legs — because you know perfectly well he won’t push you away — and raise a hand to caress his face before slowly guiding it toward you, his legs spreading you even more without meaning to and your chests now almost pressed against each other. “Don’t be like that…” you whisper, your sweet, gentle tone accompanying the slow dance of your fingers against the skin of his face. You feel your heart beating a little faster, but the adrenaline comes first. Your fingertips trace the warm line of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath them.
You notice Mondo’s eyes widen, his jaw now tight and his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. You can feel his chest moving faster beneath yours while your breaths mix into one, the distance between you shrinking more and more. When his gaze drifts downward involuntarily and falls into the cleavage of your breasts that he likes so much, covered only by your tank top, Mondo freezes completely for a second, his Adam’s apple visible as he swallows and an irritation that grows instantly in his pants until it becomes throbbing and impatient. You see his head tilt to the side until it rests against the wall, the faint embarrassment uselessly hidden by his usual irritated expression. “Ah, fuck off…” he grumbles under his breath. But the roughness in his voice sounds more strained than angry.
On the other hand, you noticed almost immediately how he’s grown hard against you — impossible not to notice. You stay still, your eyes slightly widened and your lips parted just a little, as if the words had died on your tongue. You can’t lie to yourself: the thought that you managed to excite him with so little drives you crazy, and besides, you’re so sensitive after the argument you had…
Your eyes take in his entire figure: his powerful arms now crossed in front of you, his brows curved downward, his hair loose and still messy from a shower, framing the sides of his neck, and his knees steady against you, almost trapping you in place. A faint drop of water still clings to one strand of hair near his collarbone. Maybe for you, deep down, it really doesn’t take much either.
Before you can control yourself any longer and with lust clouding your mind until you feel almost like a succubus, the hand that had been holding his face slowly slides down across his chest, feeling it tense beneath your touch, his eyes instinctively searching for yours as if he’s trying to understand what the hell is going through your head. Holding your breath, you move even lower, crossing his hips and stopping right over his cock still covered by his pants, slowly stroking it while you can see the hunger growing in his eyes drop by drop. Your mouth grows watery, your core starting to throb as if it’s begging you to touch it, and your face moves closer to his. You take him in your hand with experience, your fingers curling along his entire length as you begin to move slowly, enjoying his breathing already growing heavier and his eyes fixed on you… the fabric of his pants tightening beneath your palm with every slow motion.
What is happening to you?
Not that you care.
You let out a whisper.
“Are you mad at me, Mondo?”
Your voice is the most slutty you could possibly make it.
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You feel completely crushed beneath Mondo’s weight now that he’s positioned above you, your tongues dancing together with a hunger that seems almost impossible to satisfy. You feel his hands tighten around your hips, his fingers sinking into your bare skin as he pulls down your shorts and panties, wanting you completely naked just for him, the fabric slides down your thighs and is tossed somewhere behind him without a second thought. Your hands, instead, slowly caress his back, muscular and imposing, while you gently move your hips against his.
You can feel his big dick pressing against your stomach, throbbing impatiently and painfully: he needs to get inside you and push so deep it’ll make you scream in pure pleasure. So your legs spread even wider the moment you’re naked beneath him, almost as if inviting him. Usually your sex starts with foreplay, with your tongue wrapped around his length and his skilled fingers inside you, making you see stars… but not today, not this time. Not after an argument, not while you spread your legs and give him the perfect view of just how wet you’ve become for him, without him even touching you.
The moment he pulls away from your lips, one of your spontaneous moans breaks the silence, and his eyes close in response. Every time you see him like this, sensitive and vulnerable because of nothing more than a small gesture from you, it feels like he’s holding himself back. Oh, how you wish he wouldn’t… instinctively, without even thinking, you tilt your neck to reach his, your soft lips dampening his skin while your legs wrap around his waist. With a low but incredibly arousing grunt, you finally feel him position himself at your warm entrance with his big, heavy cock, holding it with one hand to guide it in more easily. His head is buried against you, his hair tickling your cheek with every impatient, ragged breath he lets out, while your nails are already digging into the bare skin of his back. The moment you feel the tip slowly stretching you open your back arches: it’s always a shock taking his whole cock inside you. Oh, but the pleasure it gives you…
“Ah, fuck… you’re so tight…” Mondo’s voice, rough and meant only for you, turns you on more than anything else in the world. So much that you find yourself moaning louder than you meant to when he finally ends up completely inside you, staying still, as if he wants you to get used to his size. You feel him pulsing, his thick length reaching perfectly that place inside you no one else — not even you — has ever managed to reach. Your nostrils are filled with the pleasant scent of his shampoo mixed with cigarette smoke as you hide your face in his long hair, your thighs tightening around him almost automatically, as if inviting him to move. An invitation that Mondo accepts immediately: his hips begin to move slowly and deeply, almost as if he wants to savor you, and almost as if he wants you to savor every inch of him.
