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🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ characters in their 20s ⋆ owner yuuji itadori, best friend megumi fushiguro & puppy hybrid fem!reader. scenting, cucking, voyeurism, daddy kink, dry humping. -> yuuji’s pretty puppy can’t help but get excited when megumi stops by. she loves to help when he gets excited too. good thing she doesn’t treat all visitors this way. only friends.
hold on a second because i moved i really did ;-;
yuuji with his excitable puppy girl who’s obsessed with the way megumi smells :( wags her little tail every time she sees him and licks his face even though yuuji keeps telling you to slow down you can’t!!! you love gumi you love when he stops by!!!! and he lets you clamber all over him, roll into his lap like it’s nothing when he visits and takes up your favourite spot on the couch. and whilst yuuji busies himself with lunch in the kitchen, your teeth at megumi’s neck your slick puppycunt already drooling over his groin as it hardens without subtly.
“you gotta get off, pup,” he says gruffly but his hands settle on your soft doughy hips — carefully pulling you back and forth over his hard on, your tail swishing low and slow. “can’t be doin’ this.”
“but i missed you, gumi… and you smell so nice.” you say and nip at his ear with your pretty canines — the tag of your collar ‘property of itadori’ cool against his collar bones because you’re pushing yourself further against him — trying to merge with fushiguro’s skin. “daddy says it’s good to help friends.”
the dark haired man grins slow, slimy as the expression oozes onto pink lips. he instinctively tips his head back to make room for your teeth that hungrily scrape his neck and your nose that inhales his scent like it’s some kind of drug. you wiggle against his lap, slicker and slicker over him by the second he’d think you were in heat. “yeah?” fushiguro sighs, syrupy and content. “daddy said it’s okay?”
“is what okay?”
yuuji appears in the living room, three glasses of cool iced tea captured between dextrose fingers.
“look daddy, ‘m helpin’,” the way you blink over at him is slow, dazed as you ride fushiguro’s throbbing erection. you rock your hips as though guided by the motion of calm waters, washing over the man beneath you and drowning him in your essence like it is a reward. something to be cherished. if he didn’t know any better — he might mistake your pouty lips and glassy gaze as teasing. “bein’ a good friend.”
the pink haired man scratches behind your pointed puppy ears proudly, grinning as your hips involuntarily buck against his friend’s. megumi’s breathing cracks, fragile and almost whimpery and his palms come down to smack against your ass through frilly bloomers. “good girl, such a good girl. lift your hips, c’mon. lemme see…” he coos, voice a warm blend of honey and cinnamon — running through your system and glazing over that part in your brain which controls your pleasure. “you enjoyin’ helping megumi?”
“so much, feels good. see?” you raise yourself off of him, strings of heavy arousal tying your pussy and your tail to the outline of fushiguro’s dick. it wags obediently, the fluffy appendage now heavy and obscenely wet.
the scent of you curls in the summer air, stuffy and enticing. “keep going for me,” yuuji half groans, guttural and proud. “you make gumi cum like this and i promise you’ll get a reward.”
you like the sound of that, swivelling your hips in sinful circles and spreading your slick across the very obvious bulge beneath megumi’s sweats. his shaft sits comfortably between your clothed folds, nestled against your clit lovingly.
“f-fuck… fuck, puppy,” megumi exhales shallowly, breath cracking open with lust. from both being observed and used. “such a good girl for your daddy, huh?”
“isn’t she just perfect?” yuuji muses, sinking into the love seat across the way. legs spread, cock kicking to life at the sight of his two favourites absolutely ruined.
megumi nods dumbly, rose rouge blooming across his cheeks whilst he guides you back and forth on top of him, an orgasm crackling in the tension-thick air. “most perfect puppy ever,” he swallows.’“prettiest puppy and puppycunt ever.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
Him licking the tears off my face. Him pressing me into the mattress. Him promising to make me forget all the sadness and hurt in my heart. Him fucking me until all I can remember is his name.
you and shinsou reconnect before your wedding. things do not go as planned.
cws: fem!reader, cheating, angst, some religious guilt, use of mind-control quirk in bed, degradation/humiliation, dubcon, use of she/her, reader referred to as woman, frequent pov changes sorry if that ain't your thing but i like to highlight how pathetically in love each party is
"would you ever try it with me?"
shinsou nearly drops his beer, his pants tightening to the point of pain.
