XOXO

the room is thick with the smell of sex and sweat. gojo is sprawled beneath you on the ruined sheets, his usual infinity long gone, silver hair sticking to his damp forehead. his chest rises and falls rapidly, pale skin flushed pink all the way down to the sharp v of his hips. you’ve already made him cum once, but you never stopped riding him. now he’s overstimulated, cock still rock-hard and throbbing inside your soaked pussy, every drag of your walls making him twitch and curse.

“fuck—baby, slow down,” he groans, voice hoarse and broken. his fingers dig bruises into your hips as you grind down on him again, taking every inch until his tip kisses your cervix. “i’m too sensitive—shit— you’re gonna kill me.”

you’re not listening. not really. your own orgasm is already building again, hot and vicious, your clit grinding against his pelvis with every roll of your hips. you’re dripping down his cock, creamy white streaks of both your releases coating his shaft and dripping onto his balls. the wet, filthy sounds echo with every bounce.

“you feel so fucking good, satoru…” you whimper, bracing your hands on his abs and lifting yourself until only his flushed tip is inside you, then slamming back down hard. his cock stretches you so perfectly, thick and veiny, pulsing against your walls like it was made for you.

gojo’s head tips back, white lashes fluttering, mouth open in a silent moan. “princess—ahh—fuck, i’m serious. i’m gonna cum again if you keep—ngh—keep squeezing me like that.” his abs tense under your palms, hips jerking up involuntarily to meet your rhythm.

you lean forward, pressing your tits against his chest, and start riding him faster. the new angle makes his cock drag right over that spongy spot inside you with every thrust. your pussy flutters and clenches greedily around him, milking his overstimulated length without mercy.

“shit—wait, baby—slow— i’m close again,” he gasps, voice cracking. his hands slide up your back, then back down to grip your ass, trying to control your pace. “you gotta pull off— i can’t— fuck, i’m gonna cum inside if you don’t—pull out—!”

the words barely register. everything feels too good. his cock is swelling even thicker inside you, twitching wildly, the heat of him overwhelming. your thighs burn, your clit throbs, and another orgasm is rushing up on you like a freight train. instead of lifting off, you grind down harder, rolling your hips in tight circles so his cock stirs deep in your pussy.

you cum with a broken cry, walls clamping down around him like a vice. your cunt spasms violently, rhythmic pulses squeezing and fluttering around his cock as pleasure whites out your vision. gojo chokes on a moan, hips stuttering up into you.

“fuck— no, wait— i’m cumming— i’m—!”

he tries to pull you off at the last second, but your thighs lock tight around his waist, keeping him buried to the hilt. thick, hot ropes of cum flood deep inside you as he cums harder than the first time. pulse after heavy pulse, his cock jerking and spurting against your cervix while your pussy keeps milking him through your own orgasm. you don’t stop moving—riding him through it in sloppy, desperate strokes, prolonging both your highs until his cum is leaking out around his cock with every bounce.

gojo’s eyes roll back, a wrecked, broken sound leaving his throat as you keep fucking yourself on his oversensitive dick. “too much—fuck— you’re still going—hah— you little menace…”

only when your orgasm finally ebbs do you collapse onto his chest, both of you panting, trembling, and covered in sweat. his cock is still buried deep in your cum-stuffed pussy, twitching weakly with aftershocks. you can feel how full you are—his warm seed sloshing inside you with every tiny shift of your hips.

gojo lets out a breathless, slightly delirious laugh, wrapping his strong arms around you and holding you flush against him. one hand slides down to press firmly on your lower belly, right where his cum is settled deep.

“you… you didn’t pull off,” he murmurs against your hair, voice rough and sex-drunk. there’s a dark, possessive edge beneath the amusement. “i told you to pull out and you just rode me harder. greedy girl.”

you hide your flushed face in his neck, smiling against his skin as you give one slow, lazy roll of your hips. his cock twitches inside you again, pushing more of his cum deeper.

“oops,” you whisper, clenching around him on purpose.

gojo groans, hips bucking up weakly. “yeah… real convincing ‘oops.’” he kisses the top of your head, then tilts your chin up so he can claim your mouth in a messy, tongue-heavy kiss. when he pulls back, his blue eyes are half-lidded and hungry. “guess you baby-trapped me, huh? fuck… why is that so hot?”

his hand rubs slow circles over your belly. you can feel his cock starting to harden again inside your messy, cum-filled cunt.

“you’re not going anywhere,” he says, voice dropping lower as he starts rocking up into you again, slow and deep. “not until i fill you up at least one more time. since we’re already making a mess… might as well commit.”

you moan softly, already moving with him.

when your husband is supposed to be the calm, rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand, whining into the dark like he’s about to fall apart.

but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging useless from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough, punishing strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time—at the soft curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.

and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.

the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales like he’s drowning, shuddering so hard the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your warm, musky scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound human.

“fuck, baby—” it rips out of him, pitched way too high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t—can’t stop.”

his cock is obscene. flushed dark, fat veins raised under the skin, the head so slick it shines even in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him, messy, frothing and too loud. schlick, schlick, schlick.

he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnghm!—if i just had the chance.”

his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods in obscene drops.

disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.

but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad—fuck, want to fuck you on my knees, i’d worship you, i’d never stop—”

he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is actually humiliating— a high, euphoric whine. his thighs shake.

then, he breaks.

cum spurts out in heavy ropes, hot and endless, painting his stomach, his abs, his fist, the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock twitching uncontrollably, as if even his own body doesn’t know when enough is fucking enough.

“ah—mnhg—fuck, t-too much, i can’t...” his voice cracks, strangled, but his fist won’t let go. more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.

when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still twitches against his stomach, still half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.

and you’re still asleep. lashes fluttering, lips parted, beautiful and soft while he stands there wrecked.