You feel him dampen your neck with soft, unexpected kisses that make you blush even more than you already are, a warmth traveling through your entire body until it reaches your brain: you can’t think straight anymore. After your neck he moves to your collarbone, then lower toward your breasts while his hands tighten around your hips involuntarily, and finally he moves upward again, his thrusts growing deeper as he pauses to kiss along your jaw with an almost hesitant sweetness, his eyes closed and his warm breath brushing your skin. You’re still hiding your face, and Mondo doesn’t like that — watching you while he makes you completely lose your mind drives him crazy. Maybe he wants you to be completely his too. With his head he nudges yours so you turn toward him, his eyes searching for yours insistently, his voice coming out rough. “C’mon… lemme see that face…”
You can’t help but obey every command he gives you, so you look at him. His pale eyes make you feel so small you could fit inside his fist. Your breasts bounce with every thrust while his length opens you up and pushes inside you as if he knows your body by heart, your lips are slightly wet with saliva, your expression filled with a submission you reserve only for him, and your legs hold him tightly as if he might disappear at any moment. You feel him move one hand — from your hip it travels up along your entire body, caressing you slowly, brushing over your breast until it reaches the place where you want him the most, the place that makes you wetter, the place you dream about even if only for a brief second.
His fingers glide slowly along the delicate skin of your neck until they cup your face, but in that moment you absolutely cannot hide how even the thought that he might touch you there drives you insane. Your voice rises a pitch, your legs wrap around him with shocking strength, and the walls of your cunt squeeze his huge cock until they milk it, so much that you feel him pulse inside you until his movements slow. It’s as if your body is screaming from need, and even though normally that would make you feel miserable and pathetically stupid, you can’t help it. It’s stronger than you — the desire to stop breathing because of him even for a second, to become his personal object, to hear ugly, filthy words whispered into your ear just for you. You don’t even realize you’ve reached this state without Mondo practically even touching you.
On the other hand, he stops completely inside you, noticing every sign but not understanding the reason. After all, you’ve never behaved like this with him before, and even though he’s always given you pleasure by eating you out in every position until you collapsed… Mondo has never seen you like this. His brows furrow as he tries to search your gaze for something wrong, but all he finds is a level of submission high enough to drive any man on the face of the earth insane. You see him swallow, almost nervously, his fingers still on your skin and his eyes locked into yours. “Oi… did I-did I hurt ya or somethin’?”
All you can do, in such an absurd moment, is smile. By now you’re completely enslaved by your lust, and it’s the one commanding you, your mind so clouded it feels like condensed fog. You shake your head slowly and the words die in your throat the moment you try to form a coherent sentence, so you decide to show him what made you so… submissive. You bring your hand over his timidly and push him to tighten his entire grip around your throat. Then you look straight into his eyes, your hand pressing against his while your heart feels like it might escape your chest. Then, a whisper. “Do this.” You can’t even explain with words how you feel, and that’s why the confusion in Mondo’s eyes makes you smile.
His eyes, hungry and incredulous at the same time, slide across yours before moving to your lips, noticing the way they’re slightly parted, wet, and smiling. Then they travel down your naked body, the way your legs are squeezing him tighter since his hand is there, on your neck, the last place his gaze lingers on. His voice comes a moment later, rough, filled with a tender, almost naive confusion. “Huh…? What… what d’you mean?” he murmurs, his eyes locked with yours again and his breathing becoming more and more uneven.
Your cheeks refuse to stop burning, just like your heart that pounds loudly with every beat, unstoppable. At the same time, though, you finally feel ready to make him understand just how much you need to be so damn submissive to him. Your hand slides away from over his, and the warmth of his big, strong hand on you makes your eyes close for a second as you inhale. When you look at him again you try to murmur without moaning, both your hands now ready to caress his hair.