"that's not the kind of thing you ask your best friend," he replies, even though his brain is already whirring through the fantasy like a movie reel. how long has he thought about you at his mercy? of you trusting him enough to make you cum so many times you begged him to stop?
you arch an eyebrow. "why not?"
"because i don't do that kind of thing in bed." he's surprised you don't faint right then and there, you look so stricken. but honestly, what were you thinking? springing this on him the first time he's seen you in months? "that's why you're asking, right? don't look so shocked—monoma already blabbed. i know you're getting married."
he leans in close, leering. he has no idea why he's so furious. (he does.) "you probably want to know what it's like with a freak before you settle down with mr. vanilla, huh?"
he should have expected the crack of your palm across his cheek. hurts like hell all the same.
your hands shake around your purse. "don't know why i bothered with this. you're right, okay? it sounds disgusting when you say it like that—but i've got elderly parents to take care of. my job barely keeps me alive. i know it's medieval, i know it's shit, but he's a good man who will support me. you can't keep people alive on dreams." you clatter out of the booth on shaky legs. "and monoma blabbed to me, too, you know. he told me why you're not satisfied with those women you bring home."
this time it's your turn to threaten his space. he drinks in your scent like water, his heart beating hard in his throat.
"because they're not me."
.
coward.
coward coward coward.
that's what you are, at the end of the day. you talk big, but you ran out of that pub as fast as you could, tears streaming down your face like a middle schooler.
it was crass, both what you said and how you said it. he had every right to turn you down.
you've thought about telling him you loved him perhaps a thousand times. from the first minute you saw him in your first year of college, sleepy eyes, messy hair, hoodie obscuring what you'd later discover to be hardened muscle and sinew.
the timing was never right, though, and before you knew it, settling down no longer felt like an option. it became a strategic play at survival in a flagging economy.
but it's shinsou that you think of when you touch yourself. it's shinsou who makes you slippery and warm, who makes your whole body feel like it could float into air at a simple touch.
not your fiancé.
you slow down to catch your breath, plopping down on a park bench. you've become the woman your mother always warned about, too distracted by what-ifs.
you nearly jump out of your skin when your phone rings.
"meet me at my place before i change my mind."
.
the deal was one night.
he's lost track of how many nights it's been since the first.
"it's okay, baby." he peppers small kisses to the inside of your thighs, breathing in your scent. "i'm right here." his tongue grazes over your clit and you jerk in his hold, hips bucking into his face.
"no more, 'toshi—"
"color?" he always commands it out of you, just in case.
"yellow," you admit dreamily, hands winding in his hair.
"good job, sweetheart." he pulls away, winding his way up your body and placing kisses to your tummy, your breasts. he licks a nipple between his teeth, listening to your breathing even out. "god job telling me what you need."
he still hasn't fucked you on his cock. he's used his fingers, his mouth, dildos. he's lost track of how many hours have passed by in bliss, how many times he's watched your sweet little mouth part in ecstasy.
your thighs are warm and soft in his hands. he tucks your legs around his waist, runs his clothed cock along the valley of your sopping wet cunt. your breath stutters; the animal in him howls in triumph.
"want it that badly, do you?" shallow strokes of his cock along your pussy—he feels her beating against his shaft, eager and ready. "like a good little whore. just waiting to be filled."
"toshi—" even now, you admonish him. he can't help but smile. "don't, don't say that—"
"why?" he scoops you into his lap. "because of how much you like it?"
you flush, burying your face into his neck.
you'll need more to cum again. he's already pulled three from you, and this next one -
"make me cum now, toshi. the way we both want you to."
.
to be loved is to be known. you've always thought that, and here hitoshi is, proving you right.
you know other people would find the two of you immoral. sinners, even, if your mind ran to damnation.
but when hitoshi touches you, the only thing you think of is how this is the happiest you've ever been.
"please, toshi." his thighs tense under yours, the only indication of his unease. "you know how much i trust you."
he chuckles, tipping your chin up and capturing your mouth with his. "i know, doll. that's part of the problem. i'm not sure i could walk away from you if we do this."
he smiles, a little sadly, eyes trained on yours. "but i'm hopeless when it comes to you. you sure about this?"
your heart thunders in your ears.