“Could you… try squeezing?”
Even though you feel the need to be used like a doll by the man on top of you, almost as if you’re his prey, the words escape your lips as a low, timid murmur, so embarrassed and awkward you can hardly believe it yourself. Your face flushes even more, if that’s possible, and your eyes dart elsewhere, unable to meet Mondo’s gaze, who, for his part, seems unable to comprehend what’s happening. Even though he’s always clearly held a dominant position over you, you know well that he would never, ever have thought to move in this direction with you. And yet, here you are, practically begging him with your eyes, looking so obedient, so desperate it’s almost pitiful.
How could he possibly say no?
You feel his fingers press lightly against your delicate skin, finally tightening around your neck while still remaining gentle enough not to hurt you. When this happens, you feel like you’re on top of the world, as if you’ve never experienced anything better. A wet, desperate moan slips from your lips, while your gaze now constantly seeks his, your brows furrowed and mouth parted. You still detect a hint of worry in his voice, sharp and unexpected. “Ah… yeah… like… like this… okay…?” Even his cheeks are flushed now, and you notice his Adam’s apple bobbing with tension as he swallows.
He’s… scared? you realize it immediately, and when you do, you nod as quickly as possible, letting him know that he could smack you right now, and you’d probably love it so much it would bring you close to orgasm in an instant. “M-mh… yeah… do it like that…” you whisper in a broken murmur, your voice wavering, your eyes now closed. You notice he doesn’t move, so to give him a little push, you squeeze your thighs even tighter around him, pulling him closer with your legs wrapped around his ass. The thing is, he’s become a block of ice, and that’s because Mondo never imagined that his girl could love a part of him that everyone else hates so much. He doesn’t know how to give pleasure with… raw, rough force.
When your wet walls grip his big, hard cock even tighter inside you, you feel him throb involuntarily, so much that you thrust your hips toward him while your eyes search his. You move your arms toward his neck, dragging him closer to push him to move, while his hand remains on your throat, tight but hesitant. Finally, Mondo catches on and starts moving again inside you, closing his eyes and letting out one of those low, guttural sounds you love so much. “F-Fuck…” he murmurs, his thrusts deep, slow, almost deliberate. And yet, you notice something is off.
You can feel it, this tension, this barrier between you two ever since you asked him to use you however he wanted. It’s like he’s careful with every touch, every push inside your hole, making you feel every inch of his thick, veiny length. And that… scares you a little — you hadn’t considered it, as an option. What if he didn’t like it…?
You tilt your head slightly to reach his lips, searching his eyes to understand as best you can what he’s feeling in this moment. “M-Mondo… you don’t like it?” Your whisper radiates genuine concern, it’s true. Yet that sweet, soft voice of yours, cracked under the pressure of his fingers on your throbbing spot, whispering words like that… drives him insane.
He buries himself fully inside you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl and your nails dig into his back. His eyes are closed again as he inhales deeply, almost as if he’s trying to hold back, even in a situation where you’re begging him not to. You feel his breath brush your lips and merge with yours, and when he opens his eyes, his furrowed brows and hesitant gaze make you emit a small, inevitable moan. He starts moving slowly again, but this time the thrusts are stronger, deeper, almost as if he wants you to understand that you’re pushing him to the edge. “Y-Yeah… I fuckin’ love this… goddamn…”
Slowly, Mondo is gathering a little more confidence. And now that you have confirmation that all this drives him crazy too, you have no reason to resist. As you try to moan as little as possible, you move your arms from his neck to his hair, caressing it while pushing him even closer to you. Your lips brush against his, wetting them, while a little smile erases the almost pained expression you held a moment ago, the representation of your submission to him. Your back arches as he moves in and out of you at a steady, increasingly controlled pace, his muscles flexing against your stomach every time he goes too deep, your nipples already hard from a while ago brushing against his chest, driving you insane.
But you want more.
“So if you like it… stop… acting like a little bitch…”
It’s been ages since you’ve liked teasing your boyfriend. Yet in bed, you never did it, because you never expected it could be the right way to unlock him and start having him treat you like his little slut, passive, personal doll. You know well he’s a hot-headed type, and in a moment like this, with his hand finally in the exact spot you’ve always wanted, you realize this is the best thing you could have said.
You notice his eyes widen, his pace slowing until he’s frozen inside you. But it lasts only a second — his impulsiveness soon takes over, and his tone drops suddenly, rougher, almost… angry. “Little bitch… lil’ bitch, huh?”
What happens next, however, catches you completely off guard.
Almost as if his brain clicked, his gaze slowly shifts. That broken sentence you whispered, with your voice seemingly made to drive him insane, and that provocative confidence you know how to use only with him, make him realize you’re exactly where you want to be, comfortable, craving even more. Finally, he can stop worrying.
It’s that sentence that makes him understand how much he loves being in control.
Suddenly, he moves both hands to your neck, gripping it and slamming himself fully inside you with no warning. His fingers on the sides of your neck now dig into your skin with a hunger you’ve never seen before, able to feel you pulse completely. His hips now move like pistons, strong and deep, while your pussy grips him so tightly it speaks for you, your voice cut off by his powerful hands, which now squeeze even harder. “I’ll show you… who’s the little bitch…”
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You feel overwhelmed by a rush of excitement you’ve never experienced in your life, your back arching with every thrust while his big cock slides in and out of you at a crazy pace, almost as if he wants to prove to you what he can do if you let him be in control. You can feel saliva gathering at the corner of your mouth, while you can’t even manage to moan his name — his hands cut the air just slightly around your throat and your eyes, blurred with tears, see his face out of focus… the room spinning faintly around the two of you while the rhythm of his body becomes the only thing anchoring you in place.
Seeing you like this, ruined beneath him while he fucks you hard, bent to his will and unable to desire anything except being fucked until you can’t even walk anymore, is starting to feel really good to Mondo. So good that you hear him letting out deep, rough sounds; so good that you can feel his dick throbbing harder and harder, moving in rhythm with your pussy that milks him like you’re some dumb little virgin; so good that, for just a moment, he squeezes your throat so tightly you can’t breathe.
When he does, your eyes roll back and your legs lose all strength — it’s like you can’t do anything except let him use you. At that point, Mondo’s hands move from your throat to your hips, finally letting you catch your breath again. And you do, breathing heavily and letting out strangled moans, so loud that anyone could hear you, from the still-open window and the thin walls of the room. You see him bury his face toward your neck, his thrusts slowing until he stops completely inside you, letting you feel every inch of his huge, thick cock that always manages to make you feel so full, and so empty afterward, every time you finish. “F-Fucking hell…”
His lips are so close to your ear that you can hear every sound they make, the same ones that normally make you so wet he slips inside you even without eating you out first. In this case, you’ve been completely soaked for so long already that being any wetter would be impossible…
When you finally manage to move your arms and stroke his back with a sweetness that completely contrasts with the way he’s deliberately fucking you, his sigh breaks into a groan and his eyes roll back slightly. “Should’ve fuckin’ told me sooner… that you like it like this…” he whispers, each word pronounced with such intensity that it perfectly reveals the hunger burning inside him right now. His voice is rougher than usual, almost shaky from the effort of holding himself together. It’s like he’s venting everything out onto your body, and thinking about it… that’s exactly what you wanted the most. To be used by him however he wants, treated like a rag doll. You needed to be ruined by him, and now you feel like you’ll never be able to go without it again. You tilt your face toward his, slightly damp with sweat, that sharp scent that makes your head spin. Your lips brush along his jaw until he turns to look straight into your eyes. You smile weakly. “Y-You’re right… I should’ve told you… a long time ago…”
Seeing that exhaustion on your face, so beautifully ruined and dependent on him at the same time, fills his chest with pride. He never thought he would end up in a dominant position with you, in any context — not even this one. He never even considered the possibility that being treated like this by him could turn you on. And since he likes it too, his hand returns to cup your face, squeezing it lightly between his fingers before leaning down and crashing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Your tongues dance together while you taste each other, the sounds leaving your mouths now muffled, swallowed between the kiss. You feel him throbbing deep inside you, his eyes closed and his thumb slowly caressing your jaw, almost reverently, as if he wants to savor every single piece of you.