"never been more sure."
.
"good." his hand slides up the back of your neck, grip tight on either side. "tell me whose cock you need."
your gaze goes out of focus; your mouth goes slack.
he's never been harder in his life.
"yours," you say without hesitation, winding your arms tighter around his neck. your lips ghost over his pulse point. he draws you closer, adoration spiking his blood. god, how he'll ruin you. "yours, toshi."
"that's my girl," he coos.
he loses track of the commands, how many times he suspends both of your orgasms to the point of pain. he praises you the entire time, hoping it penetrates through the fog of his quirk.
"you sound so pretty, baby. letting out all those pretty noises just for me." he lets go of the quirk for a moment. holds his forehead to yours. the dip of your waist fits so perfectly in the palm of his hand that it nearly stops his breath. "ready, sweetheart?"
he teases you, weeping tip sliding into your warm heat by one inch. he has to physically restrain you from sliding down.
"why'd you stop?"
"you know why." he lets you sink down another inch or so. it's the most pleasurable agony he's ever experienced. "wanted you here when i made you mine."
"oh." your smile lights up your entire face. "that's a really good reason."
he takes hold of your mind again, gently, before bottoming out inside of you.
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i'm in love with the angst idea of Chris having to tell Piers Nivans's fiancé that he's dead. he stands outside of their apartment for the longest time before he knocks on the door.
you're beautiful, wide eyed and sweet, but there's a shift once you notice the flag and Piers's dog tags nestled on top. he hates seeing the slice of domestic life as you invite him in with a shaky "Come in..". he hates seeing pictures around the small apartment, hates seeing the same jacket hanging on a coat hanger that Piers wore when the man had dragged him out of the bar for the mission that would kill him.
you both talk about Piers for hours over cups of hot tea that turn cold, untouched. chris has the overwhelming urge to call you after missions and you always answer no matter what time it is.
the idea that you both eventually have sex that stems from grief over Piers hurts and soothes my heart.
your voice is soft against the night as the summer breeze spills in from the open window of your bedroom. you're naked as the day you were born, one hand draped across Chris Redfield's stomach as your gaze focuses on the TV, even though you're not watching it. Chris tenses underneath you, as your eyes glance up at him and your cheek nestles itself against his chest.
"I remember the first call he made. God I was worried sick n' here he was trying not to freak out about the legendary Chris Redfield." you said with a good natured snicker. "he looked up to you."
that's what hurts Chris the most. he knows how highly Piers spoke about him, knows that Piers was following in his footsteps determined to change the world for the better.
and yet he was dead. buried underwater in an abandoned Umbrella facility.
"m' not a legend," Chris grumbles out as he shifts to pull you closer. "he should've had a better hero." its a painful self jab to himself and he pours more salt onto the open wound. "maybe then he'd still be alive."
you don't try to comfort him. you don't disagree.
you just stare mindlessly at the TV as your eyes glisten with tears.
like what do you mean chainsaw man is over. what do you mean i don't have chainsaw man tuesdays anymore. what do you mean i won't get to see denji anymore
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I will not lie, the omegaverse trope of a character going into rut or heat unexpectedly and another character having to help them through it actually never gets old for me. Oh noooo what do you mean you’re so so needy it almost hurts and you’re letting out strong, enticing pheromones and you’re both torn between being responsible or just throwing all caution to the wind? Oh goodness oh noooo whatever shall you both do?
⟡ ݁˖cw. BasketballCaptain!Satoru :: College AU :: Ig dms :: mentions of phone sex :: fingering / in a bathroom stall :: pussy job s :: un protected :: p in v :: creampied :: kissing :: aftercare :: in love w you :: whipped!gojo :: nerd!jo ::
You were in bed with one leg kicked up, toes pointed in lazy triumph, one hand busy pressing the back camera shutter and the other stuffed wrist-deep in a bag of sour straws. Your phone teetered on the edge of your pillow, angled just right to catch the soft dip of your waist, the glimmer of your chain sliding down the valley of your chest, and—front and center—the fat swell of your ass outlined by a scrap of candy-colored mesh panties that left nothing to the imagination.
The post? Captionless. Just the peach emoji and a black heart.