However, his unusual sweetness disappears the moment you feel his other hand sliding up along your body, brushing over your breast until it reaches your fragile neck again: his fingers fit against your skin so perfectly it almost feels as though they were made for this, the grip not yet completely tight so you can still breathe while he devours your mouth. Your brows crease into an expression that’s a mix of pain and lust when you feel his hips start moving again, every thrust slow and deep, your tight pussy squeezing him so hard it makes him feel incredible and your moans now more audible even if they’re still partly hidden.
When he feels you arch your back and tighten your thighs around him even more, Mondo picks up the pace, now uneven, hungry, rough. His fingers tighten further around your throat until a broken, incredibly sexy moan escapes you — the sound vibrating through your chest like a pulled string snapping under pressure. He groans in response, the low sound rumbling against your red, wet lips. He pulls away from the kiss just long enough to whisper against the skin of your shoulder, his free hand desperately searching for your breast, cupping it and squeezing it into his large palm that can easily cover the whole thing. “F-Fuck… chick… you like it that fuckin’ much…?”
He’s clearly referring to the way you’re sucking him completely inside you, to your desperate voice, to that submissive look that makes his head spin and to your body now fully surrendered to the need to be fucked by him until he decides he’s had enough. You never showed him how much you like fucking. Not like this. You can feel a wonderful sensation slowly building every time his thrusts grow stronger, enough to make your legs tremble, your mouth open as you try to cry out his name, unsuccessfully. The desire to come from his huge cock stretching you open like a little slut and from the hand cutting off your air… this time it’s stronger than any kind of shame. By now, you don’t care anymore how pathetic you might look.
When Mondo turns his head to look at you, you stare straight into his eyes while he plays with your breast and pushes into your wet pussy, and you realize you really can’t hold back anymore. Without even managing to say a word, your hand moves on its own, searching for your core, now rubbing in slow circles over your clit while your eyes close in response. You can feel Mondo’s length aching completely inside you in reaction, inch by inch, and as he watches the scene his eyes roll back slightly, a guttural sound slipping from his lips as he fights the instinct to cum inside you right here and now.
“Holy fuck… h-hey… you’re fuckin’ desperate, y’know that…?” he mutters, before hiding his face against you again, his teeth brushing the skin of your shoulder while he keeps moving. When his hand leaves your breast and returns to your neck beside the other one, you feel so close to your orgasm you can barely think. Your body trembles, your mouth releasing nothing but broken, muffled pants, your eyes closed and every inch of you abandoned to him. It’s his voice, low and hoarse, that finally makes you lose control completely. “I-I’m gonna make you come like a dirty fuckin’ slut…”
His grip tightens dangerously, your breath stopping as your mind clouds completely, while each of his thrusts becomes even stronger and faster, hitting exactly the place where you need him the most. Your hand stops moving over your clit when your legs loosen around him and your vision turns white, coming hard while Mondo’s thick cock pounds into you until it nearly breaks you, his hands cutting off your air so tightly they’ll leave marks. Your body goes limp, weak, almost like you’ve lost control over it entirely, while Mondo watches you and stretches your orgasm longer with every powerful thrust. Your muscles twitch helplessly beneath him, your breath shallow and trembling. “F-Fuck… I’m-I’m gonna…” you hear him say, though his voice sounds distant, almost like you’re underwater. Your pussy tightens and milks his length as if you’re squeezing him dry, and that’s all it takes for Mondo to finally lose control. “I’m gonna fill this tight little pussy… f-fuck… with my cum…”
His fingers dig into your skin while his hips move like a piston, every thrust forcing another low groan from his lips into the air. You can feel his muscles flexing against your stomach, your sweat-soaked bodies sliding against each other in a passionate rhythm. Then, with one strong, sudden thrust, he buries himself completely inside you and stops, releasing his thick seed and filling you up entirely, his veiny cock pulsing deep inside while his voice breaks, almost fragile now. “F-Fuuuuuck… fuck…”
────୨ৎ────
You feel his grip weakening as your senses slowly return, your breathing now heavy, colored by faint, broken remnants of your orgasms. Mondo’s body collapses over yours while his hands slide lightly to your hips, trying to recover from the powerful climax. When, with a slow movement, he pulls out of you, you’re overwhelmed by a slightly painful feeling of emptiness, his warm seed slipping from your cunt and dampening your skin like an indelible reminder of what just happened. You feel completely drained, stripped of your energy and simply… tired. So you close your eyes, your arms spreading gently over his bare, sweaty back, lazily caressing him.
For a long moment neither of you speaks. The room is filled only with the sound of your uneven breathing, the faint creak of the tatami beneath your bodies, and the distant noise of the night outside the still-open window. The air feels warm, heavy, almost sacred after everything that just happened. Your sudden loving touches make the muscles of his sculpted body flex and, almost as if he has woken from a trance, he turns his head toward your face, leaving soft, distracted kisses all along your jaw, his eyes closed and his long hair stuck to his forehead and neck. His lips rest repeatedly on your skin, dampening it with a tenderness that sends shivers through you. It’s so beautiful, you think, trusting someone so much that you let them do anything they want to you. And you chose this person well. This infinite, awkward sweetness proves it.
As you bring your face closer to his to nuzzle against his cheek, you smile, unable to stop thinking about how intense the moment you just shared was. You almost feel like giggling. There isn’t even a trace of embarrassment in you. Your fingers continue to move lazily across his back, tracing the ridges of his muscles, the small scars scattered across his skin — silent proof of the rough life he’s lived. And yet right now, here with you, he feels softer than you’ve ever known him to be. After noticing the wide smile now pressed against his skin, Mondo’s eyes slowly open and his trail of kisses stops so he can finally look at you. His cheeks are slightly flushed, his breathing still uneven, and his eyes search yours insistently, almost as if he’s desperately trying to figure out whether you’re okay. His sharp face is so close to yours that you can feel his warm breath brushing your lips, and you notice his nervousness in the way his chest rises and falls irregularly. He was so… rough… until now, giving you the best half hour of sex of your life… and now the only thing that seems to matter to him is knowing how you are.
How cute.
Weakly, your hand reaches his face while a small smile becomes the main actor on yours, your fingers slowly stroking his dark skin. It’s his voice that breaks the silence before yours can, broken and soft. “Oi… you… you okay…?” He swallows, his hand mirroring yours as it reaches your delicate face to cup it, his thumb brushing along your jaw hesitantly. His eyes constantly search yours, his brows furrowing when he notices you avoiding his penetrating gaze. The truth is that seeing him like this — fragile, worried about you as if you had shattered into pieces in his hands and he was desperately trying to put you back together — is priceless. When you inhale and finally look at him again, Mondo notices how your eyes are filled with such pure love that it almost hurts. For a second, his expression falters — like he isn’t used to receiving that kind of look. Like he doesn’t quite believe he deserves it.
Your hand moves again and, tired and weak, you gently pull him closer to you. Your lips can now brush against each other, your breaths merging into one, your eyes locked together like precious stones reflecting one another. Then you moisten his lips with a kiss, and only after closing your eyes do you break the heavy, tension-filled silence with a murmur. “Mondo… I’ve never been better…”
You feel him melt against you, his lips seeking yours again so he can leave countless soft, passionate kisses on them. At first they’re slow. Careful. Almost shy. Then they deepen, lingering longer each time, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your mouth against his. “Fuck…” he breathes softly against your lips, his voice rough but warm now. “You… you scared the hell outta me for a second there…” His forehead drops against yours, noses brushing together while his fingers slide into your hair, holding you close like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. “Didn’t think…” he mutters quietly, voice hoarse, “didn’t think I’d ever see you like that… lookin’ at me like you wanted me to ruin you…” A small, breathless laugh escapes him — half disbelief, half pride. “…and fuck… I liked it way too much.”
At that point, you lose yourselves again. Again and again — not in the same frantic way as before, but in quiet touches, lingering kisses, slow breaths shared between smiles. Your legs remain tangled beneath the sheets, his arm wrapped around your waist while he absentmindedly draws circles against your skin. Outside, the night continues like nothing happened — but inside the room, something has changed between you. Something deeper. You never thought the day would come when you could show your boyfriend your most impure and deepest desires.
And yet…
You’re so glad you did. Because now, as his lips brush your temple and his voice drifts sleepily beside your ear, you hear him whisper one last thing before the silence settles again.
“Hey… next time… don’t keep shit like that from me, yeah…?”
A small pause.
“…I’ll make it even better.”