You didn't need words. You were that bitch. Always had been. So you tossed the photo onto your finsta, your little corner of slutty digital worship and went back to giggling at your DMs. There were always DMs. Thirsty frat bros, broke creatives, girls you kissed once at a house party and left dizzy. Always someone, you'd reply to whoever caught your eye if they were lucky enough.
But nothing could’ve prepared you for the notification that blinked on your screen a few hours later:
@ satorugojo sent you a message.
You blinked.
Satoru Gojo.
6’3, white-haired menace, captain of the university basketball team, rumored to have an IQ of something stupid like 150 and a body sculpted by the horny whispers of God herself. You’d seen him. Everyone had.
You just didn’t think he’d seen you.
Well. Not like this.
“Is this what you get up to when you’re not failing chem lab?”
😇👀
You choked on your candy and stared at the message like it would change if you blinked hard enough. You were in his chem class. Sat behind him twice a week. You’d seen the slope of his back in that hoodie he never wore right, the flash of tattoos peeking when he leaned forward to take notes. And now? He was seeing everything—your tits, your hips, your little pink pussy glossed with coconut oil and bravery.
You didn’t answer right away. Let him sweat.
Twenty minutes later:
“Or should I say… what you get up to when you should be studying 😌 naughty little overachiever huh?”
That second one hit different.
You:
“how’d u find this acc gojo 😒 stalker behavior”
Satoru:
“instagram said ‘you might know her’ and i said. i wish”
“now i do. and damn, babe. u gonna give a man a heart attack”
You chewed your nail and smiled against your wrist.
You:
“you like what u see?”
Satoru:
“do i like? baby. i’ve been staring at ur third slide for five minutes. zoomed in and everything.”
“that’s not even fair. u go to school with me lookin like THAT?”
“and now i know how fuckin sweet that pussy looks when u stretch… 😪”
Your thighs pressed together. You tried to be slick. Tried to look unbothered. But your panties were damp before he even sent the next message.
“got a boyfriend?”
“lemme guess. no. cause he’d never let u post this”
“good. i wouldn’t either. not if u were mine.”
Your fingers slipped between your legs before you could help it.
You:
“why? u jealous?”
Satoru:
“jealous? baby i’m hard as fuck. bout to go take a cold shower in ur honor”
“unless u wanna send me something to keep me company”
“🤞 i’ll be real good for u. promise.”
That night you sent him a mirror pic. nothing too crazy, just your thighs spread, his name on your thigh written in red lip liner. The panties stayed on, but the outline underneath was unmistakable.
He called you his sweet girl in the next text. Said he wanted to take his time.
Sexting started slow. Flirty and silly. He called you a “little tease” and told you, you looked edible. You teased him about his nerdy glasses. He said he’d fuck you in them. The photos escalated. Moan videos. Voice notes. Your first orgasm with his name between your teeth, breathy and dizzy. He came untouched to it. You both swore to keep it just between you two.
Satoru Gojo had seen your pussy before he’d ever heard your voice.
But the first time he heard you laugh at one of his dumb jokes in class, head tipped back and eyes sparkling, he whispered to himself under his breath:
mine.
⸻
You hadn’t planned to run into him. Not in your black mini skirt, fishnet tights peeking at the hem, and a vintage tee with the words Good Girls Get High Grades stretched tight across your tits. You were just there to grab a study guide. Really.
But the moment Satoru Gojo looked up from the study table in the back of the library, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose and a red pen between his lips, your heart dropped into your panties like clockwork.
He smirked. Didn’t even blink.
“Look who finally decided to show up for class. Gonna actually study, or just here to distract me with that ass?”
You stopped mid-step. “Are you—? Gojo, this is the library.”
He leaned back in the chair, arms stretching behind his head, biceps flexing under his grey long-sleeve like he planned the movement. “Exactly. Sacred ground. You gonna be good for me in here, sweetheart? Or you gonna make me walk you to the bathroom?”
You hated the way your thighs clenched.
“Bold of you to assume I’d follow you anywhere.”
He grinned, slow and wolfish, tapping the table in front of him. “C’mere.”
You should’ve left. Should’ve turned around and pretended he didn’t finger you over FaceTime last week while calling you his smart little slut. But you sat down. Because you were weak. And because the way his eyes dropped to your thighs made your stomach flutter.
He passed you his notes. “Color-coded and everything,” he said, smug. “Big dick and a GPA.”
You rolled your eyes. “You forgot delusional.”
“Oh, baby. If you saw what you do to me every time you post—”
“I know what I do to you,” you said, smirking. “You sent me a four-minute audio of you moaning my name, remember?”
He laughed, voice thick and low. “You saved it?”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way your eyes dropped to his lap said enough. He was hard. Again.
“I’m trying to be good,” he murmured, pushing his glasses up. “Trying to be smart. Help you pass bio. But you’re sittin’ here lookin’ like a wet dream, wearin’ those damn tights like you want me to rip 'em open.”
Your breath caught.
“Say the word,” he whispered. “We’ll go right now. I’ll fuck you on the sink with your leg up on the paper towel dispenser.”
You swallowed.
“I’ve had my mouth on your pussy in every position except real life, and it’s driving me insane, babe.”
“Gojo—”
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, voice so soft it made your pulse stutter. “Just wanna taste you. Been thinking about it all week. That pretty little moan you do when I hit your spot—fuck—I’ll take care of you. Always do.”
Your chair scraped back.
He looked up, pupils blown wide, gaze dark behind his glasses. “That a yes?”
You nodded once, mouth dry. “Bathroom. Now.”
You barely made it into the single-stall library bathroom before his hands were under your skirt, gripping the backs of your thighs like he’d been starving for weeks.
Satoru kicked the door shut, locked it without looking. His mouth found your neck before you could even catch your breath, biting just hard enough to make you gasp.
“God, baby,” he groaned into your skin, “you wore this little skirt on purpose, huh? Wanted me to see this fat ass and lose my fuckin’ mind?”
You whimpered as his fingers gripped you through your tights, rubbing over the heat of your cunt like he already knew how wet you were. (He did. You’d been wet since chem lecture. He smirked at you across the room and your thighs clenched.)
He spun you around, lifted you with too much ease, and set you up on the cold counter like you weighed nothing.
You gasped when the chill kissed your bare ass.
“Be a good girl,” he whispered, sliding your legs apart with his big hands. “Let me taste my favorite little study buddy.”
Your tights? Torn at the crotch with his teeth.
Your panties? Slid to the side and soaking.
His glasses? Still on. (Of course. Fucking menace.)
He dropped to his knees, and your breath caught.
You’d sent him dozens of videos—spread out in bed, back arched, fingers rubbing your clit as you gasped "Toruuu please" in the mic. But nothing, nothing compared to him grabbing your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the sink like you were dessert and he hadn’t eaten all day.
“Oh fuck,” you breathed, head tipping back as he ran his tongue over you once, slow and heavy. “Satoru—”
“Mhm,” he mumbled into your pussy. "Fucking needed this.”
You whined.
He licked long and deep, tongue flattening against your folds, dragging up and over your clit until your hips jerked. Then he chuckled. Laughed. Like he had all the time in the world and you weren’t dripping down his chin already.
“Y'r already so wet,” he said, licking his lips. “Did I do that, baby? Or were you just walking around all day with this cute little pussy soaked, hoping i’d notice?”
You couldn’t answer. Not when he sucked your clit into his mouth like he meant it.
Your thighs closed around his ears, shaking. He groaned into you.
He slid a finger in slowly and deep, curling expertly inside the narrow warmth of your cunt. “Fuck, she’s tight,” he whispered, like you were a secret he was keeping from God. “Gonna fuck you with my fingers, baby. Gotta open you up a little. Can’t have your brain going all fuzzy the first time I get this cock in you.”
Your moan echoed off the bathroom walls.
His second finger made you twitch. The sound of your wetness, the slop of it as he curled into that spongy sweet spot, had you biting your lip so hard you thought it might bleed.
He nuzzled his face between your legs like he lived there, mouth lapping and sucking, eyes flicking up to watch you unravel. He wanted to see it when you fell apart.
“Give it to me,” he murmured. “Let me see that sweet little O-face. Come for me, pretty girl.”
You came with a choked cry, thighs trembling, fingers gripping his hair tight.
He moaned as you soaked his mouth. Didn’t stop licking until your legs shook so hard he had to hold you still.
When he finally pulled back, panting, he looked up at you with his glasses fogged and mouth glistening.
You blinked down at him, dazed. “You… you didn’t even come.”
He grinned. “Nah. This was just for you.”
And when you reached for his belt, he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“Next time, baby,” he said, lips brushing your skin. “Wanna do it right. My bed. Clean sheets. A whole playlist if you want.”
You blinked. “You have a pussy playlist?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s alphabetical. Starts with Ain’t No Sunshine and ends with Zelda’s Lullaby. I’m romantic.”
You laughed so hard he had to kiss you quiet.
⸻
You didn’t mean to stay the night.
You were just supposed to stop by. Drop off the USB with the psych flashcards you promised him. Maybe let him flirt a little. Maybe flirt back. Maybe let him kiss you again with those soft, smug lips and that stupid pretty face.
But Gojo opened the door shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, snowy hair a tousled mess, and glasses forgotten—eyes bright, boyish, hungry.
You were done for.
“Hey,” he murmured, reaching for your waist the second you stepped inside. “Missed you.”
You should’ve teased him. Should’ve said something smart about needing the flashcards back because you didn’t trust him not to get cum on them.
But he kissed you before you could breathe. Hands on your face. Mouth hot and slow. Tongue sweet and coaxing your lips apart.
And the way he whispered “my sweet girl” as he walked you backward to his room?
You never had a chance.
⸺
His bedroom was dim. Clean but cozy. Vinyl spinning soft jazz in the corner. Warm light spilling golden over the sheets.
The bed was unmade.
He laid you out in the middle of it like you were delicate.
“You look so pretty in my bed,” he whispered, slipping your skirt up your thighs, fingers grazing the waistband of your panties. “Been dreaming about this. Every night.”
You swallowed. “You’re such a romantic freak.”
He grinned, leaning down to kiss your thigh. “I’m your romantic freak.”
And then he peeled your panties off.
Took his time. Dragged them down slow, knuckles brushing your skin like a caress. Kissed the inside of your knee. Then your hipbone. Then your mound.
When he looked up at you, breath hot against your slick folds, his eyes were glassy. Almost reverent.
“I’m gonna eat you raw again,” he murmured. “But first—” He reached up to cup your tits through your tee. “These’ve been haunting me.”
You were already squirming. But when he sat back and pulled your shirt off with care, like unwrapping a gift, your breath caught.
No bra.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. “These were made for me.”
You flushed. “You said that about my ass last week.”
“And I was right about that too,” he said, palming both tits like he couldn’t believe his luck. “These sensitive, baby? Hm?”
You nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes.”
He leaned down and spit on one nipple, watched it drip, then licked it slow.
Your hips bucked.
He moaned into your skin, sucking hard enough to leave it red and glossy before moving to the other, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Wanna suck on these while I’m inside you,” he whispered. “Wanna feel you clench when I bite.”
“Toruuu—”
He kissed down your stomach. “Yeah, baby. Gimme that. Let me hear it.”
You were dripping by the time he got back between your legs. And he tasted it. Licked you up and down like he was checking how ready you were.
Then he sat back, licked your pussy juices of his lips, and pulled his sweats down.
No boxers. Just Gojo. Big and hard. Blushing pink at the tip of his cock. Veins thick and throbbing.
You whimpered.
“Raw, yeah?” he asked, already reaching for the lube on the nightstand. “I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you baby, I Promise.”
You nodded. Wide-eyed. Breathless and needy.
“Good girl.”
He lubed his cock with lazy strokes, watching you with the filthiest little grin.
“You gonna let me in, sweetheart?” he whispered, pressing the head to your dripping entrance. “Gonna let me fuck you raw for the first time?”
You whimpered again.
“Yeah,” he cooed. “My smart little girl. Letting the team captain with the big dick stuff her full. I’ll be gentle.”
And he was. At first.
The stretch made your eyes roll. He groaned low as he sank in, inch by inch, hand cradling the back of your thigh, holding you open.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Grippin’ me like you never want me to leave.”
Your nails dug into his back. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
He buried himself to the hilt. Stayed there. Panting. Forehead against yours.
“I’m never gonna stop,” he whispered. “Not with you. You’re it. My sweet, smart, sexy girl.”
And then he started to move.
Sow at first, then dragging his girthy length out and pushing back in like he was sculpting your cunt to fit his cock forever.
Your tits bounced. His mouth latched back on. Tongue flicking, lips sucking, teeth grazing your swollen nipples while he fucked you slow and stupid.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” You couldn’t even form a sentence.
“You feel me in your tummy, baby?” he rasped, pressing a hand to your belly. “I’m all the way in there.”
You nodded, crying now. He was too big. Too deep. And it felt too good.
He kissed the tears off your cheeks. “I got you. I got you. You’re doing so good, pretty girl.”
Your thighs shook.
And then he snapped his hips forward.
You screamed.
He picked up the pace, fucking into you raw and wet and perfect, whispering praise between gritted teeth.
“Taking me so good—s'fuckin’ tight m'gonna fill you up, baby, make a mess in this pretty pussy—”
You came around him with a sob.
And he followed, moaning your name, voice cracking as he spilled inside you, hot and thick and endless.
After, he pulled out slow. Watched his cum drip from your puffy pussy onto his sheets.
“Gonna frame this,” he said, dazed.
You groaned. “You’re disgusting.”
He kissed your forehead. “You’re mine.”
And then because he was sweet like that—he got a warm towel and cleaned you up, humming something soft under his breath.
You asked what the song was.
“Track seven on the playlist,” he said. “The I Just Fucked My Soulmate suite.”
You laughed until he had to kiss you again.
⸻
You wake up to the smell of bacon and Satoru Gojo in nothing but an apron. His back is bare, his hair is messy, and there’s flour on his cheek like he’s been fighting dough. Or maybe just playing house.
You watch from the doorway, blanket still wrapped around your naked body, your thighs still sticky with last night’s mess.
Your pussy aches. Your nipples are sore.
Your heart? Stupid.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he calls, flipping a pancake and glancing over his shoulder. “Hope you like your eggs scrambled and your boyfriends whipped.”
You blink. “Boyfriends?”
He smirks. “Don’t play coy. I rawdogged you and kissed your tears. You’re emotionally owned.”
You shuffle in and sit at the counter, lips twitching. “Owned, huh?”
He slides a plate in front of you—eggs, bacon, pancakes stacked and cut already, syrup on the side, a little peeled tangerine at the edge like he’s auditioning for domestic god of the year.
Then he leans across the counter, bare chest close to your face.
“Yeah, baby. Owned. Cuffed. Dicked down. Whatever you want to call it.”
Your face warms. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. Then softer, “You hungry?”
You nod, suddenly quiet.
He kisses your cheek and sits beside you, close enough to touch, letting his thigh press against yours.
You eat. He watches. Not in a weird way—just like he can’t help it. Like he’s memorizing the curl of your fingers around the fork. Like he’s obsessed.
“Made you coffee too,” he adds, handing over a mug. “The slutty blend. Extra cream, two sugars, and a kiss for the girl who let me cum inside her.”
You nearly choke.
But he just grins and tilts your chin. “Open.”
You blink.
“For your vitamins,” he deadpans, holding out a gummy shaped like a peach.
You pop it in, chewing slowly. “This the ‘girlfriend experience’ package?”
He shrugs. “More like the ‘you let me see your nudes and your soul and I want to spoil you until you forget anyone else exists’ package.”
You roll your eyes. “So dramatic.”
He leans in. “So whipped.”
And then he kisses you, slow and sleepy, like you’re the only thing on the planet that matters. Like he’s still hard and you’re still his, and neither of you has anywhere else to be.
Later, you shower together. It’s soft. Sweet. Hands washing hair, soapy fingers gliding across skin. He drops to his knees to lick you clean again, slow and sweet before fucking you against the tile with your foot on his shoulder.
He eats you through your orgasm.
Then lathers you in his body wash and kisses your bruises in the steam.
You leave his apartment hours later wearing his hoodie, his cologne, his cum in your panties, and a lazy little smile.
He texts you five minutes after:
toru 💙
forgot to say:
you’re my sweet girl now. officially.
I’m gonna feed you, fuck you, and ruin you forever. xoxo 😘
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why is it always a male character going mad avenging his dead wife and never a female character cradling her dying pure of heart husband in her arms then dragging the whole world down with her
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